I love that moment before you fully wake up. You
don’t know who you are or (better yet) what you’re capable of doing. I
was basking in this exact moment before opening my eyes to the stubbly,
cover-of-GQ face of my ex-boyfriend, lying next to me on the bed. Shit.
There had been a lot of texts.
Somewhere
among the witty one-liners, relevant .gifs, and my apartment’s broken
thermostat, we became co-conspirators in infidelity. We had been broken
up for over a year, and he had just celebrated his one-year anniversary
with his new girlfriend. We were distant friends, still floating in the
same circles. I lived with one of his old roommates, so it was hard to
entirely avoid each other when it came time to decide with whom to share
bottomless mimosas (who better to be drunk at noon with than your ex?).
I
think it’s important to mention that I was also friends with his
girlfriend. She was always unfalteringly nice to me. It would have been
very, very easy to hate her, but I had decided, upon our first meeting,
that any animosity towards her was impossible. Everybody loved
her. I have a special kind of admiration for anyone who has perfect
brows. We were also eerily similar — a fact that she confessed to me
made her nervous about the longevity of her relationship. She was
worried that because my ex had broken up with me, he would eventually
break up with her too. It wouldn’t be the similarities between she and I
that ended her relationship, though. She would probably never do what I
eventually did.
A few weeks prior, my ex and I had hooked up under
the influence of potent Halloween-themed cocktails. No one knew about it
and we had decided it didn’t mean anything. But after Thanksgiving, we
could count phone sex as another indiscretion on our mounting tab.
Though, to be fair, Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” and a few gin and tonics are
partially to blame for this.
That’s when the
incessant texting began and, it should be noted, never ended. The days
passed in text-back tempo. He was thoroughly part of my day so when my
heat broke, he knew about it. He offered to sleep on the couch if I
wanted to come over to his house and get warm. I said no a few times
before I said yes (I say this more to my own credit than for the story’s
factual validity). But I ultimately said yes.
He
picked me up in his car, drove me to his house, helped me carry my bag
up the stairs, and then helped me out of my clothes. NEWSFLASH: He had
no intention of sleeping on the couch. The sex was rough, dirty, raw,
and totally hot. It felt like having sex with a different person, not
the same three familiar (but great) positions I was used to. He reminded
me pretty quickly why he was the best shag of my life.
A few weeks prior, my ex and I had hooked up under
the influence of potent Halloween-themed cocktails. No one knew about it
and we had decided it didn’t mean anything. But after Thanksgiving, we
could count phone sex as another indiscretion on our mounting tab.
Though, to be fair, Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” and a few gin and tonics are
partially to blame for this.
That’s when the
incessant texting began and, it should be noted, never ended. The days
passed in text-back tempo. He was thoroughly part of my day so when my
heat broke, he knew about it. He offered to sleep on the couch if I
wanted to come over to his house and get warm. I said no a few times
before I said yes (I say this more to my own credit than for the story’s
factual validity). But I ultimately said yes.
He
picked me up in his car, drove me to his house, helped me carry my bag
up the stairs, and then helped me out of my clothes. NEWSFLASH: He had
no intention of sleeping on the couch. The sex was rough, dirty, raw,
and totally hot. It felt like having sex with a different person, not
the same three familiar (but great) positions I was used to. He reminded
me pretty quickly why he was the best shag of my life.