Page 1 of Resisting the Temptation
Prologue
Emma
Four years ago…
Igulp down half of the wine in my glass, wincing as the bitter alcohol burns my throat. I don’t really like wine, but I had a box of it leftover from a slumber party, so why the hell not? I’ve got nowhere to be tomorrow.
This is my third—fourth?—glass in a little less than an hour, and my head is feeling swimmy while the stab of my girlfriend’s—ex-girlfriend’s—break up monologue slowly fades into a sting.
I was shocked she called things off. I thought we were going to get married. We were going to have a house and a dog, maybe some cats.
No, wait. I’m allergic to cats. Boo.
Then, when we felt ready, we were going to talk about having a baby. Something I wasn’t sure I’d be ready for anytime soon, but it’s what Trinity wanted, and I would have givenit to her.
But apparently, Trinity didn’t want that future. At least not with me.
She said the same things I’ve heard my whole life from other people who were supposed to love me, but it doesn’t hurt any less to hear them.
You’re too needy.
You’re too emotional.
You’re too much.
I can’t help the fact I cry a lot, and believe me, I’ve tried everything. No matter what I do, the tears come.
I haven’t been diagnosed because the testing is hella expensive, but a few years ago, my therapist suggested I’m probably autistic on top of my previous diagnoses of depression, anxiety, and PTSD. The online tests I took seemed to agree.
Fucking brain chemicals. Why couldn’t I have gotten the neurodivergent type of brain that means you’re super smart and good at math? Instead, I got the kind that latches on to anyone who shows me an ounce of attention, cries at any minor inconvenience, only wants to eat sesame chicken, and cringes at the feeling of velvet.
The fabric of the devil.
My best friend, roommate, and support system in times of crisis, Jordan, is currently in Japan with their parents and won’t be home for five more days. We made a few friends at the Pride parade in June, but they’re not sob-over-girls-and-get-drunk-with status yet.
One would think having nine siblings would mean I’d be able to call one of them and find comfort, but I don’t talk to my siblings often due a whole encyclopedia of reasons, and my parents would use this as an excuse totell me it’s because I’m “living in sin” and “not following God’s plan.”
Blech. I did the time in therapy and mostly got over the religious guilt I felt over being bisexual and leaving the church. Doesn’t mean my parents don’t try their hardest to make me feel it again.
I briefly think of my cousins, Elli and Hannah, and wish we were close like we had been as kids. They’re still in the church, though, so there’s no telling how they’d feel about my sapphic troubles.
With no other options and no better ideas, I chug the rest of my wine and change my “depressed” playlist to my “bad bitch” playlist. It’s time to make some rule changes so I don’t go through this again.
Jordan has had to console me more times than I can count after getting my heart brokenagainover a person I got too attached to too quickly. I can’t burden them anymore with my issues. I don’t want them to get overwhelmed with me, too.
I clean the kitchen while I try to figure out what I can change so I don’t get my heart broken again, and halfway through washing our reusable straws, it hits me.
No more serious relationships.
If I don’t have a serious romantic partner, I can’t be broken up with.
Mentally high-fiving myself for thatbrilliantidea, I devise a plan.
I like sex. But sex doesn't equal love. I know if I hook up with the same person more than once, I’ll start getting attached.
Hookups only. No repeats.
No repeats, no serious relationships.
