Page 4 of Truth
Nick: Sorry, yeah. I’m having dinner with this smoking hot girl at Lazos tonight. Have you heard of it?
Wait. What? He has to be kidding. No way would he tell me about another girl. Right? This is his charm. Going out on a limb, I play along.
Me: What a coincidence, I was just going to see if you could get me reservations. Since you work for some fancy law firm, I figured you had pull. I have a date too.
Nick: Really? I bet he’s devastatingly handsome.
Me: Nah, average. Super dull.
Nick: Interesting…
Silence. What does this mean? Is he mad? He has to know I was kidding. Then again, what if he really was telling me about some random girl. He can go to hell. I would never put up—
My thoughts are interrupted by the vibration of my phone.
Nick: Sorry- work. What time were you hoping for? You know for you and mister dull?
The smile on my face is threatening to cause permanent damage to my face muscles.
Me: Seven
Nick: That’s crazy, that’s when I’m going. Why don’t you join me?
Me: Thought you had a date.
Nick: She just canceled
Me: Lucky me
Nick: Yep
Rolling my eyes at his arrogance, I type back quickly.
Me: Great, see you at 7 Mr. Dull.
Nick: Wear a red dress, smoking hot girl.
Grinning down at the phone, I can feel the blush creep up my chest to my cheeks. This guy…man, oh man. Looks like I’m getting back into the swing of things. Pushing my phone out of the way, I pull my hair over my shoulder and refocus on my computer in the hopes I can get some work done. It only takes me ten minutes before I’m shopping clothing store sites for red dresses in stock.
One Year Later
TWIRLING THE CARD AROUND ANDaround between my fingers, I’m deep in thought, debating how I’m going to sell the idea of skipping out of this party. Nick texted me hours ago about it, and I’ve been putting him off. Part of being a good girlfriend is understanding that I am required to take one for the team and be friendly with his friends’ girlfriends, even if they are assholes, but that can’t mean weekend bachelorette parties. The thought actually makes me cringe.
My shoulders tense because I know he’ll tell me I’m being a snob, but these girls are not my people. For the love of God, I was given a dick bouquet. Little plastic dicks arranged in a vase with a note to invite me to a “weekend of debauchery.”Sounds like a promising first start to a marriage.It’s clever and appropriate, just not for me. I don’t want debauchery unless it’s in my bedroom—not that I get it there either.
Sighing against the realization we may end this call in a fight, I pick up my cell and dial Nick’s number. I’m really hoping this goes smoother than I’m anticipating. Our relationship has been especially rocky as of late. We’re never on the same page. Fuck page—it feels like we aren’t even in the same book, and it seems that no matter how hard I try to be the person he wants, I’m always found lacking, and I’ve grown tired of it.
We didn’t start out this way. I thought he was charming and sweet, always trying to show me, teach me new things, and I let him. Even though I knew it was unnecessary, I kept quiet because he seemed to enjoy the role. But what I thought was cute at first just makes me feel inferior now, and I’m starting to freeze my ass off in his shadow. His cajoling morphed into judgment. And his guidance became control. The thing that makes me sick is that it all happened with my permission. I willingly gave over control of my voice. I stopped allowing myself to be critical of his decisions and stripped away all my rights to be heard.
Last night I tested it out to make sure I knew how to use it, but it only led to a screaming match on my end. I screamed and screamed some more as he ignored me and then turned all my words against me. In my frustration, I threw a pillow at him, and he responded by pinching my butt. This time I didn’t swallow my words and muffle my hurt. I yelled it to the rooftops. He dismissed it as me being overly sensitive and him being caught up in the moment trying to flirt with me. But it was mean, and the bruise left on my body serves as the reminder. It’s not the first time he’s perverted love and sex with his cruelty, but somehow in the moment his excuses become the lie I’m willing to tell myself. They always taste better than the sourness of the truth.
Nine Months Ago
“Are you wearing that tonight?” Nick’s forehead is scrunched together with disapproval.
“Yes, I am. Would you like to share your opinion or just make faces at me?” I shake my head, rolling my eyes, and continue to apply my mascara in the bathroom of my apartment. Sometimes his “opinions” seem controlling.
“Hey now, isn’t a guy allowed to have an opinion about his girlfriend? I mean, this body is mine after all.” He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls my back against the front of his body, dipping down to grind himself into my backside.
