Page 18 of Well, Actually
I instinctively try to curl into the fetal position, but my tub is too small, so I lie there scrunched like an accordion, chin blood coasting down my body and mixing with the overhead spray. I wonder how long I need to lie here in order to drown. Maybe I could reach my toaster from here.
I’m contemplating the likelihood that the brown water stain on my ceiling will finally give way and all the upper floors will collapse on top of me when my phone vibrates on the windowsill with a text.
I reach my arm up and slap around for it. I finally palm it and bring it to me, water spraying into my eyes and across my phone. For the first time, I find it extremely annoying that Apple made phones waterproof, because an old-school model would have died long before this type of incident. Maybe mine is faulty and will malfunction. One can only hope.
But the screen lights up like normal, proudly displaying a text from Rylie fucking Cooper.
Wow. When you said you’d contact me, this wasn’t what I was expecting as the initial message.Another one comes through in rapid succession.You really want me to know about the antichrist’sdick.A third message pings.Is all of this info firsthand? Did you fuck the antichrist? When did you fuck the antichrist?
I switch to defense.You would know, you were there, I type like each tap of my fingers is going directly for his pretty gray eyes. He goes low, I go lower.
Three taunting dots bounce in the bottom-left corner for a breath, then his reply pops up:Glad you think my dick is huge
Shit. I can’t let him take that as a compliment.
Don’t take that as a compliment.
I’m running on adrenaline here, I can’t be expected to come up with something clever. Then, as a follow-up:isn’t your whole schtick to detoxify masculinity? Should’ve guessed you’d be that shallow
Just because I can’t let virtual silence linger for even half a second, I add:and regardless, size is no indication you know how to put it to use.
I know how to put it to use
Well… fuck. My entire body flushes hot. In anger, obviously.
I sit up, slapping the knob to turn the water off and gracelessly dragging my body out of the tub. I spare myself half a glance in the mirror over my kitchen sink, ignoring the feverish look in my eyes, focusing instead on the small cut on my chin. I press a wad of tissues to it, although the bleeding has mostly stopped.
That wasn’t the case when I knew you, I shoot back in a message, still dripping wet and naked in the middle of my kitchen. But I can’t let too many seconds pass and let him think he got to me.
I roughly dry off, trying to ignore how sensitive my skin feels, how the drag of my pajamas over my still-damp body sends a shiver through me that doubles in intensity at my imagining of Cooper whisperingI know how to put it to usein my ear.
Clearly I scrambled my brain with my fall.
I crawl into bed, my head pounding with annoyance, a frustrated scream building in my throat.
His response comes through:Believe it or not, I’ve learned a thing or twelve in the six years since I’ve known you.
I reposition myself, trying to alleviate a sudden, annoying pressure between my thighs. Probably a prelude to… menstrual cramps.
I’m not bullshitting when I say how vital communication is between partners, he adds. Because he’s really trying to prove a point and waste my time, he sends a third message:you’re my only complaint, actually.
Indignation flares. I know, instinctively, he didn’t say that to cut me. Cooper isn’t one to go for the jugular like yours truly. Even in college, he was good-natured to a fault, always seeing the best in people and vocalizing as much if they ever came up in a roundtable of gossip. It was one of the things that always drew me to him back then. Even the light stalking I’ve done on his videos lately shows that he doesn’t come from a mean-spirited place as far as I can tell.
But his text makes me feel wrong all the same. Broken. Pokes at that hidden, festering wound that the problem in relationships is me, I’m the reason I can’t get off with another person. No one can figure my body out because I’m too damn difficult.
Your right hand doesn’t count as a partner, I text, shooing the self-doubt far from my head.
I’m left-handed
I hate that I am collecting facts about this man against my will.I should have guessed, you have that vibe
REGARDLESS of how you want to paint me, I do listen to my partner and actually take great care in making sure they leave every encounter fully satisfied
Heat erupts across my cheeks. The dickhead is rubbing my nose in it.Guess you returned the calls from those willing to teach you, I type.Shame I wasn’t one of the chosen ones to worship at the Cooper cock of fame
Again, I’m sorry for the way I treated you. I truly do mean that and regret how things ended. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Eva.
Lick my butthole, Cooper
