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And they’d taken and taken, and I’d loved every second of it.
I’ve since spent my time taking long walks around Christy’s complex, trying to pinpoint where I went wrong, and all of it came back down to the beginning, accepting the invitation from Sean the day I met him.
I’d been played up until the last second. Up until they’d shown me just how much.
I don’t know how I expected it all to end, but certainly not like that. If I’m honest with myself, I didn’t see myself picking one over the other, even if presented with the choice. But they’d even taken that away from me.
They tossed me aside like trash. And I’d asked for it. By pining for them both, by letting them between my legs, into my psyche, and my heart.
Christy still has no idea what to say to me. I’ve shared a large part of the relationship details with her, leaving the hood business aside. She’d eaten the details up like it was the most fascinating story, but if I look too close, I can see a little of her condemnation. And I can’t blame her for it. I understand it. I’ve done enough of that to myself to last a lifetime.
I just wish I could regret it.
But the truth is, I can’t. And the sickest part? I still want them. I still love them.
I’m disgusted with myself. How have I become this depraved?
Daily, I still crave their attention, their affection, their strong arms, their kisses, their quirks. I’ve memorized them. But it’s the fresh memory of those seconds I spent in that garage that keeps me outraged.
Between the cloudy haze of my despair, there’s a silver lining. Something is building inside of me that overrules any of these foolish emotions, and it’s the need for retribution, revenge. And if given a chance, I’m determined to take it.
Whether they admit it or not, those men did care for me. For whatever reason they decided to cut ties, cut me, their affection was far too convincing to be completely contrived.
Even if it played out in the cruelest of ways, that affection wasn’t a figment of my fucking imagination. They’d confided in me, treated me with the utmost care. It couldn’t all be a lie. If so, I’ll truly be lost.
Something happened.
Something had to have happened to make them carry out a plan so brutal. Even if Dominic is capable of that type of malice, of masking his feelings so well, which I know he is, Sean is not.
But he deserves just as much of my wrath because he let it happen.
It might not have been love for either of them, but it was something more than sex. Even so, their actions are unforgivable.
For the first time in my life, I take comfort in the fact that I am my father’s daughter. Some part of me is capable of being just as callous, just as reptilian as he is. If I have to channel the blood I continually deny, continually curse, that now runs cold in my veins to become something other than a dangling and bleeding heart, so be it.
“What’s that look?” Christy asks me as I stare unseeing at a little girl playing on the steps of the apartment pool. We’ve been out here for the last few days soaking up the last of the summer sun. The little girl squeals in delight as her mother kneels next to her, reapplying sunscreen on her arms.
I remember playing a game with myself when I was her age, a dangerous game. I often played alone, while my mother was busy entertaining friends or whatever boyfriend joined us that day. I’d dared myself to swim out farther and farther away from safety and eventually found myself in the deep end, over my head and alone, bailing myself out while no one noticed I was drowning. And I’d done it. A second before I knew I was going underwater for the last time; I’d kicked my feet so hard I ended up hitting my head on the lip of the pool. Just before everything went black, I found purchase with my palms on the concrete and pulled myself up to safety before sobbing, hysterical with relief. That’s when my mother finally noticed. I got hugged, and then spanked, hard.
Even when I was a kid, I always had a sick fascination with the deep end, with putting myself at risk. The sickness that resides inside me isn’t new. But I’d let it out, and in Sean’s words, I’d made peace with the devil inside. I let that devil rule me for one summer, and it was just as reckless with my well-being.
This is that time, where I can sink or sob in relief. It’s time to kick and pull myself out of it. But it’s my heart, my memories, my lingering sickness that weighs me down, threatening any sign of progress, leaving me helpless in the deep end.
Time to kick, Cecelia.
“Cee?” Christy prompts as I keep my eyes on the little girl, splashing around before leaping off the step and into the safety of her mother’s arms.
“I’m thinking it’s not okay. I’m thinking…” I need to find that concrete. At the same time, I’m thinking I need to kill the curious part of that little girl, so this never happens again. I don’t credit myself much for the life I’ve lived, but maybe I should. I survived raising an adolescent and slightly neglectful mother. I put myself through school, kept my head above water without supervision. I’ve made it this far on my own without the true guidance of the people I was supposed to count on, and I did a damned good job of it, up until a few months ago. I made it through nineteen years of kicking, and I’ll make it nineteen more. With new resolve I turn towards my best friend. “I’m thinking I forgot who the fuck I am.”
“Atta girl,” she says. “Had me worried there for a minute. What are you going to do?”
“For myself, move on. To them? I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But revenge is a dish best served cold. I’ll know it when I see it. For now, it’s about getting my head straight. I don’t completely trust Karma, so if I’m ever in the position, I’ll make sure she delivers.”
“Damn, to be a fly on the wall,” she says, “you’ve got this, baby.”
All I can do is nod.
Christy twists from the cheap plastic lounger, planting her long legs on the deck between us before reaching for my hand, her light brown eyes full of empathy. She’s a beautiful girl, my best friend. Medium-length, wavy brown hair, an athletic build, soft, full features. Seeing her after taking that sledgehammer to the chest made breathing possible when she met me at my car in the late hours of morning, arms wide open. “I don’t blame you, Cecelia. I might not fully understand it. And I’m telling you now, I can’t say I wouldn’t do it myself, but God, girl, two men? I can’t even pretend to imagine what it would be like.”
