I do it then.
I give my tingling fingers relief and fucking punch him in the throat.
When he goes sprawling on the ground, I bend down and growl, “Don’t fucking talk about my girl like that.”
And then leaving him there, I’m running.
I’m fucking running for my life.
I’m running to the girl who lied to me.
She fucking lied.
CHAPTERFORTY
Idid a bad thing.
I’ll be the first to admit that.
I did a very girlfriend thing.
Although I’m not a girlfriend and when I was one, I’d never done something like that. But then again, I hadn’t done half the things that I have now that I’m a non-girlfriend girlfriend.
But anyway.
I withheld sex.
Or threatened to.
I told my non-boyfriend boyfriend that I won’t sleep with him until he goes out with his big brother. And then I felt so awful about it that I started crying.
And then I slept with him anyway.
But the good news is that he did go out with his brother.
I would’ve been happier though if he’d gone out to play soccer. Which he hates.
Or ratherclaimsto hate.
I say claims because I don’t think he hates soccer. At least, not the game itself. I think what he hates is that it was something he was forced to do. Because of his big brother. And that it’s still his big brother’s favorite sport. And since he hates everything related to his abusive asshole dad, like he should, he lumps soccer in as well.
But I’m going to tell him.
I’ve decided.
I’m going to tell him that he doesn’t hate soccer. He hates what it represents.
And then I’m going to tell him that I love him.
I know. IknowI shouldn’t.
This information is even more disastrous than the soccer thing. Plus I’m his good girl and so I should keep my mouth shut and I should let it lie.
But I can’t.
Because letting it lie is actuallylying.
And while it was okay in the beginning, to not tell him, to not reveal that I’ve cut all ties from my ex-boyfriend, it’s not anymore. I can’t lie to him anymore. I can’t keep it inside.