I was shy; he was outgoing. No awkward silences because he’d fill every gap with chatter.
Drewlovedto talk.
And I loved listening to him, watching him. The sharp line of his jaw. How his brown eyes lit up when we sat on his balcony during that first summer, before Minnesota winters drove us inside.
He wasn’t like Mom, either.
Sometimes he actually asked me questions—real ones, not just about my medical situation. Once it was clear my disability wouldn’t interfere with our physical relationship, he stopped being overly curious about it.
He was genuinely excited to hear about my college experience at the U of M.
He hadn’t been able to finish his degree and was always anxious that it would be held against him. About a month into our relationship, he was up for a promotion.
I was up for the same position, having worked in that division for five years to his six months.
He got it.
He told me how relieved he was that his lack of a degree hadn’t hurt his chances. Or apparently, the fact that he was so new compared to my tenure.
But like he explained, if I’d gotten it, people might have assumed it was just a diversity promotion. You know, because of my disability.
Whenhegot promoted, everyone would know it was purely merit-based, without any questions or jealousy from coworkers, he said. He liked phrasing things as “we” decisions without ever actually asking what I thought.
But secretly...
Secretly, I knew I was already the best candidate.And not just because of my college degree.
Drew didn’t handle it well, though, when it was even suggested that I—or anyone, really—might be better at something than him.
Everything was fine between us as long as we agreed.
Well, as long asIagreed withhim.
But if I dared to think something wasn’t the right move, or if I voiced a different opinion?—
I close my eyes and sink deeper into the steaming water.
None of it matters anymore.
Drew is back in Minneapolis in his slightly bigger cubicle, with everyone thinking what a saint he was to date that crazy, disabled girlfriend who just up and abandoned him after he’d been generous enough to propose.
I doubt the office gossip has died down, even though I left two months ago.
But maybe I should accept that fairy tales can be real.
Whatever these overwhelming feelings are that flood through me when my beast claims me?—
I cut that thought short.
This isn’t making love, no matter how much my naive heart wants to romanticize it.
This is raw, primal claiming.
I’m being possessed by a monster who’s happiest when I’m surrendering to him.
I’m being used.
Just like always.
