Cupcakes at Midnight

Chapter 9

Late in the day, I pick up my phone to text Ivy and discover Ava texted me earlier in the day. She wanted to apologize for falling asleep on me, and I tuck a thousand jokes about her falling asleep on me back into my brain, because they aren't welcome here.

It's fine.

It's the most I can do, the most I can offer her in terms of absolving her sins in this moment. I'm back to being sad about things, and I realize that I have to take some time to really sort shit out before I can hang out with her again.

I pack my gym bag that night, and make a pact with myself that I'm going to drag my ass there, come hell or high water. I know it makes me feel better about myself, and it makes me feel in control of my body and what it's doing. Something I realized a long time ago about myself was that I often felt like someone else was pulling the marionette strings of my life. Cindy and I worked hard through a combination of techniques and I learned to regulate myelf, which included a lot of direct work about controlling my physical body. It's so strange and fucked up what abuse can do to a brain, but I'd been set on undoing all of that, and then some. It took time and hard work, but I got to a point where I was doing well... I'd just slipped away from that. Cindy had warned me that was going to happen. I'd been so skeptical at the time, convinced I found all of the secrets and was ready to master them all.

I make a list and a plan of what I want to start doing better; a few years ago, it would have been a list of all the things I was constantly fucking up. Now, it's a list of things I want to improve on, to make my life easier and make my brain happier. A list of commitments I owe myself. A list of ways I intend to love myself.

I text Ivy. Pack your bag, bitch. See you at the gym, 7AM. No excuses. xo

Then, I put my phone into my bag. I intend to leave it there for the rest of the night, forgotten but itching at my skin. It's distracting and annoying how I'm used to having it in my hand. I want to let it go, release it, free myself. Easier said than done. I check it a few times, but try not to be upset with myself. I'm allowed to change my plans and get to my destination on any route that gets me there safely.

This route just requires a little more technology than I'd planned for the moment, and that's okay too.

I finally fall into bed well past my intended time, having cleaned the bathrooms and done some other much needed anxiety induced deep cleaning. It felt good to have that done, but avoiding the feelings was something I could only do for so long.

Instead of wallowing in them, or even really acknowledging them, I open my bedside drawer and grab my favorite battery-operated friend.

"Hello, lover."

There's no rush, no immediate need to be doing anything else, so I take my time. I build the whole scene behind my closed eyes before I even touch myself. I'm wearing a beautiful dress, smaller than I could realistically fit into, but it looks amazing on me. I feel good about myself. My curves pop in the right ways as I stand in the restaurant, waiting for her. My heels magically don't hurt, and my makeup didn't take me hours to get semi-correct; it's flawless. My hair is up, not a stray strand in sight.

She sees me and is taken aback for a brief moment. It's as if we're the only two people in the room. She walks to me, her soft fingers trailing down my arms as we let go from our embrace, and then takes my hand in hers, smiling. She's proud of me. Proud to be with me.

We talk through our dinner, a seductive combination of eating and feeding each other.

I can't wait to get home, she says.

I know what she means, what the intent behind every word is. I know that by home, she means the warm place we share. The idea thrills me, even though in the past it's been a combination of manipulation and deceit; I believe there will be a time when it doesn't.