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I had no one. I was an only child and I had never been great at making friends. I’d always been the type of kid to have friends at school but we did our own thing on the weekends. And by my own thing, I meant solitarily studying because I was determined. My plan of getting into a prestigious law school had directed my every action from the time I was twelve. And I’d let that take precedence over everything, including actually having a childhood. Then came college, where I’d studied even harder. My roommates thought I was lame and ignored me after I turned down a few invitations to parties. But in law school I’d met Shawna, and she’d been the one exception. She’d understood my drive and instead of treating me like I was crazy, she’d studied by my side. She’d been my one friend.
But then I’d lost her too, along with my parents. How many times in the history of the world had any daughter had her own parents choose her ex-husband over her in a divorce? Not many, I’d wager. I tried to joke that it made me special. But what it really made me was completely unwanted. I’d lost my husband, best friend, and parents all in one fell swoop. But even after losing what had felt like everything, I couldn’t truly regret my divorce. No, it had helped me to see the true colors of those who had said they’d loved me.
But the decision I couldn’t help but regret was getting married in the first place. Not because I would still have Shawna and my parents if I hadn’t married. It was a good thing they were out of my life, even if losing them at the same time had nearly broken me. But I wished I’d never gotten married so that I could have more faith in myself. So that the little voice which second guessed my every decision could finally disappear. I’d known this marriage was wrong long before we’d said ‘I do.’ My ex had begun belittling me and my decisions way before he’d ever asked me to marry him. But I’d ignored those signs, insisting that he had so many other amazing qualities and that he probably didn’t even realize he was hurting me. But he’d known. The entire time.
I shook away the thoughts of my past life, frustrated that I’d let them bleed into my present decisions. I was fine now. Maybe even bordering on happy some days.
The girls beside me squealed and I realized a new song had come on. That was my cue to move along. A woman alone at a club wasn’t a common sight, but people didn’t notice too much as long as I kept moving. I’m sure they assumed my boyfriend was in the bathroom or that I’d taken a break, leaving my friends on the dance floor.
So I followed the girls, giddy about their song, onto the dance floor.
Once the three of them stopped to dance, I moved on. I wasn’t worried about them. As I’d sat near them I noticed one of them skipping a few rounds so that she could stay somewhat sober while the other two drank. She complained about her designated position but she’d done it because it was her turn. They all switched off being the aware one, watching the others’ backs so they wouldn’t be taken advantage of. Smart girls. I wouldn’t have nearly as many reasons to come to these clubs if all girls thought like they did.
I began to dance, looking like I could possibly be a part of any of the groups around me while staying far enough away from any one group to avoid alerting them to my presence. It was a fine line, but again, it was easier to walk while those around me were under the influence.
Yet the one problem I always came up against when I was solo showed itself nearly immediately. A guy with dark hair and a gray button-up made a beeline toward me.
I knew what he saw. A woman who’d broken away from the pack. Possibly drunk, maybe even looking for a good time. Thankfully I wasn’t either of those things. He’d be disappointed if he thought he was getting anywhere with me that night but I didn’t push him away. Keeping this one close would stop others from bothering me.
He didn’t ask me to dance. These guys never did. He just began swaying beside me as if it were his right to move into my private space.
But I let him dance with me because he wasn’t touching me and because it continued to help my cover. I’d use him the same way he was using me.
Because he was definitely using me. He liked what dancing with me represented, what it said to the world around us—that he was man enough to dance with a woman like me.
A woman like me. I let that thought tumble through my mind. I wasn’t blind to the fact that I was an attractive woman. At least some people found me so. I was tall, too tall for some, but I wore my height with confidence. I was thin and somewhat graceful; I knew how to carry myself without looking like a newborn giraffe. My hair was long and a striking color. I had a couple of curves. Nothing like Ella, but I wasn’t completely without them. My eyes were a mix of green, brown, and sometimes yellow that some called hazel and others just called strange. All in all, it worked for me, for the most part. I knew I had nothing to complain about, at least in the looks department.
But that was actually part of my problem. Sometimes I wish I could give my “good looks” away. Because attractive people weren’t allowed to have issues. At least that was what my best friend had said to me when I found out she’d been sleeping with my husband.
You wallow in self-pity and no one cares. Look in the mirror, Nadia. You have nothing to complain about! And yet you act as if you’ve been injured in some terrible way.
I didn’t understand what my appearance had to do with anything. Could a husband not abuse a pretty wife? Yet she’d railed at me, even though she was the one in the wrong. I’d told her what he’d done to me. He’d spoken cruelly, thrown things at me that had barely missed, screamed right in my face, and finally yanked my hair. That was the last straw. She’d seen how hard it was to leave. And yet my best friend, who knew all of this, had betrayed me. Did she not believe me, or think that he wouldn’t do the same to her? I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it.
You think you’re too good for this world. That’s the problem, Nadia. You walk around acting like your poop doesn’t stink and let me tell you, from someone who knows, it does. He deserves better than you. And now he has me.
I’d walked away, wondering if she believed that I was the problem. Questioning whether he would have hurt me if I hadn’t done something wrong. Or maybe she truly did believe I’d made it all up. But I’d had enough of my own doubts without adding hers. I finally accepted that she wasn’t going to show any remorse for what she’d done, the one thing I’d been hoping for. If she had, I would have forgiven her. She’d been my best friend longer than I’d known my husband and losing her was in some ways worse than losing him. I think I’d hoped that walking away would knock some sense into her as she realized she was really losing me. But she’d never tried to contact me. Ever. Our friendship had died that day.
I had tried to call her once when I’d lost my parents and truly had no one. I had hoped she’d be there for me, even after her disloyalty. But thankfully she hadn’t responded. I was able to pick myself up after that moment of weakness and promised myself I’d never make that mistake again. I didn’t need any of them.
My parents’ betrayal hit me the hardest. I’d finally worked up the nerve to explain everything after my marriage had ended. I knew they’d be heartbroken. They’d loved my ex-husband. Actually, what they really loved were the monthly payments he’d sent them ever since our wedding. My parents had never been very well off and my ex had allowed them to live a life of luxury. That was partly why it had taken me so long to divorce him. How could a man do something so sweet if he didn’t truly love me? And what would happen to my family if I left him? But I had to tell them. I had already moved out and they’d find out soon enough. So I’d started from the beginning and told them all. And then after my stories of fear and grief they’d looked me in my red, tear-filled eyes and had told me to try and win my husband back. That I’d never find someone better. To them his money was a reason to overlook everything that had happened. My mom had even said,a few bruises are worth it in the long run.
My stomach had twisted and I’d nearly thrown up right there in their living room. I realized then and there that they were willing to do anything to keep the money flowing. My parents were willing to sacrifice my safety and security for their comfort.
What almost made it worse was that I’d just been hired at a prestigious law firm. I could have taken over caring for their needs. But they didn’t want to chance that. What if I didn’t succeed at my job? They preferred to take the handout that was already in their laps, no matter the cost to their daughter.
And maybe that was why I was in that club that night. How many women in this very room had been treated the same way I had by those they loved? I ached for them. I knew that even as they tried to move on, as I tried to move on, it was almost impossible not to think of myself as the trash I’d been told I was.
Encouraged by his seeming success, the guy dancing with me started to move in closer. He reached toward my waist but I sidestepped his arm. Then he attempted to move his legs closer to mine. Thankfully the guy was drunk and clumsy and I was neither.
Even as he tried to rub against me, his eyes strayed to the woman dancing beside us. She wore a tiny, tight dress that barely covered her voluptuous bottom, something I would never have. She was gorgeous as she swayed seductively in her partner’s arms. My guy’s eyes greedily drank up her curves, but he stayed close to me. Trying to use me as a replacement? I didn’t know.
I walked away without a backward glance. The guy couldn’t even yell after me because he hadn’t bothered to ask my name.
This was the issue with prettiness. It was subjective. Sometimes you’d have it, sometimes you wouldn’t. Maybe the guy dancing with me had thought I was good enough, at least for the time being, but I didn’t want to be anyone’s good enough. Although I had a feeling that was all I would ever be.
Even if some poor sap was truly blinded by my beauty, then he’d get to know me. And my personality wouldn’t measure up. I couldn’t stay on that pedestal he’d built on his infatuation with my looks.
So I’d learned to keep my distance . . . from everyone, even from the Aurora’s girls I’d give my life for. Because although I’d take a bullet for any of them in a flash, I would always doubt whether they’d do the same for me. I wasn’t bitter, because I wasn’t sure I was worth saving. And though that didn’t keep me from being a decent teammate, it did make me a terrible friend. Each and every one of those girls deserved better than me.
