Page 49 of Dirty Like Zane
He really hadn’t tried to get near me atall.
He’d definitely stared at me every chance he got, though. With a penetrating, accusing, expectantstare.
Awhen-are-you-gonna-get-over-your-bullshit-and-talk-to-mestare.
By now, I knew that starewell.
I knew he wasn’t happy that I wasn’t talking to him. I knew he was mad at me and probablyhurt.
I was mad at him,too.
And I’d been hurting foryears.
I’d watched him drink himselfstupid.
I’d watched him hurthimself.
I’d watched him with other women. And not just since we weremarried.
I’d known the man for almost eight years, worked with him pretty intimately, built a pretty amazing friendship… and I had watched him hook up with literally hundreds of women who weren’tme.
When it came to Zane, I had wounds and I hadscars.
Fresh wounds. Oldwounds.
Ancientscars.
Some that were fading and some that may never fullyheal.
Some that had burst back open, over andagain.
I didn’t want to punish him forit.
I’d never wanted to punishhim.
Zane was who he was. I never even wanted him to change. Not at hiscore.
It was the bullshit destructive behavior, the kind that hurt him, that hurt everyone who cared about him, that hurtme, that needed togo.
I’d never asked him to change, but now he was married to me, and he kept telling me he wanted to be married to me, and yet he still couldn’t see all the ways he was hurtingme.
All the ways he was still hurtinghimself.
Zane:please take down yourwall
I kept checking my phone and staring at his last text, long into the night. I started to reply, a few times, then deleted whatever angry bullshit I’dwritten.
Eventually I let down my wall, just a bit, and wroteback.
Me:Please don’t ever drink again. Please don’t smoke pot anymore. Please don’t sleep with other women. Please juststop.
His response came in momentslater.
Zane:please be mywife
* * *
Early the next morning,I lay in bed and tried to formulate some kind of plan. I was always armed with a plan; it was my thing. One of my greateststrengths.
