CHAPTER TWO — STEPHANIE
I look down at my phone. My chest is tight, and I have a lump in the back of my throat.
I try to force the tears, but they won't come. I want to cry, but my body won't let me.
Fuck it. I look down at Philip's text and hit reply.
He texted me half an hour ago: Are we on for tonight?
I wasn't sure what to say. Not after what had just happened with David, after he punished me like that.
And I don't know if it was exactly a punishment, given that I orgasmed five times, but it was intense.
We had anal sex, which we had never done until now.
It was a lot. It hurt, but I'll admit, I liked it.
What I didn't like, though, was how David coldly told me to leave immediately after. I'm not expecting the five-star treatment — rose petals in a bubble bath, a massage — but he could've at least lain down and cuddled me for five minutes. But no, he kicked me out like a sewer rat.
Or he didn't kick me out. He just left, but it felt exactly the same as being kicked out of the apartment of a fuckboy you met five minutes ago on Tinder.
It's your fault. The thought pops up into my head like it isn't mine, like an outside voice. I swat it away, but it keeps popping back up, like a bot on Instagram.
Because the voice is right. It is kind of my fault.
I mean, I tried to get back at David by having loud sex with Philip. I thought David would get angry, if not jealous, at least mad that I disrespected him like that. After all, it was 2:00 a.m. and we were obnoxious for quite a while.
We used my really loud vibrator, the one that sounds like a machine gun. And so, poetically, that's what David used on me.
But did I deserve what David just did to me? I mean, he already proved his point that he doesn't care, which surprised me, to be honest. I thought for sure he would've caved earlier, but he didn't.
He didn't say anything about the loud vibrator sex for two days. He said nothing at all until I texted him today, because my smoke alarm was going off. And trust me, I tried to turn it off myself, but I couldn't. So, tail between my legs, I texted him.
I mean, the alarm was loud. And so he came in and punished me, not only for vaping, which is what set it off, but also for the Philip incident.
But the real punishment wasn't the sex. It was how he treated me afterwards, which is like trash. Or actually worse than that, like nothing. At least trash exists.
Fuck him. You know what? This isn't my fault, and I deserve to be happy and have fun tonight.
We're on, I text Philip.
I throw my phone on the bed and go to my closet. I'm going to wear the sexiest thing I have tonight. I want to feel good about myself around Philip, and he's the perfect person for that.
Even though our dynamic is weird, he's never put me down.
I look through my dresses, considering my options.
I stop when I come across my short green bandage dress.
It's emerald-colored, and so short that it's only about an inch lower than the crease beneath my ass.
It also has a plunging V-neckline. It has thick straps, and because the material is so thick, I don't need to wear a bra under it.
It's tight, and it basically acts like a push-up bra.
I look obscene in it, like a stripper. I'm not sure what compelled me to buy it in the store, besides the fact that I look hot in it.
Unfortunately, I've never had an opportunity to wear it, because it's so outrageous, but I look so good in it that every time I flip past it when deciding what to wear on a night out, I feel a twinge of sadness.
It reminds me of how I used to feel as a kid when one of my stuffed animals wasn't getting a lot of attention.
I guess I have a tendency to anthropomorphize things.
A bolt of inspiration strikes me. You know what? Tonight is the night. Tonight is the night I wear the sexy dress. But then I remember the plans Philip and I have. I pick up my phone and scroll through our texts, looking for the name of the restaurant. Ma Chérie.
I Google it and click on the images. It's a high-end French restaurant. No, this will not do. Before I can second-guess myself, I text Philip.
Hey, I know this is kind of last minute, and feel free to say no, but would you mind if we changed up our plans, went somewhere a little less fancy?
I see the three dots as he types. Thank God Philip doesn't play games and wait to text me back.
What were you thinking?
Good question. I plop down on my bed and look up at my white stucco ceiling.
A bunch of ideas run through my mind. Rave: well, I don't know if there are any raves tonight.
Strip club: that doesn't make sense. Bar: it's too scandalous for a bar.
Restaurant: same thing. Any kind of sporting activity is out.
Same with a museum or art gallery, which really only leaves one option: nightclub.
A club? I text Philip.
I wait 30 seconds while he's typing. Then he responds.
Sure. Not usually my thing, but I'm always down to try something new. A friend told me he was at L-Spot last weekend, and it was really good. Want to try that? Say, 8:30? I'll pick you up.
Sounds good, I reply.
I smile and go to my closet, grabbing the dress. My fingers run up and down the elastic material. This is going to be a good night.