Page 1 of CowSex
ISWALLOW, BLINK, AND SWALLOWagain. I knew I was gonna cry; I’m just not exactly sure what I’m crying for.
“Instead of going in November, we can fly out a few days before Christmas and fly back before New Year. How does that sound?”
I stare at Reggie, my fit-as-fuck boyfriend and live-in lover of the past five years. Reginald Anthony Walker—as he likes to be known to his work colleagues and anyone else he thinks might be impressed by his full name. As I stare, I realise that, instead of feeling overwhelmed, breathless, and completely blindsided by his good looks like I have been in the past, I feel...sad. I feel so sad that not only does it make my heart hurt, but also it makes my belly hurt. I know, right down to my marrow that this is going to be the end of us.
“Grace? How does that sound?”
I continue to stare at him, my nose stinging as the reality sets in. This time, we haven’t just lost the battle; we’ve lost the whole war. It’s time to wave the white flag and admit defeat.
Lyrics from Dido’s “White Flag” popped into my head, and my thought process, as it often does, goes off on a tangent. Dido leads me to the song “Stan”, which brings me to thoughts of Eminem and how much Reggie hated me going to see him in concert. He never did get it. I should’ve known we wouldn’t make it when he frowned upon my love of the lyrical genius that is Marshall Mathers. Who was I kidding? Ihadknown then. I havealwaysknown this day would come.
On paper, we are perfect for each other. Two career-minded, ambitious people with lower working-class backgrounds. We have each done well in our own way and are living a life that we never could have dreamed of when we were kids—me in a council flat being raised by my single mum; Reggie in a caravan on an illegal gipsy site with his five siblings—but we did it. We worked hard for our success and achieved great things. We bought a beautiful apartment in London’s St Katherine Docks area that overlooked the River Thames. Luxury holidays abroad and enough money to eat out at decent restaurants every night if we wanted to.
For me, I’ve achieved what I want career-wise. I’m happy, content, ready to slow things down, move out of the city, and start a family. But for Reggie, things are different. The more we have, the more he wants. Ashamed of his background and always wanting to prove something not only to himself but also to the family who would never be aware of his success because he’d broken all ties with them.
All of this adds to my sadness. I’d thought I could change Reggie, make him realise that what we have as a couple is so much more important than the materialistic things our money can buy. I’ve spent the past three years trying to convince him that spending time together should never be compromised by our hectic work lives.
After so many cancelled weekends away, lunch and dinner no-shows, this is the last straw. I’m done. My final attempt to drag him away from London, his office, and the busy schedule he insists on keeping, has failed.
I’ve failed.
Anger starts to bubble in my belly. Anger that I’ve once again lost tothatbitch—the other love of his life—his fucking job.
I throw my head back and laugh towards the ceiling as tears roll down my face.
“Grace?”
I stop laughing, turn my head slowly, and look Reggie straight in the eyes. “How does that sound? How does that fucking sound?”
“Grace, there’s—” He attempts to interrupt.
“I’ll tell you how that sounds, Reggie. Itsoundslike ‘Goodbye. Farewell. Sayon-fucking-ara.TheFuckingEnd’. That’s howthatsounds.”
Now it’s his turn to blink and stare.
“I don’t understand?”
“Youdon’t?” I raise my eyebrows in disbelief, and he shakes his head.
“Of course you don’t. We’ve talked of nothing else for the past year—correction, I’ve talked of nothing else for the past year. I thought we’d agreed. I thought everything was in place. I even booked the fucking flights!” I don’t wanna shout because I know it will lead to crying. I don’t wanna cry, but I’m sad. Angry, fed up, and frustrated.
“Stop swearing, Grace, and stop shouting.”
More staring. This time in silence until finally, Reggie speaks.
“I know you’re disappointed, and I know I said I’d take a month off and go to the States with you, but the timing isn’t right.”
“Foryou. And don’t tell me to stop shouting. I’m shouting because you make me shout, and I’ll fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckety, fucking swear if I fucking want to.” I watch as he rakes his hand through his dirty blond hair, shoving it back from his forehead. Despite his efforts, his fringe still flops back forwards, hanging over his eye.
It makes my insides coil around my heart, which is lodged in the deepest, darkest depths of my belly, and squeeze tight. I used to love that about him, the way his hair fell forwards.
I still do love it. But where has that gotten me?
Reggie is such a perfectionist, such a control freak that it pisses him off that the only time his hair ever stays in place is right after he has it cut, and then only if it’s cut shorter than he actually likes to wear it.
The two things in his life he always complains about not being able to control: me and his hair.
“Grace, I have to work.” His voice is just above a whisper and carries a hint of a plea to it.
