They are what have made me…
Me.
Damn, I went all poetic on you, didn’t I?
Chapter 1
Charlotte
Bren stood on the corner trying to hail a cab, once again too drunk to drive or even remember where he'd put his keys. The only thing he cared about was getting back to his place in time for his nightly never-ending party. "You're coming over, right?"
"I have an early day tomorrow," I said, looking down at my watch. I ran through more excuses in my head in case I needed them.I have cramps, a headache, food poisoning, another chapter to read... He always asked; I always refused. I don’t enjoy spending my time with a bunch of drunken slobs.
A cab pulled over to the curb and Bren yanked open the door. "What is wrong with you? Everybody's asking where you've been. People think I have an imaginary girlfriend," he said with a curt tone.
He placed a hand on the small of my back, a gesture that used to send warmth through my body. Now it did nothing but make me cringe.
"Bren. It's eleven o'clock. I'm exhausted. I worked all day," I said.
"Oh, I get it," he snapped. "I do nothing all day, right? Suddenly, I'm a bag of shit." His breath was heavy with the tang of beer and his eyes were bloodshot.
"Yep. Those where the exact words that came out of my mouth," I hissed, shutting him up.
No words passed between us in the cab. All I did was scream at him in my head. About how sad and shitty he seemed to always make me feel. How much he messed up everything. How much stress and tension he had filled my life with for the last few months. How the only time I felt better was when he was gone. But we owned a business together, and it had been years since I really let myself believe I deserved to be happy.
When the taxi pulled up in front of his building, he slammed the door without a goodbye or a glance back in my direction.
When I got home, I stripped down to my bra and panties, not even bothering to put on pajamas, and fell right into my bed. The minute my body landed, I was asleep.
Sometime around the ass-crack of dawn, I felt a warm body stumble into the bed and snuggle up behind me, wrapping strong arms around my stomach, embracing me in a tight hold. “Mmm, babe. You up?” Bren whispered, moving his hand heavily to my chest and squeezing. I swear I saw stars; he never has any clue how heavy-handed he is when he drinks. Nuzzling his face into my hair, his warm breath tickling my ear, he whispered again, “Babe?”
“Well, I am now that you almost ripped my boob off.”
You want to know what the sad part is about all this? I could tell you word for word, exactly, what was going to happen before it even happened when Bren and I were alone. I could write the script and sell the rights to it. Bren had, like three moves, that’s it. He’d tweak my nipples two or three times, rub his fingers over the place hethoughtwas the most important spot on a woman’s body, but wasn’t (he missed it by an inch so he always ended up playing with my inner thigh), then he’d pull himself out of his pants and pump his hand up and down himself, waiting until I can get myself undressed. Then, he’d jump me.
Or, even better, is what had been happening for the last four months:nothing. As in, his man parts just didn’t work, no matter how hard he tugged on it.
Hello whiskey dick. At that point he usually fell asleep, limp dick in hand, snoring loudly.
God, it was so sad.
I used to love sex, everything about sex. I loved the anticipation of it, the flirting and teasing. I loved the kissing and tasting that goes on, the fun, the laughter and dares. I loved the way a man looks at you, like you’re the only one in the universe to make him feel like this. I loved the slow, hot caressesandthe fast hard need. I even love the angst, the fighting, and the make-up sex. WhatI didn’t likewas how detached and disinterested we both became toward each other.
Bren was like a complete stranger lying next to me in that bed; a two hundred pound dead weight beside me, holding me down.
I tried with Bren, I really did. In the beginning, when we were just friends and I knew how he felt, I wanted it to be love. But right now, it just feels like a burden; some obligation that I’m stuck with; an albatross around my neck that I just cannot shake. I knew it would never be that crazy-love they wrote about in those angst-filled books I loved, but I’ve been through that kind of love and when it’s gone, you’re just never the same. You know the love I’m talking about, right? The one with kisses that spark fires, touches that ignite your soul, and the whispers,God the whispers, that make you believe you canfly. The problem with that love is I was still left in ashes, burnt little embers, charred remains of things thatcould have been. I needed to just settle for one of those loves that was mild and tepid against my lips, and non-flammable to my heart. I didn’t want to be singed again. I'd never live through it.
Bren didn’t fall asleep with his dick in his hands this time, though. He just lay next to me, our backs turned away from each other. Neither of us wanted to seek warmth from each other’s bodies in the dark room, because, I don’t know, maybe it would take too much effort. Or, maybe, neither one of us wanted to feel as rejected as we already did.
I was completely exhausted with my life, and I was only twenty-four.
We were both silent for a few minutes when Bren let out a low sigh. I wished he’d just fall asleep so I could climb out of bed and get the hell away from him. But, I know I can’t—won’t. I’m chained here, to him, to obligations and promises I can’t ignore—won’t ignore.
“Come over here, baby. Put your mouth on me,” he slurred.
I climbed out of bed, laughing angrily, “Bren, I’m not wasting fifteen minutes of my sleep to suck on a limp dick that’s too drunk to get hard. Besides, you’re gonna pass out any minute.”
Grabbing my cell phone off my nightstand, I walked to the door and turned to start yelling at him.
