Page 9 of Butterfly Effect

I want to scream, but I don’t. No tears come, either. Instead, the hollow ache of lost love settles in my chest.

It’s been almost four years since I broke off our engagement, but grief is sneaky. It lurks below the surface like a shark. Andwhen I stop paying attention, presuming the anger is gone for good, it breaches the barrier and engulfs me in an uncontrolled wave of loss.

It wasn’t my fault. I shouldn’t care.Hewas a cheating bastard. But why wasn’t I enough? Was I really that hard to love that he had to stick his dick wherever he could?

I take a sinking seat in the pit of self-loathing; I grab my phone and send a message to my neighbor, Brett. He’s not the best fuck, but it’s better than thinking about Kurt.

Me

You home?

Brett

Yep. Be there in 5?

Twenty minutes later, I’m on my back with Brett’s cock inside me. A drop of sweat from the tip of his nose lands on the pillowcase next to my ear. He spews profanities as he finishes, then deepens the wrinkle in his brow.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

There’s a curious, quizzical gleam in his eyes.

Crap, he’s gonna say it.

“Did you come?”

My throat clears as he pulls out.

There can’t possibly be a worse question.

“Uh…” I’m about to lie, but he catches it.

“Shit. You didn’t?”

“Sorry, I think it’s me.”

“That’s bullshit, Gabe.” Brett swipes the condom off and climbs off the bed to get rid of it. He kneels below me upon his return. “Let me try at least.”

His hands pry apart my legs, but I push his face away. I’m grateful he’s willing to learn, but it’s too exhausting to have to walk through this with someone I don’t care about. Or trust fully.

“It’s okay, Brett.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I think it’s stress from work or something. I should probably sleep it off. Thanks, though.”

We take turns peeing and get clothed again. There’s a flash of regret in his smile when he leaves, and I sorta feel bad.

Itisme, after all. I’m the jerk in this situation. Beggars can’t be choosers, but I’m simply not in the mood to teach Pussy Eating 101 to a grown man.

Toys never disappoint. They don’t run out of steam or change the pace when you’re about to come. They don’t try to spell the alphabet on your clit because they read about it in a magazine article. Most of all, they don’t cheat or leave you heartbroken after seven years.

“Thank you,” I whisper to the baby blue silicone clit sucker tucked in my nightstand drawer, sated after an orgasm. My lip turns up.

I’m talking to inanimate objects again.

“I gotta stop doing that.” The warm comforter tucks under my chin as I curl in. “Makes it seem like I’m super lonely or something.”

Who am I kidding? Iamsuper lonely. I am also super sleepy.

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