Page 71 of For a Goode Time Call…

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I wasn’t ready forlove. It’s too soon for love. Because love requires commitment. Honesty. Vulnerability…

God, all the shit he said.

I was not ready for that.

I wanted to be.

I wanted him.

IfI was going to have that, I wanted it with him.

But I was too scared. Too paralyzed by fear of…

See, I can’t go there. My head shuts down. What am I so afraid of? I can’t even face that.

So, instead of handling it like a grown-up, like a mature woman, I watched myself act like an idiot child. Like a hormonal teenager.

Lashing out. At Ink. The one who least deserved it.

“Go to hell, Ink.”

I heard the words. And I immediately realized the stupidity in them, the unfairness in them. I heard the bitterness in my own voice. Heard the irrational panic, felt it, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he saw it and heard it, too.

He understood exactly what was going on with me.

He probably knew this is how I’d react.

Damned insightful motherfucker.

He knew.

And he still had the balls to speak his truth.

Instead of taking a moment—a rational, quiet moment—my sad, confused broken heart had taken over, and I was unable to stop myself from acting the way I was acting. And, believe me, I tried. I tried to tell myself to turn around and say sorry and kiss him and tell him I’d figure it out. I wanted to promise him that I would do what I needed to do, because I wanted to grow a love with him, too.

But I didn’t do any of that.

I just couldn’t.

My brain knew better. My body sure as hell knew better.

But my heart? No way.

My heart told me to get off the bed, go down the ladder, and out the door.

Ink

Iwatched her leave, again, and my heart broke.

Not for me.

For her.

I’d known, deep down, that she wasn’t going to take my honesty well, yet I still said what was in my heart.

I’m upset and hurt.

I’m hurting for me.

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