Page 67 of The Love We Deny
He rejected me. He laughed at my confession. And then he kissed me. And he jerked me off. Shoved his dick down my throat and that whole scene at the restaurant. He said he had been thinking about my ass for months.
I was starting to think—
I don’t know what I was starting to think.
I know that people who aren’t interested don’t do what Will does. I know jealousy when I see it. He doesn’t like that I’m with Karen.
But people whoareinterested don’t hurt you the way he hurts me. And I think I’ve realized that he’s using me for an easy fuck. Why wouldn’t he? He knows how I feel about him. He hates me, so he doesn’t care if he hurts me in the process.
At some point during the second episode, when everyone is sucked in, and the tears behind my eyes that have beenthreatening to fall for the last hour are winning the hard-fought battle, I stand up and go upstairs.
About an hour later, there’s a knock on my door.
I don’t answer it, hoping whoever it is will go away. I don’t want to see anyone right now or for the next week, while I grieve something that never should have started to begin with.
Why does this hurt more than Jess leaving?
I never meant anything to him. I was easy, and he was using me. I feel disgusted with myself that I let it go on as long as I—
The door opens.
Will strolls in, shutting the door and locking it behind him. The mattress dips when he sits on the edge of the bed, but I don’t turn around. “Kids are in bed,” he says, like that’s supposed to matter to me anymore. Maybe if I don’t say anything, he’ll go away.
“So…” He continues when I don’t respond.
I pull my blanket tighter, my voice coming out muffled. “Go away, Will.”
The mattress shifts again as he moves closer, his hand landing on my shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Don’t.” I sit up with a scowl, shrugging him off, but keeping my blanket wrapped around me. “I’m not doing this.”
“Doing what?” he asks, and it makes it so much worse because he sounds actually confused. He doesn’t even know.
“Whatever this is.” I gesture between us with a flick of my hand. “I’m done.”
“Okay…” he says slowly. “What happened?”
“What happened,” I repeat, my anger making my voice steady for the first time tonight. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe what you did in the kitchen earlier.”
“Really, dude? The kids came home—”
“That’s not the point. The point is that you did it on purpose and you thought it was funny—” I stop when my voice cracks. I’m not embarrassing myself any further. That’s all he wants anyway. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”
“It obviously matters.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I say, staring at the wall because my eyes are prickling and I amnotcrying in front of him. “I’m a joke to you. I always have been. You know how I feel, and you use it against me. I mean, why wouldn’t you?” I shake my head. “I’m not doing it anymore. Find someone else to mess with. I’m done.”
Will is watching me. I can feel it, that burn of his stare on the side of my face, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of seeing me upset over him.
“That’s not what this is,” he says, and it would almost sound believable if I didn’t know who I was talking to.
“I mean it.” He reaches for me, tugging on my arm. “Look at me.”
I do, because I must hate myself.
“I didn’t do it to mess with you. The kids came back, so I stopped. That’s it. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“You thought it was funny.”
