You poor thing. Maybe your cat knows your penchant for self-mutilation.
Ladder Guy
Stop acting like you don’t like my self-mutilations. You enjoyed the shit out of them all night long.
Christ, I did. I really, really did.
Me
And now I’m in convalescence.
Ladder Guy
Again. No regrets.
“We’ve arrived, miss,” the taxi driver says.
Startled, I look around, seeing that we have indeed arrived. I shuffle through my bag to take my credit card out, and once the ride is paid for, I exit the vehicle.
Before I’m forced away from my phone for God knows how long, I quickly send one last text to Jake.
Me
Me neither. I arrived at my brunch, so I’ll be off for a bit. Take good care of that poor, mutilated, and sore penis of yours ;)
Containing my smile, I walk toward the overpriced restaurant I’m meant to be at. God probably reached down to help me because I enter it five minutes before eleven thirty. But while it might be considered on time for most, it’ll still be late for the person I’m meeting.
Which reminds me to put my phone on Do Not Disturb. She always found it disrespectful and demanded that if we shared time, we ought to give each other our undivided attention.
Stress is making my heart race and my throat tighten. Ugh, I should have devised an excuse and spent the morning with Jake instead. It would have been a lot more fun than whatever this will turn into.
I easily spot her, with her platinum blonde hair styled into a chic bob with a perfect blowout. Before I even come closer, I know she’s wearing one of her timeless Chanel ensembles. Its color will help me determine what sort of mood she’s in. The tweed is pink, to my relief, which means she’s in a good one.
“Hi! I’m so sorry I’m late,” I say as I reach her.
She doesn’t contradict me, even though I’m not late, pursing her lips instead. But I expected that, so I don’t take it poorly. I bend to give her a feigned kiss on her cheek, my lips never touching her skin. One mustn’t ruin Vivienne Kensington’s makeup.
When I reach my chair, a waiter is already there, pulling it out for me and pushing it in when I sit. “Darling, you look terrible,” is the first thing Mother tells me.
“I slept scarcely, sorry for that.”
She rolls her eyes disapprovingly. “I already told you to always keep a gel mask in your freezer. It will help with those horrendous dark circles under your eyes.”
It serves no purpose to tell her I didn’t have time for that, so I abstain.
She sighs, signaling the waiter to come and fill her glass. “Being a career woman has consequences, Genevieve, which you don’t seem capable of handling.”
For once, work wasn’t the reason for my lack of rest. But she doesn’t need to know that. She’d have an aneurysm if she knew I spent the night with a man covered in tattoos and piercings.
I realize just how tired I am when she veers the conversation into a topic I didn’t foresee. “Edward called me, you know.”
Crap, not this.
I’ve had her on the phone a few times since the breakup, but it’s the first time seeing her in person. It was naive to hope I’d be spared from this.
“He told me what happened and why he left,” she continues. “I don’t understand why you insist on following the wrong path.”
“Why is it the wrong path?”
