I Said No

Chapter thirty three

I hold Kyle's notebook close to my chest. My knuckles white due to my firm grip grasping its edges. The pages beginning to wrinkle from my uncontrollable tears pouring down my cheeks.

What happened to us? How has our relationship gone from one of what I thought was true love to a painful memory? How did this caring, compassionate, loving man turn into someone I hated? How could he write such beautiful words of love and hope towards me and then break me?

I try and catch my breath, but with each inhale I take, the stronger my sobs become. They have become howls, filling my entire studio. My entire body shudders at the pain this one man has caused me. Why didn't he love me? Why didn't our dream of marriage, children, a lifetime of happiness happen?

Why wasn't I enough? Why am I never enough? Not enough for Kyle. Not enough for Anthony. Hell, I wasn't even enough for my own damn mother. Why didn't anyone want me? Why did the world treat me like I was nothing?

I lay back on my bed. I take deep breaths and try and slow my heart rate. I look up to my ceiling and see a little spider making a web.

"What is wrong with me?" I whisper. What if I try to do this for what it is, just sex. If he doesn't have any emotions involved, why should I? He pretended he was coming here to talk, but it's three in the morning. People don't come to talk at three in the morning. He's coming here to have sex with me and then leave. What if I do this just for the sex? It doesn't have to be about missing him or missing his body or missing his smell or missing his presence—it can be simple. But can I do that? Can I remove all emotions? Sex has never been simple to me, it's been a complex bond between someone I respect, love.

Do I want to start down this track? What if it is the only way I can keep seeing Kyle without it hurting me? I need to see Kyle. I don't think I could go on without him in my life somehow. That's sounds dramatic, but he's been my best friend for so long. He's been my partner for so long. How do I forget all of that?

I can do this. I can keep it simple. I can have sex and that be it. No emotions involved. Just sex.

I climb down my small set of stairs, essentially a ladder up to my bed. All of the laundry in one pile was a start, but I still have some cleaning to do. My sink and counter have every inch of them covered with dishes. I don't have a dishwasher and hand washing them lately has truly been a chore. And I have skipped out on all chores.

I look into the sink, I see mold starting to grow. The smell is atrocious, the food so rotten, I can't even tell what it is anymore. There's not even any space to wash and rinse the dishes. I pull each one out and set it aside, piled up amongst the others on the counter. Once I have the sink cleared, I begin. I scrub each dish and immediately put it into my cupboard, wet.

It's therapeutic. I haven't had a clean house in months. With each dish I wash, the more empowered I feel. A clean house might be a start to healing. And not being so stuck on Kyle could be the next. And emotionless sex could be six steps backwards to my two steps forward, or maybe it'll help me feel even more empowered. Who knows. Maybe I'll at least start not feeling so god damned depressed.

Dishes done. Now I wipe my counters off. They're stained with leftover food. I move to my kitchen table. Make a pile off my unopened mail and wipe that table off as well. I do a quick sweep of the floor and that all seems clean enough.

I walk into my bathroom and try and quickly fix my face before he gets here. I look at myself in the mirror. I have black streams of makeup streaming down my cheeks all the way down to my neck. The black goes across my eyes, over my nose, all the way to my temples. That must have happened as I wiped my tears away. I look scary.

After a night of drinking and then coming home and crying, I guess not much beauty could be expected. I grab a rag and run warm water over it and wipe off all of my makeup to start fresh. I have circles under my eyes and the sclera of my eyes are red. My skin used to have a young glow to it, but now seems dim and oily. I've been drinking too much and not getting enough sleep.

I put some eye drops in my eyes, that will cure my redness. I grab my foundation and cover my entire face. That will cure the dark circles. I skip my eyeshadow and put on just eyeliner in a little wing. Add some bronzer to make me look human and some blush to give some color to my cheeks. Lastly, I pile on my mascara. I look alive again, not like a character from a scary movie coming to haunt a family.

Simple. Not too much effort. I am still wearing what I had on at the club. A tight dress that hugs my figure, showing off my boobs and butt. I grab my heals and head over to my couch to put them back on.

I grab my phone. It's been a couple hours since he said he would be coming over. Maybe he was just messing with me. Maybe he was just getting my hopes up. I feel a weight in my chest and try to gulp it away. No emotions towards him. This was just sex.

But I want to text him. I want to ask him if he's still coming. I don't want to seem like I care though. I don't care.

I hate him.

Why did I think things would be different? I'm always last on his priority list. He probably found a better girl to hang out with: prettier, more fun, skinnier.

'Want to talk?' I should have known he didn't care about me. He just said that to get to me, get in my head, play more games. I hear a knock at my door. I go running towards it. I slow myself at the door, take a breath and try to calm myself. No emotions, be cool.

"Hey you," I say with a seductive smile as I open the door.

"Hello beautiful," he replies as his face fills with a full smile.

God, I love him.

***Author's Note***

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