Page 50 of Dirty Like Zane
But with Zane, every plan just crumbled todust.
Usually because whatever plan I had was abandoned the moment he got me alone and got his hands onme.
I wanted to be stronger. I’d always thought I wasstrong.
But with Zane, I was all over the fuckingplace.
Maybe we could keep havingsex.
Maybe wecouldn’t.
I really couldn’t stand the thought of never touching himagain.
I wanted him like I wanted my next drink of water. I could put it off for a while, but eventually, if I didn’t have it, I’d wither up and I’ddie.
So much for beingstrong.
I was nothing but weak. Weak and confused and in pain, wanting someone who would only keep hurting me. I did want him, I would always want him, and wanting him would always cause mepain.
I knewthis.
I’d been in a constant state of pain for so long now, I’d learned to somehow live with it. To stuff it down. Toendure.
Now that I was around Zane all the time on tour, I was also in a constant state of tension and fear, and it was wearing at my nerves. My emotions were frayed, my convictions were shot, my strength wasfailing.
I no longer had any idea what todo.
I had no plan, and no idea what to do aboutit.
I just didn’t know how to live this way. I felt utterly lost, out-of-control, and terrified that I’d never figure out what to do aboutit.
Eight years. It had been almost eight years and I still didn’t know what to do about my feelings forZane.
Worst of all… I was terrified that maybe I was losing him, that I was losing my friend and I was going to lose my job, and that was the only ending there was ever going to be to ourstory.
And by fighting it, all I was doing was delaying the terribleinevitable.
And by trying to tell me he loved me, he was only speeding itup.
It was a simple matter of time, ofwhen, not why or how or if. We were fighting over moments between us that, fast or slow, were never going to change athing.
Any way you looked at it, we were fallingapart.
I’d come to this depressing conclusion right around the time a note was delivered to my room on hotelstationery.
Scrawled on the envelope in a familiar hand, itsaid:
Maggie,
I wrote this to you in February last year, just after Jesse’swedding.
Then things seemed okay between us, and I didn’t give it toyou.
Then things gotworse.
Then things got even worse, and I never gave it toyou.
But every word is stilltrue.
