Page 12 of Damaged

My last two relationships came from meeting a man while I was out on the town. But look how those ended.

Most of the year I’m content with my singledom. The one guy I clicked with, Jake Taffy, turned out to be a serial cheater. He was showing me a meme on his phone when a text came through.

You coming over tonight? Smiling devil emoji.From… Mom?

It turns out all his contact names were switched up. So his mom was in his contacts as Marissa, and Marissa was his mom. And Stacy was Dan from work. And Dan from Work was Daniel. And so on.

One big confusing cluster fuck of philandering code.

Oh, and the fun part? We dated for five years. He was cheating on me after month three.

That relationship ended almost a year ago exactly. Maybe that’s why I’ve been in such a bad mood lately.

I’m not broken-hearted about it, and I never was. I’ve been rageful and betrayed. Half a decade of the best years of my life, and all I learned from love was to adopt a gangster’s motto.“Trust no one.”

I’ve never told my parents or my best friends what really happened. They think we broke up because Jake wanted to move to LA.

But I can’t bring myself to tell others about his cheating. The sheer extent of it is what gets me. I’m embarrassed I got played so hard.

I know it’s not me. I know I’m the victim, but that’s the part that sucks. I don’t want to be the victim. I want to be the girl who can spot the cheater from a mile away.

Poor Sophia got played. That’s all anyone is going to think. They’d just pity me.

Valentine’s Day is coming up next week, and I’m thinking of the last one when I was freshly backstabbed.

I was walking around with a bottle of wine in a paper bag and scowling at happy couples. I think I told one woman on the arm of a very attractive man that “His mom may really be his whore. You don’t know. You can’t know.”

They hurried away, disturbed, before I could explain I meant switched contact names. Not my finest moment. It was myonlypublic intoxication moment. I think we’re all allowed one after the end of any long-term relationship.

I get an iced caramel macchiato with a double shot of espresso. It’s warm in Tito’s. The gas fireplaces are running, and the big leather chairs are warm to the touch.

The fresh snow and cold has kept the weekend crowd away, and I sink into a chair in front of one of the fireplaces and sip my drink.

My thoughts are stuck on men. I can’t help but think of James in the gallery. His tall frame and face as sculpted as the statues we display. It pisses me off. He’s so obviously the non-monogamous type.

The thing is, even after my heart was steamrolled by Jake, I still think true love exists. It’s why I was mad at couples on Valentine’s Day. They got what I didn’t—real relationships with commitment.

Those exist. I’m still a believer. But I have been left with a new disdain for men who go through women like tissue paper.

James Callaway. I remember his full name from Hailee talking about him.

I can’t resist. I Google him for the first time.

CEO of Aquarius Systems. Net worth estimated around one billion. I look for an interview, video or print, but find neither.

Mysterious. Private. His wiki page is suspiciously empty, too. It didn’t even have apictureof him.

This guy is probably a criminal. His big black Benz is evidence enough. But yes, I admit while looking at a professional headshot of him in Google images, he’s ahotcriminal.

His green eyes look edited. Same goes for his jawline. He could just as easily be a model for Brooks Brothers as a rich chief executive. The bastard.

Although it was very nice of him to give me a ride home in the snow. Although yes, he probably felt like he didn’t have a choice.

My coffee is only half done, but I’m at risk of running late to work. I usually show up five minutes early to everything, but I can’t bring myself to stand. I’m locked into this deep leather chair, overheating in my parka that I still haven’t shrugged off.

Everyone thinks my life is great. I seemingly landed my dream job years ago. I’m freshly single, ready to hit the market again. But it’s all a lie. I’m the put-together girl on the surface, but deep down, everything feels like it’s falling apart.

I pull myself out of my hot chair, my cheeks flushed from the fire and the caffeine, and step back out into the cold.

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