Page 31 of Faking Forever 1
My downfall as a person is the way I’ve become a pushover.
It can be crippling, from the way I can’t back out of things to the way I only know how to say ‘yes’. I can’t rid myself of the terrible habit, though, no matter how hard I try to. I wouldn’t call myself a pathological people pleaser or anything, but Idoget some sense of pleasure from rarely being the one to disappoint anybody. It mainly started after working for my dad, who has no problem expressing to me that I “exude greatwork ethic” any chance he gets.
The reason this becomes my downfall is because I always end up saying shit shouldn’t have said—or doing them. With that in mind, they still seem to make the same stupid decisions over and over again. Typically, I can manage them, but 70
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unfortunately, this time is vastly different. This time, I have to try and not think with my dick, and I can’t promise I won’t.
Ever since my lips got to touch hers, it’s like they need another fix. I’d rather not think about Paisley in that light, but I wasn’t until she took it to that level.
I feel guilty, like I stepped over a godforsaken boundary with her. The respect I have for her is more tremendous than anyperson I can think of that isn’t my parents or hers. I can’t understand how she expects me to look at her the same way now. This is exactly why I knew it would be a bad idea. I don’t even think looking her in the face is an option now, yet I’m desperate to get a good look at her because even if it’s only a few seconds of her time, the rest of my day will fall into place.
With just one look at her.
Even if I feel guilty, I guess it’s okay to feel things, but it’s literally about Paisley fucking Monroe, so I’ll just keep them to myself. It’s awkward and strange. It’s all fun and games until the large elephant in the room starts making too much noise. I’ve been wondering at what point we stop pretending.
What do I say to my parents when they ask, and what she might say to hers? Or maybe we don’t say anything at all, and save ourselves from a world of embarrassment. I have so many damn questions—all being ones she can answer. Simply being around her would make my blood pressure rise, so I’ve sat inside, contemplating ways not to look or sound like a dumb ass.
I know the end goal is to make Nick jealous, which I thought we had accomplished, but then there’s Darcy. Pea doesn’t know this, but there was a point where I had a dumb, lustful crush on her. I would’ve never told Pea because she quite literally 71
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hates her. Maybe hate is strong, but the dislike was there far before Nick entered the chat. Darcy has always wanted what she wanted, and that was that. I mean, it’s only me and a handful of other guys who haven’t been in bed with or at least seen her naked.
Paisley always hated how sought-after Darcy was, even when I would explain to her that it was for all the wrong reasons. Darcy is easy, and that’s why most guys want her.
Me included. I’ve heard stories upon stories from old friends who slept with her. It’s a teen boy’s fantasy, but it doesn’t equate to a woman who can cook for me and make me laugh simultaneously. She has no idea that she has everything Darcy wants already. That’s why she went for Nick. It’s insane to see the list of gentlemen dying to have Paisley even think of looking in their direction.
At the end of the day, I’m left wondering why me. How am I theonlyman she trusts? To tell secrets to, or keep her grounded as her best friend, maybe, but fake dating is an entirely new realm of trust. I can’t possibly be this prime example of how dating should be when I need more than one hand to list the number of women I’ve slept with. I’m not proud, but until about three years ago, I behaved like a feral jackrabbit. I’d like to think I’m a catch, but never to Pea. Not until recently.
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PAISLEY
Something about making Joshua angry induces a great fear in me. He’s the kind of person that grows silent when they’re angry. He doesn’t make many facial expressions or show any physical signs. It’s all kind of a mystery. The last time I can remember him being drastically upset was before his parents had their divorce. He had been dating a girl from our chemistry class, Stacey Caville. We got along fine, but I always thought she had bad intentions. Of course, I kept my opinions to myself, and well—at first, she wasn’t all that crazy. They seemed to enjoy each other’s company, which didn’t bother me when I didn’t get left out.
One day Josh came to my balcony that connects to my room, freaking out like I had never seen before. He was utterly hysterical. It probably took over thirty minutes to make him relax enough to speak complete sentences. When he did, he said the most horrible things about himself. That he was 73
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stupid and that he was the reason his parents were even thinking about separating. Reviewing the list of personalized insults he had stored changed my mind about him. It took him a while, but he had finally let it out. Stacey was pregnant, and he was sure it was his.
He swore his life was over and kept saying he couldn’t imagine ending his life at seventeen. That’s what he said happens to teenagers who have kids. Their lives end. He was one billion percent sure he could never be normal again. The second breakdown included his realization that his parents would be pissed and that he would never amount to anything as a father. He swore up and down that he wasn’t man enough to face those sorts of responsibilities. There was nothing that I could say that could make him think differently, so I chose the safe route. Comfort.
It wasn’t until months later he discovered that Stacey hooked up with some guy way before she and Josh even started talking. It turned out that the baby wasn’t even his to begin with. I think what sits with me the most is that I couldn’t tell if he was more upset that he wouldn’t be a dad or got played.
It might be strange to think about, but he really would make a fantastic father. He was always great with kids.
My fear is that now that we’ve had time and space to think about kissing so abruptly—then jumping to straight-up dating could create some awkward tension, which I can’t blame either of us for. In the same breath, I don’t see why we can’t forget about it. Other people pretend all the time. Some people even hook up with their best friends and never seem to have issues. That could be a reach, but I’m only trying to connect the dots. If it’s awkward because I’m that bad of a kisser, he 74
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should say that. I can take it. I’m a big girl.
