Page 7 of Choosing the right Man

I stopped caring what people thought about me around the time I turned fifteen. Those girls — you know the ones — the horrible popular girls in school, who have all of the money and power. Yes, teenagers have power. I didn’t realize their power was limited. It doesn’t last beyond the gates of high school. They won’t hold that power when they walk into the real world. They get to be at the top of the food chain for a few years, then life has a way of knocking them down when they’re no longer in the protective pack they made during those formidable years.

But they managed to make my life a living hell. I even tried suicide once. How had I given them that much power over me? I don’t know the answer. All I know is that they made me so miserable I once took an entire bottle of pills.

Luckily, or some would say unluckily, my dad found me and rushed me to the hospital where my stomach was pumped. The sight of tears in my father’s eyes shamed me. I never tried anything so stupid again. I realized what taking my life would’ve done to him. I would’ve hurt him much more than anyone could possibly ever hurt me.

At fifteen I realized those girls didn’t define who I was. I found a job, bought new clothes, and walked through those school halls with my head held high. When I looked in the mirror, the reflection staring back started to have confidence.

I wasn’t the most beautiful girl in school, but it didn’t matter. I was unique, talented, and had something to offer the world. They weren’t allowed to take that away from me anymore. They weren’t allowed to hold power over me. My life began that year. Once I started to truly live, nothing would ever be the same again. Doesn’t it happen that way for most people? Don’t they wake up one day and realize they’re more than what others think of them? I’ve talked to many people, and most say they once had that same flash of insight. Their ages might differ, but the flash is still there.

I was with a bunch of other teens from school at the dunes the day Paul appeared over the top of a hill. I loved the group I was with. I’d finally found a home — a place I was accepted. We were riding in the dunes, several parents having loaned their expensive four-wheelers for us to play with. I’d just gotten my hair done and felt confident, beautiful even, a first for me. There I was, standing next to my friends, my hair blowing in the breeze. No way was I tying it back, even though the coastal wind whipped it in my face. It was done to perfection — in my humbleopinion. And for a girl who didn’t dress up much, I was quite proud.

One minute the world rotated normally, and the next, it was out of sync. I didn’t notice when it happened, when that second of time froze. I barely noticedhimat first. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, especially a boyfriend who was five years older than I was. Some teens would be disgusted by that. Paul didn’t look old, though. Also, I didn’t believe in myself enough to think a guy might actually like me romantically. I was a tomboy, playing rough and hard with the boys, not giggling and making out in the back of vehicles.

Paul had recently moved into town. I didn’t know him, didn’t necessarily care to know him. But he noticed me, and he seemed to only want me. This would later be the thing that made me want him — need him — rely on him. A questionable part of me still feels I owe him for choosing me, and it would be wrong to leave him.

But now that I feel attraction to another man, I’m questioning why I’m staying in a relationship I now feel trapped in. What am I going to do about it? I know one thing: Mason Alexander is trouble with a capital T. If I take him up on the offer in his eyes, I might be jumping from the frying pan into the fire. I don’t always make the best choices. That’s been proven. So, what in the hell am I going to do now? Hopefully, wise the hell up.

Chapter Seven

Chloe

Taking a walk down memory lane is never easy to do. I shake off the thoughts of when I first met my boyfriend. That had been a different time in my life. I needed him more than I realized. He was good for me. I think it’s possible to fall in love, to give a person a piece of yourself, to share a life with them... and then slowly watch that life fade. It’s sad when it happens, but it does happen.

Consuming guilt is what makes us stay. We make promises to this person. We create a life with them. We have history and mutual friends. We know the ins and outs of each other. But does this mean we stay, even when we know neither of us are happy? Is trying to do the right thing actually doing the wrong thing because we’re tearing this person apart who we claim to love?

It’s unfair to both the person we loved for so long and to ourselves. I can’t love Paul the way I should anymore. We don’tseeeach other. I mean we don’t see anything about each other. We live separate lives. I don’t know if this is more his fault or mine. I don’t know when and why it started happening.

Paul’s an incredibly talented person. The work he does is inspired. But this is hard for me to see now. Where once I saw vivid colors, now I see only black and white. When did this happen? When did he become ordinary to me?

I slowly step from the bus a block from my house. The sun has long set. It’s late. I walk into the house and hear music playing. I set my purse down and stand in the kitchen, looking at the lawn through the large window above the kitchen sink. I hate this neighborhood. I hate my life. I remember the day we moved into this house. Paul carried me over the threshold, both of us excited. We were beginning a new chapter in our lives, away from our small town, away from our parents. We were young adults on the verge of greatness. His large hands cradled me close, and I was so excited. I barely looked around as he made a beeline for the bedroom.

We made love three times that first night. Yes, we’d had sex for years at that point, but we were now on our own, no longer in the back of a vehicle, and there was a frenzy in our lovemaking that night, excitement for our entire first year of living in Portland.

We’re warned that the honeymoon phase won’t last forever. We all know this. We take classes at school and learn about it. They tell us about the different phases of love. But the honeymoon phase most certainly ended, and we didn’t slip into the next phase of our relationship. We simply settled. We each had things to do, and we somehow forgot about each other along the way.

I don’t know how long I stand at the sink looking out over the perfectly manicured lawn. I notice the music clicking off, but it barely registers in my mind. The fridge opens and I turn. Paul is standing before me, pulling out a cold bottle of beer. I glance at him. He really is an attractive man. He was only twenty-two when we met, but now he’s a man.

He’s incredibly fit and has grown a few more inches. His T-shirt hugs his muscled arms and flat stomach. His jeans mold over his butt and thighs. His feet are bare. They normally are when he works. He barely looks at me as he sits at the breakfast bar.

“Hello, Paul,” I say. There’s no kiss, no hug, no excitement at seeing each other after being gone all day.

“How was work?” he absently asks.

“It was fine,” I tell him. I suddenly feel the need to cry. I don’t know why. It isn’t that I’m sad. I don’t feel much of anything. I should at least feel guilty. What if he was the one looking at another person with dark desires? What would this do to me? I don’t think I’d care. This makes me feel even sadder. “How about you?” I finally ask.

“I have a conference in a few weeks, so I’ve been trying to get all of my work done,” he tells me. He isn’t looking at me. He sips on his beer as he glances through his phone. He doesn’t acknowledge the device when he’s in his office. A tornado could sweep through and he wouldn’t notice that phone. He gets that lost in his work. This used to be endearing to me. Now it’s annoying. Why can’t he be this lost while in my presence?

“That’s good,” I tell him. I move to the fridge and grab my own bottle of beer. I sit, not on the stool next to him, but one seat away. I don’t want our legs to rub together, don’t want to be here with him. My entire being seems to be back with Mason. I close my eyes for a moment and feel a fluttering in my stomach.

Should I tell Paul I’m leaving him? Should I walk away? This would be best for both of us. Isn’t it better to rip off the bandage? He finishes his beer, then turns to me and smiles. It’s this boyish smile I’d once fallen in love with. I grin back, almost feeling as if it’s a real smile. My fingers twitch with the need to reach up and caress the five-o’clock shadow on his strong jawline.

But my hand falls away as he stands. Something is still here, a small tingle that makes my heart flutter. This is why I don’t leave, this is what keeps me here. He moves to the trashcan and tosses his bottle, then passes by me, stopping almost as an afterthought. He bends down and kisses my cheek. The tears sting even more.

“I’m going to work late tonight,” he says. And then he’s gone, already forgetting me, his mind back on his job, his true love.

I sit with nothing more than turbulent thoughts running through my mind. I don’t know how long I stay at the counter, sipping on my beer, before I finally move. I’m not cooking tonight. Paul will forget to eat if I don’t feed him. I don’t care.

The weight of the world feels as if it’s resting on my shoulders. I go to the bedroom I’ve shared with Paul for the past seven years and strip my clothes away before getting into the shower. I go to bed but Paul never comes to me, probably for the best.

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