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Whenever she spent the night with me, I noticed a pattern: No restless nights or stress if she was around. Even today, when my memories seemed hell bent on following me around, her very presence seemed to keep them at bay. Not only that, but anytime I was around her, there were remnants of feelings that came to life whenever she gave me a certain look.

When we kissed, I felt hints of emotions I once possessed. And after several meet-ups in cities all across the country, I wanted to deny that my attraction to her was more than skin deep. I wanted to deny that even though she was the exact type I should stay away from, I couldn’t seem to get close enough. She was getting under my skin, slipping into my marrow, and that was a problem.

Picking up my phone, I logged into my condo’s call log, stopping when I saw a new voicemail from an unfamiliar number. Helplessly hoping it was the one I’d waited years for, I typed the password into my system and let it play.

“One new message...” The system said before the familiar soft beep.

“Jake, it’s me...” It was the last person I wanted to hear again, Evan. “Jake, I really hate that you insist on rerouting all of our phone calls. It really hurts, and you never—”

“Stop.” I gritted my teeth as the message came to an end, scrolling past the new set of blocked numbers for Evan, Riley, and my father—the ten different ones they’d used this month.

As I added this new, unwelcome number to the list, a chill ran down my spine. It was a sudden reminder of how I’d been off track for the past weeks, how I’d lost focus and almost started to trust someone again.

Every person in my life, except one, had betrayed me at some point, or decided to take an opportunistic turn instead of remaining loyal, and I knew it was only a matter of time before Gillian did the same.

I walked back over to her as she slept and pulled the blanket across her body. I trailed my finger against her lips, making them curve into a sated smile, and then I took a pillow and a blanket to the couch.

I needed to stop whatever the hell this was turning into and return to what we were at the start. For both of our sakes.



Madrid (MAD)

Subject: Hey...

My parents (and family) are coming into town in a few weeks for that marriage proposal I told you about. We’ll both be in New York that weekend, and I was wondering if you wanted to be my date (casual...just casual) at dinner?


Subject: Re: Hey...

This email is not about fucking.


Subject: Re: Re: Hey...

LOL. I’m aware. (Haven’t received one of those from you in awhile, so thank you for the laugh :-) ) Would you like to come, though? It might ease my nerves if you’re there...


Subject: Re: Re: Re: Hey...

Why would I want to meet your parents, Gillian? Would you introduce me as the guy you’re fucking?


Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey...

I would introduce you as my friend.


Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey...

We’re not friends.


Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey...

Okay...Are you having a bad day or something? Something wrong?


Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey...

Jake? Are you there?


I didn’t answer that thread. I started another.

Subject: Dallas.

Meet me at A21 Thursday.


Subject: Re: Dallas.

I’m not meeting you anywhere until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you. What’s wrong, Jake?


Subject: Re: Re: Dallas.

Nothing is wrong with me, Gillian. A21. Thursday.


Subject: Re: Re: Re: Dallas.

I won’t be there. Shoot your come in the trash can.


Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Dallas

You will be there. Bring your mouth.


She never responded.

Days passed and no new words from her ever came. And on Thursday, I stood in the bathroom near A21, realizing she wasn’t going to show.

Agitated, I left and walked into the terminal—spotting her at a restaurant. She was sitting at a table alone with her arms crossed, looking off into the distance.

A part of me wanted to walk over and tell her to follow me back to the restroom, and another part of me wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

She’d get over it.



Present Day

Foolish, foolish girl...

So much for not being a doormat.

I feel like one of the heroines in an old romance book—one of the Mary Sues who’s willing to put up with anything from an asshole hero in exchange for amazing cock. But I honestly can’t continue to live like this—can’t let someone toss my heart into a grinder over and over again for shits and giggles.

I denied him in Dallas, gave into him in Charlotte, and let him do whatever he wanted to do to me in New York.

And the only words spoken between us were moans. That, and a “See you next week.”

I know better than this...

Write later,


**Taylor G.**

1 comment:

KayTROLL: The ‘Misadventures of Taylor G.’s Emotional Pussy’ continues...



Memphis (MEM)—> New York (JFK)

I stared at Jake as he tossed a condom into the trash, waiting for him to make eye contact with me, but he seemed too pre-occupied.