by Lisa Suzanne
As I sit up on my couch and rub my aching neck, I immediately hate myself. I regret falling asleep on the couch because of the stiff neck, but worse, I look at what I’ve become. Dried tears make my face sticky. Cold tea is leaving a ring on my coffee table. My television blares loudly at me. My hair is a mess and my makeup is smeared, and I have a headache from the three tequila shots I got out of Axel before he cut me off.
I’m everything I don’t want to be right now. I’m every cliché I mock.
Worst of all is the sadness I feel. I didn’t know Carter all that well, but I still didn’t expect him to turn out to be such an epic douchebag, and the fact that Axel knew about it makes me hate Axel a little bit, too.
It’s early, too early to be awake, really, but I have to see the damage.
I have twelve missed calls but no voicemails.
Thirty-eight text messages.
And seven hundred eighty-two comments on my blog post. I only posted it a little over seven hours ago.
A little tremor of fear darts through me, and I’m not sure where it comes from. All I know is that sometimes my reach is much bigger than I realize.
I sigh as I check my missed calls first. Five are Emme. Two are Axel. The other five are random friends checking in.
None are Carter, and I hate that my heart sinks in disappointment at the realization.
I open my texts next. Most of them are from Emme. There are a few from Axel, and my mom sent one that I think she meant to send to my aunt. A few others are from friends who text me on a regular basis. Some are thanking me for another great blog post, and others are commending my method of revenge.
But it doesn’t feel like revenge this morning.
It just feels a little…icky.
And then there’s the one I check last. My heart skips a few beats as I click on his name to read his text.
CK: I really wish you would’ve talked to me first.
That’s all it says.
No denial. No name-calling. No insight whatsoever into his state of mind.
I don’t write back. It’ll be punishment enough that he can see that I read his words but didn’t bother to respond to them.
He’s the one who fucked up here, not me. I refuse to feel bad for posting the truth. I refuse to feel bad for outing someone’s true colors.
And if I keep repeating that I refuse to feel bad, maybe the bad feelings I’m having will go away.
I take a shower, but even that doesn’t help. I drink some coffee. I start sorting through the comments on the blog. Most are from women who have gone through something similar. It’s always shocking how many people can relate to my shitty dating experiences.
There’s one comment, though, that throws me for a loop.
The comment was made by Amanda Gray.
He’s not a bad guy, really. I do read your blog, and I love it…but I think maybe it’s best if I don’t read it anymore.
* * *
I first read Amanda’s comment an hour ago, and I’ve been stuck to my chair ever since. I’m not sure if I should respond to it, ignore it, or choose some other option that hasn’t hit me yet. So, I stare at it. I read every word over and over. It tells me nothing.
Literally nothing.
Are they back together? Why did he go to the benefit with her? Why did he act like we had something real? Why is he such an asshole? Why does she think he isn’t a bad guy? Why did she feel the need to defend him?
Around lunchtime, incessant pounding on my front door finally snaps me out of my staring contest with my laptop screen.
I throw open my door, and Axel stands there.
“What?” I snap.
“You have to delete that article.”
“Get the hell out of here.” I turn and push the door behind me, but Axel stops it and walks into my condo.
“Can you just listen for two minutes?”
I spin around. “Fine. Two minutes. Start talking.”
“First, stop being a bitch to me. I found out about his original reason for taking you out just before he left to see you. I hadn’t seen you since then because I was working.”
I raise an eyebrow and purse my lips, but I don’t respond.
“This is what you didn’t let me say last night. He told me that was how it all started. He planned to get you into bed so you would write about it, but then he started to like you, Court. As soon as he met you, he knew he couldn’t go through with it.”
“But he did go through with it.”
“His motivation changed. He wanted to be with you because he likes you, not because he was trying to get back at Amanda.”
“Then explain to me why he was with her last night.”
His eyes dart around my kitchen as if he might find the explanation there. “I can’t. I don’t know why he was there with her. But do you really think she’d want to be there with him if she did read your articles? Do you really think reading all the dirty details about him fucking someone else would push her right back into his arms?”
“It doesn’t matter. He revenge fucked me, so I revenge fucked him.”
“Through your blog.”
I nod.
“Well you at least have to make it accurate, then. He’s not some jobless douche. What you said about him could really hurt his career out here.”
“So what? He deserves it.”
“Be that as it may, don’t you want to know what he actually does for a living?”
I think about it for a minute. “You know what? No.” I shake my head. “I really don’t. I did, but I don’t think I care anymore. He can go live his life and stay the fuck away from me. We don’t know each other well enough for me to want to spend a single second longer worrying about it.”
Axel sighs. “So that’s it?”
“Yeah, that’s it, and your two minutes is up.”
He blows out a frustrated breath, and then he walks to the door. “I hope that if Emme and I ever have this big of a misunderstanding, she’ll at least hear me out.”
“This isn’t just a misunderstanding, Axel. He used me. He violated me. He slept with me because he knew I’d tell other people about it. That’s a pretty messed up thing to do.”
He nods and stops in the doorway. “I’m sorry that’s what you think, and I’m sorry you feel violated, but believe me when I say that maybe he wanted to go out with you because of your blog, but he didn’t sleep with you because of it. He slept with you because he couldn’t get you out of his head, and your little blog post killed a piece of him.”
He pulls the door shut behind him, and I stare at the closed door.
Half of me feels like I might’ve made a huge mistake, but the other half of me feels completely justified.
It’s a nasty sensation that leaves me feeling nauseous. It seems like nine times out of ten where this guy is concerned, I have an upset stomach. Maybe that should tell me something. He’s bad for my health.
COURTING SANDY EGGO
posted by Courtney Sanders
FAST FIVE: SONGS THAT WILL KILL THE MOOD
5. Aerosmith “Dude (Looks Like a Lady)”
4. The Tokens “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”
3. Taylor Swift “We Are Never Getting Back Together”
2. Lonely Island “Dick in a Box”
1. Any cover song that has appeared on the television show Glee
COURTING SANDY EGGO
posted by Courtney Sanders
FAST FIVE: TOP PLACES IN THE CITY TO BANG
Get creative! I have it on good authority that good sex has occurred at the following places:
5. The Gondolas at Coronado
4. Basically any beach or any winery (lots of privacy between the grapevines)
3. Fifth Avenue at Gaslamp
2. Balboa Park
1. Ocean Beach Pier
COURTING SANDY EGGO
posted by Courtney Sanders
FAST FIVE: THE SEX BUCKET LIST
As voted on by you, the reader!
&
nbsp; 5. Getting fingered on a roller coaster (as inspired by the movie Fear)
4. Sex in the car
3. Sex with more than one partner
2. Sex in public (see FAST FIVE: TOP PLACES IN THE CITY TO BANG)
1. Sex on your boss’s desk
CHAPTER 16
For four days, I hole myself up in my condo.
It’s unhealthy to be sure, but I’ve never felt like this. I think I might be sick. I feel a little feverish and a lot nauseous, all the time. I have a constant headache that two bottles of wine each night can’t even cure, and I haven’t slept more than an hour or two here and there since Axel came by my place a few days ago.
Emme has come by, mostly to stock my fridge with provisions. She’s tried to get me to talk, but I don’t want to talk about it. I prefer internalization and silence.
Now I’m out of wine, and I don’t feel comfortable asking her to go get me more considering she just saw my liquor shelf stocked two short days ago.
It’s empty now.
I’m in a really bad cycle at the moment.
I haven’t even logged on to the blog to check for comments in four days. I scheduled three days’ worth of Fast Fives I wrote a while ago and logged out. I can’t deal with life right now, and I’m just thankful for my flexible schedule—and the ability to schedule posts and forget about them.
I’ve only gotten on my computer once, and it was to find a dress for the upcoming Thirty Under Thirty event. I searched my favorite stores online and landed on a white Michael Kors dress reminiscent of the one Carter ruined the first time I met him.
Okay, so it wasn’t Carter who ruined it, it was a cute shelter dog, but I was wearing it when I met the king of douches.
I feel like donning a dress like the damaged one might erase some of the negativity I associate with him. The stain the dog made on my dress and the subsequent stain Carter left on my heart might somehow both be erased with new memories in a similar dress.
I’m sure it doesn’t work that way, but it’s a nice sentiment to tell myself.
I need to check the blog today. I need to post today. My scheduled posts have officially run their course, and I should probably check the damage I’ve done. I just can’t seem to motivate myself to move from my fort of blankets on my couch.
I’ve been sitting in front of my television staring blankly at Friends reruns on Netflix, and I’ve gotten through the first four seasons in four days. When Netflix asks me if I’m still watching, I feel judged. It’s like the little man in my television is assessing my choices, and he can fuck right off.
I haven’t showered in two days. I haven’t eaten anything more than necessary, and even meals have just consisted of whatever Emme has brought over. I’ve kept my drapes drawn shut, and the only light I see is that which my television screen emits.
I check my phone a few times a day just in case of any emergencies, but otherwise I ignore my notifications.
I’m miserable, and I might smell a little.
I hate this version of me. This isn’t who I am. It’s this monster inside me that I didn’t even know existed until I met Carter King.
Speaking of Carter King, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him for four days.
What’s he doing?
Is he thinking about me?
Is he back in town? If he is, is he close by?
He hasn’t tried to contact me since the one text after he read the DB post, and I think that’s what’s eating away at me.
Well, that and the fact that his ex-girlfriend commented on my blog.
Amanda defended him.
She said he isn’t a bad guy.
Why would she say that?
If my ex went on a sexing spree after we broke up and it came out that he did it in a way that ensured I’d find out about it, I’d never take that twat back.
Yet she was all smiles with him at that damn mother fucking benefit. That picture flashes in my mind again, and I feel a little bit like throwing up.
I don’t get it. I’m missing something here, and focusing all my thoughts on it for four days in the midst of the numbing elixir that is Friends hasn’t provided me with a whole lot of answers.
After the season four finale when Ross says the wrong name, I know it’s time to get the hell out of my apartment.
I force myself into the shower. I throw on leggings and a t-shirt, but I skip makeup and the whole doing my hair thing. It’s the best I can do after lying around in my bathrobe for four days.
I toss a load of laundry into my washer because, let’s be honest, it needs to be done—especially that bathrobe and the blanket I’ve hidden under for four days.
I put on my sunglasses. I’m leaving the house without makeup, but I don’t want to actually frighten anybody.
I walk over to Harrison’s, and the warm sunshine feels nice. I feel a little like I’ve just rejoined the human race.
Thankfully he’s not home; I didn’t expect him to be. As soon as Shelby hears me enter, she runs down the hallway barking, and when she spots me, she does this sort of doggy smile and then jumps up on me to cover my face with wet puppy kisses.
I sink down to my knees and bask in the love only a dog can provide. Tears leak out of my eyes, and I think everything finally comes into perspective for me.
This is a breakup.
This misery, this feeling sick all the time…it’s a breakup. A real, true, not-just-having-sex-for-fun kind of breakup. An honest-to-goodness breakup.
The worst part about it is that we didn’t even really get to break up.
We only went on a few dates, but we immediately connected. I think back to his words about love at first sight. I’m not in love with him—and I never will be, not now—but I did give myself to him. I did start to let him in. I did like him a lot after I hated him a lot. I crossed over the line fairly quickly because of that body and that smile. I had fun with him, and that led to high hopes for us. I’m aware of the fact that I tend toward hopefulness, but this is different.
This isn’t the hopefulness I felt when Liam stepped back into my life. With him, I was excited at the possibility of getting back together with someone I already knew. He didn’t exactly break my heart this time around, just dashed my hopes at what could have been. I still never saw it as long term, not in the one night we’d gotten back together.
But with Carter, even though we only went on a few dates, and even though so much of what we shared was based on sex, I had a whole different level of hope.
I saw a future.
I saw us visiting an animal shelter together, maybe even adopting a dog. I saw us on that road trip up to Canada. I saw him taking me to Italy to eat pizza someday down the road. I saw smiles and sex. A lot of sex. Different kinds of sex. Maybe even hitting all the items on my Sex Bucket List.
Most of all, I saw passion.
Now, as I allow my ex’s dog to provide me some measure of comfort, I’m just left with the thought that passion fizzles. It’s not enough to base a relationship on, and even though I was about to do exactly that, he blew that wide open the second he decided to take Amanda to that damn benefit, the second he was photographed with his ex after he’d made promises to me that it was over.
After four days of thinking of very little else, I realize I can’t fault him for his original reason for wanting to take me out. I’m a total hypocrite if I do. It hurts, but I’m not exactly innocent. I used him, too. I wanted to see what sorts of perks could come from dating someone with the sorts of business connections he has.
So, in some ways, it’s not fair for me to judge him for his original reason for asking me out with such persistence. I punished him for that by putting him on blast in the very blog he’d wanted me to use to write about him.
It’s Axel’s words, really, that play in my mind.
More than anything, I’m curious about Carter. I’d like to know what exactly it is that he does for a living.
Axel holds those answers; I just don’t k
now if I’m ready to actually hear them.
* * *
Dogs just know, you know? Granted, I’m crying on the floor of my ex’s house so it’s not terribly difficult to figure out, but Shelby seems to know that I need to be comforted. She wiggles her way in so she’s practically sitting on my lap, shoving her snout under my chin as if to say, Chin up, lady. She’s a Golden Retriever who weighs in around eighty pounds, so she’s no lap dog, but we make it work, and she’s somehow helping me feel a whole lot better.
“You wanna go to the beach?” I ask her, and it’s like she understands what I just said. She leaps off me and runs in a circle before darting back over to me to nudge my arm. I chuckle, and it’s the first sign of laughter I’ve felt in days. I’ve been marathon watching arguably the funniest television show ever made, so that right there tells you what sort of pit of despair I allowed myself to fall into.
I take a deep breath.
Thanks to Shelby, I see the light at the end of the tunnel. Things are bad, and they may be even worse once I log into the blog, but I’ll get through it. I’ll throw my energy into giving back and helping others because that’s what you do when life gets a little bleak.
I really need to get into my email and get myself organized again. I usually spend one day a week just catching up on emails and scheduling volunteer opportunities on the blog, and I’ve been so caught up in drama lately that I haven’t updated it in a couple weeks.
I leash up Shelby, wave to Harrison’s surveillance cameras, and head to the beach.
Again, the sunshine on my skin feels warm and comforting. I can’t wait to step foot onto the beach. The sand between my toes is always calming, and the water rushing over my feet soothes my soul.
I take a deep breath.
Everything is going to be okay.
I really believe that during my entire walk to Dog Beach with Shelby, but once I get there, that feeling of optimism is shattered.