“I know,” she says. “I know I messed up. I’m not going to let anything like this happen again.”
“Would you have told me about this if I hadn’t seen the video?”
“Of course,” she says, straightening her posture. “It was eating me up inside.”
“Seriously, did you buy a book of ‘I just cheated on you’ clichés or something?”
Her expression turns again. “I can’t believe you’d say that,” she says. “You’re behaving like I’m putting on some kind of act. I feel terrible, but if you’re not willing to work through this, I understand. I’ll grab my things.”
She gets up and starts heading to the bedroom.
I don’t know if it’s a bluff or if she’s actually ready to walk out the door, but even knowing that she’s playing me, it’s still a reflex for me to say, “Stop.”
She turns around, her eyes sad but hopeful. “I’m not going to stay if you don’t think I’m worth it,” she says. “I’d certainly understand if that’s the way you feel. I’d probably feel that way right now, too.”
“I know what you’re doing,” I tell her.
She turns back toward the bedroom, hanging her head.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t still love you,” I tell her.
Half of me is relieved that the status quo is still in effect, at least for a while. The other half of me wants to curb stomp the first part.
What the hell am I doing? This isn’t me.
Before I met Melissa, I was a very different person. Yeah, I was a lot rougher around the edges, but I also remember being a lot happier.
Now, the only one that ever has a smile is her, and that only seems to happen when she’s successfully manipulated me in one way or another.
Like right now.
“You’re not going to regret this,” she says. “I’m going to prove to you that you can trust me. I’m not going to let you down again.”
“Uh huh,” I answer, apathetic.
“In fact,” she says, “I don’t know about you, but I could go for some makeup sex right now.”
Although I’ve already made the mistake, the damage has already been invited back to do its thing, something clicks in my head, and I’m starting to feel a lot more like my old self.
“Go ahead,” I tell her.
She furrows her brow, but her confusion only lasts a moment.
“Where do you want to do it?” she asks. “We could do it right here on the couch, or in the bedroom, or in the kitchen or, ooh, we could do it in the shower. We haven’t done that in a long-”
“You didn’t understand me,” I tell her.
“What?” she asks.
“When I told you to go ahead,” I answer, “you didn’t understand what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“I meant that you can go ahead and fuck yourself.”
Holy shit: that felt good.
Chapter Seven