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“I want to know right now. Have you ever fucked a stripper?”
“Of course I’ve fucked a stripper!”
“When you were with me?”
Steven’s jaw tightened. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“You piece of shit. All this time I’ve been worrying that something is wrong with me. But it’s not me. I look good. I’m fuckable. I’ve got great tits and I… I fucking hate you.”
“Fuck this,” Steven said. “Goodnight. Psycho.”
He turned and retreated his steps.
Shoes back on.
Grabbing his wallet and keys.
Out the door.
I was too drunk and angry to cry.
There was also no way I was staying in this apartment tonight either.
The sense of…tears? Heartbreak? Annoyance at wasting so much time?
It hit me when I curled up on the couch in my office.
Could I have called Bethany?
Sure.
She would have taken me right in.
But she would have drove me nuts for information.
I just needed to be alone.
Actually I hated to be alone.
As the booze wore off, I thought about Steven more and more.
So many signs over so much time.
We were just together for the image.
To tell people we were together.
To say we met in college and stuck it through.
I was the one that looked good in a dress and hung off his arm during a fancy dinner party.
I was the one that never batted an eye when he drank too much at those parties, then said and did dumb things.
I played a part for him without even realizing it.
My sense of annoyance and anger, all that went away.
I sat up on the couch and felt dumb.
