Me: Don’t laugh at me.
I still feared his reaction.
Bryan: Already promised that too, honey. :p
My stomach clenched as I read his last word. I knew a lot of southern men called people honey, sweetie, baby, and a few other choice nicknames without meaning anything by them, but when he called me honey, or baby as he did earlier, it did something to my insides. I melted. The phrase sex on a stick had been made for him.
Fingers shaking over the keyboard, I swallowed hard in an effort to quench my parched throat. I couldn’t decide if my throat felt dry from fear, or from his endearment. Maybe a little of both, but either way, I downplayed my reaction and mustered all the bravado I could.
Me: Whatever. I had a date tonight. I’m not sure if you remember or not, but I’m sick/disabled and have to use a cane or walker.
Bryan: I remember. The day we met at karaoke, you were using a walker. Mel said you were having a bad day and she made you come out with us anyway.
Me: Pretty much, but that wasn’t a really bad day. There are some days I can’t get out of bed because I’m too weak.
Bryan: Got it. And?
Me: So…guys don’t want damaged goods.
Bryan: WTF does that mean?
Me: It’s true.
His response didn’t come immediately, and I almost wondered if he’d decided to stop talking to me. I waited, and waited some more. Still nothing. Getting up to get a drink, I drank it slowly and refilled my glass before I came back to my computer to find that there was still no response. “Well, I guess that’s that,” I muttered to myself, feeling a little disappointed that I ran him off so easily.
Just as my fingers moved my mouse to hover over the “X” so I could close the Internet window, a distinctive ding stopped me from doing anything. Someone had messaged me. My eyes darted to the screen and scanned it quickly: Bryan. It had only taken him over ten minutes, but I guessed beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Actually, irritation oozed from my pores. I felt irritated at myself for wanting and waiting for his response, irritated at him for taking so long, and irritated that I actually found myself wanting to talk to him some more. Men were supposed to be the enemy!
Maybe he needed a taste of his own medicine.
Bryan: Sorry about that. My roommate started pounding on my door. He just got home and is fucked up drunk. LOL. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this.
Reading his response, I almost gave in. Lord knows I definitely considered it, however, I stood my ground. I refused to respond immediately and instead clenched my hands into fists so I didn’t give into the temptation of typing an answer.
Another ding filled the quietness, and my dog Curley leapt up from where he laid curled next to me and tilted his head to the side in an effort to figure out where the noise was coming from. He made me laugh.
Bryan: Emma?
I watched the clock allowing one more minute to pass before I allowed my fingers to return to the keyboard. But before I could type anything, another ding, and this time Curley whimpered at the noise. Patting his head, I snickered, “Don’t worry boy. The big bad Navy man in the computer can’t get you.” My eyes returned to the screen so I could read what he wrote.
Bryan: You there? I said sorry.
His almost begging words, pleading with me to respond to him made me giggle even more.
Me: Sorry about that. I was using the bathroom and got a drink. I didn’t realize you were back.
Bryan: Sure you didn’t. I know how you girls operate.
The sarcasm was thick with this one, and I laughed some more. It felt good to find humor in the small things and to forget about the bad, even if it was only for a mere moment.
Me: Do tell.
Bryan: We aren’t talking about me, we are talking about you right now.
I wished we were talking about him instead of me. The only person that knew how much the complete and utter dismissals bothered me, how much I hated the numerous changes in my life, was my best friend Gia. I think Mel had a clue, but only Gia knew the whole sordid story. We had been best friends since we were kids. She was the only person I told how much it cut when a guy wouldn’t give me a second glance for no other reason than I needed to use a cane or walker. I hated using them. I’m 29 and my life has been forever changed all because my body decided to turn on itself. One day I was perfectly fine and healthy, and overnight, I was in the hospital barely able to move and struggling to breathe. At least with the cane and walker, I could continue to be mobile without having to depend on someone else. That would have been even more degrading.
No, in truth it started before my body decided to abandon me. During the summer before I started college in the bedroom of my boyfriend. The panic welling up within me made me feel sick, and I had to push those memories away and bury them again. I didn’t want to think about that time in my life.
Taking yet another deep breath, I forced the embarrassment, hurt, and anger threatening to rise, down deep inside myself before I could answer him.
Me: Guys tend to see me and the last thing they want is to date someone like me.
Bryan: Why the fuck do you think that?
Me: Experience.
Bryan: Explain.
I supposed if I had resorted to using one word answers, I couldn’t get upset when he did the same thing.
Me: I’ve been sick for a little over 4 years. It happened about a month after I turned 25. The guy I was dating at the time couldn’t deal with me being sick, so he split. Since then, I’ve been on exactly 9 dates. 5 from dating sites and 4 from friends with “good intentions” that decided to hook me up with their friends thinking we would be perfect for each other. I’ve experienced anything from them politely staying through dinner, to my wonderful date tonight. Can you hear my sarcasm?
Bryan: What happened tonight?
Me: Tonight was my latest bad–I mean blind date. My lovely friend apparently forgot to warn him about my disability, and when the hostess showed me to our table, he got up and tried to leave. He actually turned around as he was about to pass by me, left money on the table, told me “sorry, it’s not going to work out,” and left. Gone. Finito. My date ended before it even started. And tonight I was only using my cane. Can you imagine if I had been using my dreaded walker? Gasp!
I attempted to put on a brave face and make light of the situation, but I inwardly admitted, it was getting to me. My nose and eyes stung from the emotions welling up within me. I was hurt and angry, and hated my disease and what it did to me. But talking to him on chat where he couldn’t see or hear my tears or pain, and only read about it, was safe. Chat kept him at arm’s length away from me and made it all personally impersonal.
So many times I pretended I endured the jeers, comments, whispered insults, and the way men reacted to me. I pretended I handled everything like a trooper with grace and dignity, but the harsh reality was, I felt as if I was breaking on the inside.
The sound of a ding pulled me out of my own head and back to my conversation.
Bryan: Your walker isn’t dreaded, it’s a part of life.
Me: Yay! Lucky me.
The sarcasm flowed through my fingers. Some said that the only emotions emails, texts, and chats held (at least the words) were the emotions the reader read into them. Nothing more and nothing less. I was pretty sure he picked up on the fact that my tongue dripped acid right now.
Bryan: Well, it isn’t like you can do anything about it.
Me: Gee, thanks for the newsflash.
Silence. I thought I might have run him off, but before I could type anything, he returned.
Bryan: I’m not going to pretend to know what you’re going through, but I can tell you that you just haven’t found the right guy.
Me: I’ve heard that before.
If Bryan were in the room with me in that moment, I would have throat punched him. I hated hearing—or in this case reading—those words.
Bryan: From what I remember when I met y
ou, you were shy.
Me: Yeah, so?
Bryan: So, I think there are guys out there who are interested in you, who can look beyond the disability and see you for you. You just have to open up a little more.
Me: This is who I am.
Bryan: And I think I can help you change.
Me: Excuse me?
Bryan: You heard me. Did you date a lot before you got sick?
Me: Well
I accidentally hit enter and paused. Another confession, another thing I had to see in black and white. It was another truth that would glare back at me.
Bryan: I’m not getting any younger. Did you or didn’t you? Not a hard question.
Me: Not much.
I cringed when I typed my response. Vague as it appeared, it screamed the truth.
Bryan: Was that because you were with your last boyfriend for a while?
Me: No, we had only been dating a month.
Bryan: Oh.
Was I supposed to say something, or was he? Did he feel like I was a lost cause? Nervousness had me on edge and feeling cornered and defensive, and while I was trying to hold it all in, I felt like the flood gates would burst open without much effort. And his radio silence after those two little letters appeared on my screen did not help. I almost breathed a sigh of relief when I saw his next message.
Bryan: What has been your longest relationship with a guy?
Should I answer him honestly? I really didn’t want to, but at the same time, I felt compelled to give him the truth.
Me: A month if we are talking about dating. Friendship wise, I’ve been friends with a couple of guys since high school.
Bryan: I see. What do you like to do?
He sees? What the hell did he see? I wanted to demand he tell me, however, my fear won in the end and I kept my thoughts to myself.
Me: Do?
Bryan: Hobbies. What do you like to watch? Do you like sports, movies, books? What?
Me: I like to write and read a lot. Love sports, especially hockey and basketball. LA Surf all the way for the hockey, and of course the Dallas Outlaws for basketball. But all sports are fun. One of my guy friends said that I made the best kind of girl because I was just one of the guys. I could drink them under the table, watch sports, and not put up a fuss. He said they didn’t have to worry about me griping at them because I’m just another buddy.
I hit enter and winced. Not only did that statement paint me in a bad light, but it probably also fell under the category of TMI. How embarrassing. I mean, even my closest guy friends didn’t consider me datable. Maybe I should tattoo the word ‘hopeless’ across my forehead.
Forcing myself to scan what I had just sent, I wanted to be like an anime or manga character and face palm using a brick wall. How in the world did someone ramble in a chat? I’m not sure, but I accomplished that feat. What an idiot, Emma! Smooth operator right here! I was making myself into an utter fool, which dampened my spirits even further thinking about it. Maybe it was better if I closed this chat down before I typed anything else mortifying.
Me: Sorry. I’m tired and I think I just need to go to bed.
Bryan: Wait. Give me a minute.
Me: What?
Bryan: How many guys have you dated…total?
Me: Does that really matter?
What did a number, have to do with anything? Could he not leave me with a shred of my dignity intact?
Bryan: If it didn’t, you would tell me. LOL.
LOL? That did it. My frayed emotions started to run amuck. He mocked me now, and after the night I experienced, that sent me over the edge. Pressing the caps lock on my computer, I did the next best thing to yelling: angry typing.
Me: LISTEN HERE ASSHOLE! NEWS FLASH, BUT NOT ALL OF US ARE OUT TO BREAK A RECORD TO SEE HOW MANY PEOPLE WE CAN GET INTO BED AND/OR DATE. UNLIKE YOU, I HAD OTHER THINGS TO WORRY ABOUT IN LIFE AND DATING HAD TO TAKE A BACKSEAT! SO YOU CAN KISS MY LILY WHITE ASS AND JUMP OFF THE NEARST BRIDGE, JERKOFF!
I slammed my laptop closed with more force than necessary, powered down my phone, and decided to ignore the world for the rest of the night. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken my hurt feelings and anger out on him, but right now, I didn’t care. I felt more than a little raw and defensive from the snub I received a couple hours ago, and he took the brunt of my anger. Had I overreacted when it came to Bryan? Yes, I probably had. Had he been an ass? Given what little I knew of him and all the assumptions I’ve made after meeting him and talking to Mel about him, most definitely. But then again, assumptions could be wrong and it was possible he actually wanted to help me.
Whatever. I did not care and did not want to think about it any longer. I was done for the night.
Crawling into bed, Curley jumped up beside me and we cuddled together. In a world where people cared little about me, or others for that matter, I knew I could at least count on my dog. He just couldn’t give me everything I craved, and after tonight, I seriously doubted I would ever find a guy whom would love me, disability and all. Saying it didn’t matter to me, or hoping people would be able to get past it all in order to see who I was on the inside, sounded good, but in reality, nothing was ever that simple or fair.
My eyes closed and shut the world out. I just wanted to wake up and forget tonight ever happened.
Chapter 3
Bryan
What the fuck just happened? Emma apparently despised answering certain questions. All I asked was how many guys she’s dated, and she gave me a dressing down worthy of my commanding officer. What was that?
I tried to send her another message in order to get some answers–or any kind of fucking response–but she went AWOL. Normally if someone was online, I would see a green dot by their name, or if someone switched to the mobile app, it would have a small phone icon, but her name had nothing, which meant she was off the grid.
Technically she couldn’t completely disappear. If I really wanted to push the issue and contact her, I could always call Mel, who would conveniently give me Emma’s phone number. But I foresaw how messy that would get–with a capital M.
Mel stumbled into my life in high school announcing to the world we were best friends within days of our initial meeting. At that point, I didn’t know if I even wanted to be friends with her, but she stuck by me then and ever since. Some thought we were dating in secret, while others placed bets on how long it would take before we crossed the line and became more than “just friends.” With Mel? Oh, hell no! I hated to break it to them—not really—but nothing ever happened, nor would anything ever happen between us. There may have been an almost kiss at a party, however, that ended very badly, and it was something that had haunted my nightmares to this day. I could not think about that night without my body breaking out into a cold sweat and my stomach churning.
To distract myself from traipsing down that better left forgotten memory, my thoughts turned from Mel to another girl, one completely opposite of my best friend. Emma Taylor. I’m not exactly sure when I started to hear about her. Vaguely, I recalled Mel saying something years ago that she found a keeper at work, which was her code for a person who wasn’t a complete asshole, and a person she could actually tolerate.
Working in the marketing department for a large firm, Mel oversaw and made sure the various regional offices had the latest material and that the sales force did their job. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I remembered Mel telling me Emma worked in the training department for the company–whatever that meant.
Emma hadn’t been with the company long before she got sick. About a year after that, Mel called to tell me Emma would be moving to her city. Hearing about Emma’s move to Charleston was news to me. The way Mel talked, I assumed that she and Emma were buddy buddy, hanging out every Saturday night. I never realized before Emma moved that they had never met in person.
But she still battled some sort of illness.
When someone said they were sick, my first thoughts are flu, cold, or strep throat. And if someone said long-term illness, I imm
ediately thought cancer. Apparently, I was always wrong. There were other things in this world that made a person sick. I could not recall exactly what she had or what it did to her, but the first time I saw her, she walked in dragging her feet while pushing a walker. Her whole body and countenance reminded me more of an old person instead of someone in her 20’s. Mel told me that Emma was having a bad day and had to use the walker. She also said that sometimes Emma could get away with using a cane, but I had never seen her use one. Then again, we had only been in each other’s company that one night.
I had to admit to myself, it unnerved me to see her for the first time. During karaoke, I tried to ignore the walker and just have a good time. Hell, maybe I tried to ignore her, ignore the sick person, but that didn’t last long. In the beginning I couldn’t manage to look her in the eye, and then she did something that earned my respect and made me laugh. She leaned forward, slapped the table with her palm, and with a slight slur in her words that had more to do with whatever the fuck she had, and less to do with alcohol—I can’t actually remember her drinking a drop—she declared, “Think of it like a portable chair that you can take for a joyride without a license. I’m sick, not dead.”
That night, she sat in her seat, belted out songs with the rest of us, and held her head up high as she enjoyed herself.
Exposed: Book One of The Love Seekers Series Page 2