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But love changes you. No matter how strong you are, it makes you stronger. No matter how weak you are, it makes you weaker. No matter how hard you are to conquer, it will bring you to your knees.
A part of me held onto a small bit of denial. For days I held onto it. I couldn't get out of bed, but I held on. It couldn't be real.
It had been Dante's voice, but it hadn't been him. An imposter had broken me. Somehow Dante would make it right.
I was holding onto that delusion for dear life when I started receiving the texts. One after another. The first was only words, short and to the point.
This is Tiffany. Dante and I are getting married. Just thought you should know before it's announced publicly. He would like Gram's ring back.
I was still staring at that bit of evil when the next message came in.
Oh and I thought you should see these. Enjoy.
What followed was a furious flow of picture texts, one after the other, all showing roughly the same thing.
Him with her.
My God. Her? Tiffany?
Turns out it was right there in our foundation all along—the thing that would break us. Her?
The intimacy of it is what killed me.
He was supposed to be mine. Inarguably. Irrevocably. Every part of him, inside and out, belonged to me.
I'd never seen him so much as touch another girl's hand, and there he was, in picture after picture.
Sprawled on his back, being straddled, hands on her slender, naked hips.
That's what felt like the biggest betrayal, that he'd hidden it so thoroughly from me, this other side of him.
That his devotion to me could be nothing but a lie.
And just like that, the delusions, the denial, were gone.
I won't deny it. Those pictures broke me, took something precious inside of me, and left a hollow shell behind.
I did some terrible things after. Unforgivable things. Because I was lost, broken, and afraid.
Nate was just too easy of a mark. Too convenient. Too perfect for my purpose; which was, of course, revenge.
He came to me, flew all the way out to L.A. just to comfort me.
I let him, or at least let him try, let him go through the motions, hugging me, holding me, whispering reassurances.
I let him think he seduced me. I let him think that I wanted him back, as much as he wanted me, that I cared, that I was even capable of feeling, that anything he said or did or felt got through to me.
Nothing did, but I must have faked it convincingly enough.
I let him think that I loved him. I let him think that I would marry him.
I did it all for one reason. An obvious, vengeful one.
Nate was in the shower when I intercepted a call for him from Dante.
I was feeling particularly hateful when I answered it with a purring, "Hello, Dante."
Silence on the other end.
