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“That does sound stressful,” Willy empathized, sounding exactly like the sympathetic therapist I wished I’d been lucky enough to encounter. “Do you mind if I ask the obvious question?”
Reluctantly I nodded, granting him permission to continue.
“If you know that you won’t be into ‘it’, then why are you trying so hard to force yourself to go through with it? There’s nothing shameful about not having a desire to be sexual.”
I audibly sighed. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“You paid for the whole night. And somehow, I just don’t get the vibe you want to indulge in the other services I offer. We have all the time you need, if you want to get something off your chest?” Willy offered, his tone carrying an assurance that whatever I decided, it would be okay.
The floodgates opened before I could fully process what I was divulging. I spilled everything: my shitty childhood, the brief few hours I was homeless, my whirlwind romance and subsequent marriage, and the heart-wrenching betrayal by my husband just months later. I confessed my complex relationship with my own sexuality and, above all, my agonizing inability to move on. Tears streamed down my face as I poured out my soul, revealing the unwavering depths of my love for Gray and the torment of knowing he would never return it. “I live in constant fear that one day I’m going to open up my mail and the divorce papers will be there. I guess, for some reason, my illogical brain has decided that if we’re still married, then it isn’t really over,” I confessed, voicing my deepest fear aloud for the first time.
“So, yeah. I need to get him out of my head. It’s fucking killing me, slowly eating me from the inside. I feel like an empty shell, and I hoped that if I could make myself sleep with someone else, I could convince myself that I’m not really as broken as I know I am.”
My revelations had managed to momentarily stun Willy into silence, an achievement I’d first thought impossible. Not that I blamed him—what could he possibly say to someone hopelessly in love with their estranged high school savior turned husband, who had cast them aside like dirt?
“Pathetic, isn’t it?” I attempted to lighten the mood with self-deprecation.
“It’s a lot of things, honey, but pathetic isn’t one of them,” Willy countered, his gentle touch on my forearm attempting to convey reassurance.
“Well, what would you call it then?” I snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface.
Willy leveled me with a look that cut through my defensive facade, unmasking my bullshit attempt to push away anyone who dared to get close to me. “Well, I could delve into discussions about trauma bonding and insecure attachment styles, but I figure if you wanted to be psycho-analyzed, you would have sought out a psychologist instead of a hooker. So, here’s how I see it,” he began, his words carrying a weight of understanding born from his own experiences.
“Grayson was a hugely significant part of your life. He gave you everything you ever wanted, and you were at your happiest when you were together. Of course you still love him. That’s a totally valid feeling. But I also think you’re struggling to accept the finality of your break u—”
“I’m not naive!” I interjected, barely able to contain my frustration. “I know we’re never getting back together.
“Of course not, at least not consciously. But there’s a subconscious part of your brain that is holding onto the relationship, because you never really got any closure,” Willy continued, his voice calm and measured. “From what you’ve shared, the suddenness of the breakup is what is causing these lingering barriers. You went from happy and in love, to blindsided in the blink of an eye without any real explanation as to what had changed for him. So your brain keeps inventing different scenarios as to why. Sometimes you might believe it was a complete misunderstanding, and so if you wait for him, eventually he’ll come back. Other times you might convince yourself that you were the problem, and that if you mold yourself into the perfect partner, he’ll realize his mistake and take you back. And I’m telling you Colt, while these reactions are normal, they aren’t healthy. You’re only hurting yourself in the long run.”
“That’s all well and good that you seem to have dissected my entire psyche, but what’s your fucking suggestion to fix me?” I retorted, my frustration boiling over. “If you don’t have any helpful suggestions, you might as well leave,” I declared, turning my back and pacing in an attempt to quell the storm of emotions within me. My hands ached for my guitar, the only solace I’d found to tame my inner turmoil.
“Believe it or not, but you and I have more in common than you might think. So, I’m taking it upon myself to be your newly appointed emotional support whore,” he said with a grin.
I choked. “My what?”
“Emotional support whore. Catchy, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m making it my new mission in life to help you through your emotional issues in a healthier way than paying randoms for sex.”
I rolled my eyes, although internally I’d already accepted that Willy would be a part of my life going forward. “Can’t wait to hear how you plan to manage that,” I retorted, my tone laced with sarcasm.
“Well, since most of your issues seem to be based on a fear of abandonment, we’re going to start with building your ability to rely on me. In a platonic way, of course. I want to help ease you back into intimacy. So first, if you’ll let me, I’d like to give you a hug,” Willy explained, taking slow steps towards me, as though approaching a timid animal that might bolt at any moment.
When I didn’t move out of his reach, Willy tentatively wrapped me in his arms and squeezed me tight. I stiffened, discomfort surging through me at the sensation of being touched. It dredged up too many memories of myself in Gray’s arms, the comfort and safety I’d felt in those moments now a distant memory.
But the longer Willy hugged me, the better it felt. I realized this was what my body was craving, what I’d desperately missed. It felt so good that tears welled behind my closed eyelids.
For the entire night, I remained cocooned in the comforting embrace of Willy’s arms. And with his encouragement, I finally began mourning the loss of my love, rather than desperately clinging onto the hope he’d somehow return. I released the pent-up anguish until there were no tears left to shed. As morning dawned, Willy greeted me with a gentle smile and suggested we go for breakfast, perhaps accompanied by mimosas—because apparently, stage two of moving on involved cocktails. Or mocktails, as Willy happily pivoted when I informed him I didn’t drink.
Nothing had fundamentally changed. Yet, for the first time in two years, six weeks, and four days, a glimmer of hope flickered within me. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t always feel so irreparably broken.
23. “Trastevere”
Colt
She’s gone. Just like that. She’s gone and she never said it to my face, but she died so fucking disappointed in me for what I did to you. Im so sorry you never got to say goobdye to her - you were always her favorite after all. King brang the flowers you sent - I no she would have loved for you to come but she'd understand why you didnt.
I dont know how to see the good in the world anymore baby. Those asshole kids of hers herd her diagnosis and they only cared about how it would inconvenence them. They shipped her off to a nursing home and let her die surrounbed by strangers. She didnt want that but couldnt say no. Those assholes never once visited before then, now they dont no the amazing woman they lost.
I hate them for doing that to her. Put the irony is, Im just like them. I had the best person in the world rihgt in front of me and I gave you up without a fight. Maybee we wouldn’t have lasted, maybee I was right and you would have resented me. But I’ll never stop wishing I at least tried.
