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Delilah
“You know I never liked him. I always thought he seemed like the kind of guy that would sell cigarettes to middle-schoolers,” Regan says while absently stirring two spoonful’s of sugar into her coffee.
“Yeah, you’ve said that before. I don’t know, I knew he wasn’t the kind of guy that my parents would fall in love with, but I didn’t think he would be capable ofthis,” I reply, checking my phone obsessively for the fifth time since Regan got home.
“Really? You didn’t see him staring at literally every single woman’s ass at your birthday party last year?” she replies with skepticism and a hint of pettiness.
“Of course I noticed, but... I mean, that’s normal. Guys look at other girls. It’s natural. As long as they don’t cheat, who cares?”
“Delilah, hedidcheat,” she says flatly.
She’s right, and that’s why it hurts so badly. A week ago, I caught my boyfriend Elliot texting nudes to an unknown number. He’d left his phone out on the table while he was showering, and I had a gut feeling that there was something I needed to see. I looked through his messages and found tons and tons of sexual texts dating back months prior.
Of course, there was no fighting the fact that he was cheating on me, and my stomach dropped to the floor the second I realized it, but the phone number didn’t have a name listed. I tried searching for it all over the internet, and I couldn’t find who it was registered to. All I know is that it’s local.
There’s a list of women that I assume Elliot could’ve cheated on me with. I have a list of women that I’ve been keeping close tabs on, ones who would be likely to home wreck because they either don’t know me well enough or don’t care about me at all.
They’re Elliot’s friends, not mine. Even after we started dating, he kept them from his old college when he dropped out to pursue his dream of opening a microbrewery. I thought the idea was stupid, but there were at least two female friends of his who would constantly congratulate him for how ambitious he was even though he never actually did anything.
One girl, in particular, Aimee, confessed during a drunken tirade over dinner that she used to have feelings for Elliot when they were in school together. Of course, it was one thousand times more uncomfortable and awkward than she thought it was. In her mind, she was in a Drew Barrymore movie, and she was about to object at the wedding of her star-crossed lover.
I kicked her out, and he never said anything about it ever again.
“What if she’s like, forty or something? Would you still feel bad?” Regan asks, taking a sip of her coffee and making a face. She reaches for the sugar bowl again, and I fight the compulsion to take it away from her.
“I’d still feel shitty about it, obviously. I mean, it would seem weird to me, but I feel like it would be worse if it was some young girl who was cuter or hotter or more fun than me,” I reply, feeling that sinking feeling in my chest that I still haven’t grown used to.
“Whatever, we’re going to get your mind off it,” she chirps, dumping two additional spoons of sugar into her coffee. I try not to make a face as she stirs it and sips it, finally deciding that she’s reached the proper ratio of bitterness to sweetness. Seeing the way she’s been eating lately, I’m shocked she isn’t closer to six hundred pounds.
“How are we going to do that? It’s all I’ve been thinking about. I can’t even focus at work. It’s beenconsumingme,” I reply.
She gives me a sympathetic look, one of the dozen I’ve already received today. “There’s a new club opening downtown tonight. We should go there and try to find you someone better.”
“Regan, I’m still dating Elliot. Obviously, I need to confront him about this, but... what if we can just work it out? What if it makes our relationship stronger?” I say, bracing for a harsh response.
Harsh response achieved.
“What the fuck, Delilah? You sound like a little dick-whipped bitch when you talk like that. You’re going to let him play in your face like that, and you’re already considering forgiving him? No way,” Regan snarls.
I know she’s right, and it embarrasses me that I’d even consider being so weak. The problem is that I haven’t been on my own without Elliot in three years. Even if he’s a shitty boyfriend who forgets my birthday and doesn’t remember any of my allergies, he still helps me feel safe at night.
“I’ve never been in this situation before! Cut me some slack, please?” I beg.
“Nope! Absolutely not. We’re going to go to the new club, get sloppy and wasted, and take tons of pictures with strangers who would make Elliot shit himself with jealousy. Even if we never see them again, you’ll come out on top. We need to make him feel the way he’s made you feel,” she says, downing the rest of her coffee and immediately getting up for another one.
“Don’t you have a heart condition?” I ask.
“Yeah, why? Don’t change the subject.”
I sigh. “It’s just that… I don’t know. It seems drastic.”
Her laughter is laced with bitterness. “Believe me. Shit like this calls for drastic actions.”
I shrug. It’s impossible to argue with her.
“Anyway, we have to make sure you wear something really sexy. Like, something downright inappropriate,” she continues, and I can see her creating her ideal vision of the night behind her large, glassy eyes.
