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12
I had never flown first class before. The wider seats… the extra attention and courtesy from the airline attendants… the comfort… the glass of champagne they brought me before anybody else had even begun to board…
It all distracted me for about five minutes.
But as the people filed past, and the plane taxied to the runway, and then took off, I slipped further and further into a quiet depression. Ryan tried talking to me in the beginning, but eventually saw I needed to be alone with my thoughts… and so he let me go.
There was a movie I once saw called
Kiss Of The Spider Woman.
It was about a couple of prisoners in a South American jail cell. One line I particularly loved was from William Hurt, who played a gay man imprisoned for his sexuality. It went something like this:
The most wonderful thing about being happy is that you think you’ll never be unhappy again.
I love that quote, because it’s so true. When you’re truly happy, everything is bliss – and always will be. You’re absolutely
sure
of that fact deep down in your bones.
But there’s a flip side to it as well:
The most horrible thing about being unhappy is that it feels like you’ll never be happy again.
And on that plane flight, I felt like I would never,
ever
be happy again.
I had fallen into a deep, dark hole. I was alone, and miserable, and would always, always hurt so bad that I wanted to die.
Ryan had helped. He had helped tremendously. But he couldn’t stop the bleeding. He could only soothe me a little bit, distract me for a moment… but my life was seeping away from me, second by second, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
That’s what it felt like, anyway. Like I was dying from the jagged edge of pain that was slowly tearing its way through my heart.
As the plane soared into the sky and I stared out at the kingdom of clouds beneath us, I replayed all of the events in my mind, like a movie on repeat, with one word echoing over and over again on the soundtrack:
Idiot.
Idiot.
IDIOT.
I had known. I had known from the very beginning that this was going to happen, and I had walked into the trap anyway.
I knew from the first time I met Derek that he was a womanizer. Four years ago, back when I was in college and he was a struggling wannabe, he had still had sex with dozens and dozens of women. I
knew
that. That was one of the biggest reasons I didn’t sleep with him then. Because I didn’t want to wind up as another notch on his bedpost.
I had held back from sleeping with him when I came to LA because of that very reason. I knew what he was. I knew what he did.
And I gave in anyway.
But I didn’t just give in; I
plunged
in. I gave away my heart without question. I let myself fall in love totally and completely, and after it started, never gave a single thought or worry for how vulnerable and defenseless I had become.
I remembered what I had told myself at the afterparty the night I kissed Derek, the night I totally gave myself over to being destroyed:
I realized what I had thrown away:
Happiness.
Or at least a shot at it.
That’s all it ever really is, isn’t it?
Just a shot.
No promises.
Just maybe… MAYBE… a chance.
What a crock of shit.
The way I felt now, I would have given
anything
to go back in time and punch myself in the face and yell, “Don’t
do
it, you IDIOT!”
But like the stupid little frog that I was, I had opened myself to the scorpion… and he had stabbed me through the heart in return.
Maybe not literally, but it
felt
like he had taken a knife and plunged it all the way through my chest.
I
felt
dead. And that was all that mattered.
What was crazy was, even after I’d let myself fall for him, I had every warning in the fucking world!
Shanna had told me.
You know his past. Do you really think he’s going to change his spots just because of you?
Guys like Derek Kane don’t change everything about themselves like that. They might say it, and they might mean it, and they might actually follow through for awhile… but… in the end… Derek’s Derek. He is who he is: a player.
You’re thinking you’ll be the long-distance girlfriend of a guy who’s slept with way more people than I have, which is saying something. And you think he’ll be loyal, and faithful, and never ever step out with one of the supermodels on the Sports Illustrated bathing suit cover who’s throwing herself at him.
A warning clear as day. A giant fucking red flag slapping me upside the face.
Even if I was going to continue to be stupid, I should have heeded her advice:
Have a good time. Get your rocks off. Not fall head over heels in love and expect a future full of roses and ponies.
Enjoy the ride. Enjoy the hell out of it. And then… come back to reality, babe. ‘Cause wherever your head is right now, reality ain’t it.
Nope.
