Page 76 of A Good Girl's Guide to Dominance
“I don't care what you think,” he says, fighting back an onslaught of tears. “But I don't love you … and I never will.”
His words break my resolve, sending me plunging into sadness that cracks my heart. I want to respond—to cuss him out, to fight for us, to call him pitiful and weak, to beg for him not to do this—but he doesn't give me time to. I watch in pure shock and dismay as Rome turns on his heel, opens my front door, and slams it shut behind him. I feel the pain of his absence in an instant, and the cracks he put in my heart give way, shattering me into a million irreparable pieces.
Forty-One
“Hey … Nia, what’s wrong?”
I stare at Jaz with the words on the tip of my tongue, but there's an emotional barricade that keeps them from coming out. When I try to speak, tears seep from my eyes instead. As much as I try to put on a tough exterior to convince both Jaz and myself that I haven't been completely demolished by what just happened at my house, the dam breaks and I crumble beneath the emotions. No words come out, only powerful sobs that wreck my entire body.
Jaz steps over the threshold of her front door and wraps her arms around me, and that’s where we stand for the next five minutes, on her front porch with the door wide open, while I cry harder than I ever have before.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she whispers in my ear after a while. “Let’s go inside and talk about it. Okay? Come on.”
The strain of heartbreak has zapped all of the strength from my legs, so Jaz has to help me inside like I'm an injured athlete. Both literally and figuratively, I lean on her for support, even after we've made it inside and taken a seat on her couch.
“Is everything okay?” asks a confused Michael, who’s dressed in sweatpants and a robe with a bottle of Corona in his hand.
He gets up from his seat to come inspect, but Jaz shoos him away. They exchange some kind of unspoken, married-people-conversation, and Michael leaves the room without saying another word. It’s not until he has made it all the way upstairs and into the bedroom that Jaz finally speaks.
“Okay, sweetie. Tell me what’s going on? What happened?”
“Rome,” I reply, although it comes out in a whimper that makes me hate the sound of my own voice.
“What happened to Rome?” Jaz inquires. “Is he okay?”
I shake my head, struggling to breathe through the sobs, and I absolutely can't stand the way I'm reacting. I've gone so long telling myself that I'm not weak just because I'm a submissive, and here I am crying my heart out over a man too broken to love me. I want to be stronger. I desire to be the perfect example of what a sub should be—submissive, but stronger than tungsten. Yet, love has weakened my defenses. I could cuss out Zane and storm out of his house. I had no problem telling Marcus that I wasn't interested in his brand of dominance. But I didn'tlovethem. Now that the word has fallen from my lips, it has been made real, and true love can hurt more than anything in this world. Maybe Rome was right about it being poison, because I feel like I'm dying a slow death right now, and it is love that is killing me.
“Nia,” Jaz says, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Try to calm down, boo. I need you to tell me what happened.”
“He dumped me,” I force myself to say.
Before I speak again, I repeat the words in my head and let them anger me. I choose anger over sadness because anger is much more useful. Sadness is a bottomless pit that swallows people whole, and you can't move until you learn how to climb out of it with your bare hands. But anger can be the ultimatemotivator when it’s righteous and mature. I'd much rather seethe than cry, but it takes all of my focus to fight the tears back.
“Hedumpedyou?” Jaz exclaims in total shock. “For what?”
“Because I love him,” I answer.
The ridiculousness of the statement makes me want to curl up in a ball and break everything in sight at the same time.
Jaz’s forehead furrows. “Wait a minute? I don't understand. He dumped you because you love him?”
“Yes. Okay, bear with me while I try to make this long story as short as possible.”
“Wait. First of all … no. Don't try to make the story short. Don't skip any details. I want to know absolutely everything, because bitch I didn't even know you were in love. Secondly, I think we’re going to need wine for this,” Jaz says.
“Oh, my god. Yes!”
My friend jumps off the couch and speed walks into the kitchen, where she grabs a full bottle of Rosé and two glasses. She jogs back into the living room, sets the glasses on the coffee table, and fills them both to the top.
“Fuck halfway,” she says, handing me mine as she brings her glass straight to her lips. “Okay, now go.”
I take a giant swig of my wine and sit up straight, then I go over the entire story from start to finish. I explain Rome’s behavior at the office—the way he spent the entire day snapping at people for simple work problems that had simple solutions. I tell her about the bar, and how his mood had shifted before Zane walked in and began hurling insults at me like they were bombs. I explain how Rome stood up from his barstool and hit Zane with one lightning quick punch that knocked him out in front of everyone, before screaming at his unconscious body that I belonged to him. It takes time to work my way through the tears that refuse to go away, but I break down everything thathappened at my place, emphasizing that I told Rome I was in love with him on the anniversary of his wife’s death.
“He said that love had been nothing but poison in his life—that he didn't love me and never would,” I finish, and before more tears can fall, I pull the wine to my lips and drink until they retreat.
“That bastard,” Jaz says, refilling her glass. “That childish, selfish bastard. I didn't want to say anything, but I was so worried that this would happen.”
“I know. I should've listened to you,” I say. “You told me not to lose myself in him, and that’s exactly what I did. I even let our friendship fade into the background so that I could spend as much time with him as possible.”
