Chapter 6
Evan
Alani and I have been living together for a couple of months now. I had hoped that the longer we lived together, the closer we’d get to having a romantic relationship. But instead, I’ve been friend-zoned. Apparently, she also now thinks I have a vagina because she called me at work earlier to inform me that we’ll be watching some chick flick tonight. I wanted to say no, but she hasn’t been feeling well, so her ‘friend’ will not only be indulging her with her movie choice, but he’ll also be surprising her by picking up dinner from her favorite Thai restaurant.
As much as it pains me, I have to finally admit that Alani and I will never be more than just friends. Realizing the truth, that I’ll never be with her, doesn’t stop me from loving her, but it does allow me to lift the no-sex sentence I’ve been imposing on myself. It’s been eighty-two days since I’ve had pussy, and ever since I gave up hope on sex with Alani, my cock has been chomping at the bit to be let loose in some soft, warm, and wet hole. It needs to find some release soon. Otherwise, it’s not going be very picky and will fuck any woman’s willing hole. That’s why after we get back from Maddox and Kerrigan’s wedding this weekend, I plan to call Mary, my go-to girl.
Unlike Maddox, who used to employ the one-and-done strategy when it came to banging chicks, I prefer to make use of a woman more than once. To avoid an all-night fuck fest instead of fucking the same woman over a period of time, I like to do a bit of research on her before we fuck for the first time. Not like the creepy stalker following a woman around, but I like knowing what makes a girl tick in order to get the best sexual responses out of her so that it’s mutually gratifying for us. She gets the benefit of my long, thick cock pounding her senseless, leading to multiple orgasms for her while I get off on the complete possession of her body. I enjoy dominating her and making her totally dependent on me for her sexual gratification—controlling when and how she cums. I’m not saying I don’t love a good one night stand with a stranger, no strings attached, but I relish being able to train a woman to draw out both our pleasures and get her to try things she never thought she’d like.
When I first met Mary, I was representing her in a divorce from her cheating, abusive husband. She was always uptight and had her guard up around all men. One night, I agreed to stay at the office late and meet with her. After a particularly tough day in court, where she learned her husband had even cheated on her with her best friend at the time, she came to me heartbroken and in tears. As I sat on the couch, trying to comfort her, she wound up throwing herself at me.
I’m not sure if she did it out of anger or if she needed to feel wanted after dealing for so many years with her husband’s indiscretions, but I knew why I let it happen. I figured that what she went through with her husband and her putting up with him for so long, she was bound to have a lot of inhibitions and repressed emotions, not getting any satisfaction from her shitty husband who was too busy having affairs. She was a perfect candidate for what I had in mind. I left her more than satisfied that night, only giving her a few tastes of my complete domination over her body. I annihilated her husband in the divorce case, and she became a wealthy woman because of it.
The sex became a regular thing between us, but I made sure she knew we weren’t exclusive. Given her history with a cheating husband, you’d think she’s balk at the idea, but she probably agreed to our arrangement because I’ve given her many sexual firsts and feels sexually liberated whenever we get together—that and the multiple orgasms every time. Apparently, even though her husband was a dick to her, it wasn’t the kind that felt good in her vagina—he never once made her cum. Mary is a woman scorned, and just like me, she’s only looking for a few moments of freedom from her constant mental state of hell.
Lani
I can’t believe how wrong I was about Evan. He’s been a great support system for me over the past few months. We’ve managed to develop an easy camaraderie, but we still constantly fight like cats and dogs over everything and nothing. One of our first “discussions” involved Jase. When I asked if I could invite Jase over one night, Evan calmly responded with, “Sure...if you want me to rip his balls off and shove it down his throat before I decorate the sidewalk with him. He’s bound to piss me off with anything that comes out of his asshole mouth. And when he does, there’s only one way he’s leaving here and it won’t be through the front door.”
Technically, there was no argument at the time because I didn’t know if Evan was kidding. He said it so nonchalantly without any emotion in his voice that it was difficult to tell. Since it was his place, I had to respect Evan’s wishes if he didn’t want Jase to come over. I never brought it up again after Evan insinuated that Jase wasn’t welcome in Evan’s home. I just didn’t want to risk a confrontation between the two of them. The argument Evan and I eventually had wasn’t so much about Jase not coming over, but about the result of the ban. Jase had not been happy to find out I was living with Evan, and being unable to come see me was the last straw. I blamed Evan for my breakup with Jase and the loss of my regular source for sex. Sex with Jase wasn’t great, but it was still an outlet for me. A couple of months without sex has started making me snippy.
So now, Evan and I fight over the littlest thing, like cleaning around the penthouse. The ass has actually banned me from tidying up anywhere other than my bedroom and bathroom. Evidently, I’m not qualified to load the dishwasher since I don’t line up the dishes properly. And don’t get me started on the towels...who knew there was a right and wrong way to put a towel away? You just fold it up and stick on a shelf—how hard can it be, right? No, according to Evan, I somehow manage to mess that up, too. When I asked him to inform me of the proper way to put away a towel, he just growled at me and angrily replied, “Never mind! Just don’t touch it. I’ll take care of it myself.”
Evan’s anal tendencies are not only limited to cleaning. Every time I walk out the door, he feels the need to remind me to take my phone, call him when I get to where I’m going, and make sure my security detail is within five yards of me at all times. His controlling ways have been annoying the shit out of me, so like a petulant child, I haven’t always done what he’s asked. I just didn’t want him to think that he could control me, but I wound up feeling bad when I realized how worried he was after my friend and I slipped away from my bodyguards to get some lunch. Evan had been pissed at me, but I could still detect the relief in his voice when he saw that I was safe. It occurred to me that even though I don’t always agree with how he shows his concern for my safety, I at least know that Evan does care about me. When I was sick last week, he made me soup and practically catered to my every need. It’s because of the unexpected and sweet things he does that I know Evan has a good heart—even if his heart is a bit damaged.
My friendship with Evan continues to grow the more time we spend alone together, and the new feelings I’ve developed for him confuse me. Sometimes, we’ll be sitting side-by-side on the couch, watching a movie when I find myself snuggling up against him. Once I do, he puts his arm in a more comfortable position by placing it around my shoulders, and I start to long for a life where I can share a closeness and comfort with someone. My heart has started to want him, but thankfully, my brain continues to keep me in check.
I think he’s given up on his pursuit of me and it makes me a little sad—I’m reluctant to admit that I miss the aggressive side of him that can ignite my passion in an instant. Part of me wishes he hadn’t given up on me, but at the same time, I’m glad he did. I’m not the right person for Evan, and I could never make him truly happy. He deserves someone who knows who she is and what she wants. Someone who’s strong and self-assured like he is and doesn’t need to be cared for. He needs someone who can match his aggressiveness in bed and find pleasure in the rough sex that he’s into. Thinking about the perfect woman for Evan and how it could never be me, I’m overcome with a sudden sorrowful feeling, and I’m surprised by the tear that falls down my cheek.
I quickly swipe at the errant tear, and I try to tell myself that Evan is just a friend. I try to recall all the negative things about Evan to counteract the emotions running through me. It annoys me that as comfortable as I’ve become around him, he still can’t relax around me. Even after our discussion months ago, he continues to wear his damn button up shirts at home, leaving him always covered up and restricted. I feel as if Evan has stopped enjoying things in life, just so he can babysit me. I’m so ready for this whole Jackson situation to be over, but it’s like he up and vanished. Jackson has stopped sending me emails or trying to communicate with me in any way. Maybe he found a new obsession, but my gut tells me that he just wants us to think he’s moved on so we’ll become complacent and he can strike when I least expect it.
I hear the front door open and the butterflies start to flutter around inside me. It’s been like this for a while now. Whenever Evan comes home, my body has an automatic response in anticipation of our upcoming interaction. It doesn’t care whether it’s going to be amicable or antagonistic, my body just likes having him around. I watch Evan walk in, wearing a form fitting, custom made gray suit with a blue tie, carrying a bag from my favorite Thai restaurant. Evan looks delicious, and I’m ready to devour him. Oh my God, Lani, get a grip! This is what happens when I’m deprived of sex, I start to lust after a man I have no right being with.
“Evan! You brought me Thai food? That’s so sweet!” I exclaim, giving him a hug. Friends do that, right? To show appreciation for such a thoughtful gesture?
“I did,” he responds with an emotionless voice as he continues on to the kitchen. Feeling a little hurt with the way he just brushed me off, I wonder if anything is wrong. He’s been acting distant for the past week, and I don’t like this detached side of him. I dismiss the thought, figuring I’m just being overly sensitive.
“You ready to start the movie?” I ask, gathering the silverware. I glance over at him as he’s washing his hands and I wait for his response.
“Yeah,” he responds, looking annoyed before he carries the food into the living room. I grab a couple of plates and follow him.
“You don’t want to change first?” I inquire as I set the plates down on the coffee table.
“Nah, I’m good,” he answers, easing himself down on the couch after setting out the food. I look down at him, still fully dressed in his work attire, and I begin to get upset. Why does he insist on staying in his uptight clothes? Why won’t he change into something more comfortable? We’re supposed to be friends and be comfortable around each other. Why can’t he just relax with me for once?!
“Evan, do you want me to move out?”
Evan
I was turned on the moment I walked into the condo and saw Alani in the short shorts she wears to bed and the T-shirt I gave her the first night she came to live me. She looked so fucking hot that when she greeted me with a hug, I had to keep walking in order to avoid getting lost in the feel of her softness. I’ve been friend-zoned, and friends don’t cram their dicks into their friend’s mouth, ass, or vagina. When she asked about the movie, I was once again reminded of my new “girl friend” status and was instantly sexually frustrated and annoyed.
Hearing her ask me if I wanted her to move out, I briefly entertain the idea that it may be for the best. As much as I’m tormented with wanting Alani in my bed and not getting any sexual satisfaction, I want her safe—and I need to see her every night. I’ve gotten used to coming home to her every day, and I don’t want to give that up.
“No,” I finally answer with a sigh. I mask my emotions and look at her straight-faced. I watch her search my face before her eyes settle on mine. She breaks eye contact after a couple of minutes and throws her hands up in frustration.
“You know what...thank you for letting me stay. Thank you for everything. But it’s time for me to go,” She sets the silverware down on the plates with a clatter before turning around and storming off. I should be thankful she didn’t stab me with the knives in anger. I don’t have the mental energy to fight her at the moment, so I lean back on the couch and let her leave.
Maybe she should move out because this isn’t working. As I sit with my head laying on the back of the couch, I try to think of where she could go that would be safe. I can’t come up with anything—my place is the safest. We’ll just have to make it work. I get up and head back to her bedroom to talk to her. I knock on her door, but she doesn’t answer. I knock again—still no answer. I open the door and walk in. Not seeing her in the bedroom, I head towards the en-suite bathroom and find her standing at the sink with tears in her eyes. Fuck. I hate seeing her cry. I’m so sick of being her friend, but it’s what she needs right now.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I gently ask, walking up behind her. I turn her around and take her into my arms. She wraps her arms around me and lays her head on my chest.
“I’m sorry, Evan. You’ve given up everything for me,” she tearfully replies. I pull back from her so that I can tilt her chin up and look into her eyes.
“That’s not true. Anything I’ve done for you, it’s because I’ve wanted to. I really didn’t give up anything,” I tell her sincerely. It’s true—besides a bedroom, I haven’t given anything up.
“Yes, you have. I’ll repay the rent and the security,” she insists, stepping out of my arms.
Now, I’m insulted and pissed. “I don’t want your fucking money, Alani,” I lash out angrily.
“I can’t figure you out, Evan. I tried staying out of your hair to begin with, but you told me to stop hiding. I did and I thought we’d become friends who could be ourselves in front of one another. Yet, you’re constantly wearing a fucking suit and tie even when you should be comfortably relaxing in your underwear at home. You can’t stand there and tell me that you haven’t given anything up! It’s your place, and for whatever reason, you don’t feel comfortable enough around me to let your guard down once in a while! When I agreed to move in, I didn’t think I’d be ruining your life!” Her words rush out and come crashing down around me.
“You didn’t ruin my life, Alani,” I protest. “I wanted you here.” The will to fight is draining out of me.
“I get it, you wanted me here. But I knew that once you got to know me, you wouldn’t want me anymore. I knew you’d eventually get tired of me. God! I’m so happy I didn’t give in to my feelings.”
This sends me over the edge. She doesn’t understand that I still want her and will never stop wanting her. She wants to see me out of my suit and tie? Fine—I’ll let her. I remove my jacket, rip off my tie, and start to unbutton the cuffs of my shirt. Her eyes open wide and with alarm in her voice, she asks, “What are you doing Evan?”
“I’m giving you what you want. You want to see me relax in my own home, right? Out of my ‘fucking suit and tie’?” I answer, bitterly throwing her words back at her as I’m unbuttoning my shirt.
“I don’t want to force you to do anything, so just stop. Let me pack and I’ll be on my way,” she responds, moving past me and walking away. I finish removing my shirt and follow her out to the bedroom. I grab her arm to halt her escape. She stops and with her back still to me, she says, “Evan, stop.”
“No. Not until you look at me and see what I’ve been trying to hide,” I tell her before she can finish turning around. The shock registers on her face and she gasps into her free hand at the first glimpse of all my tattoos. She doesn’t utter a word as her eyes roam all over my torso and arms, inspecting every inch. For a brief moment, I feel a sense of freedom, knowing that my tattoos tell her more than I ever could.
Lani
Oh my GOD! I’m stunned into silence by the sight before me. How could Evan have done this to himself? He has my name tattooed across his chest with different words vining out from it. I’m amazed by the intricate designs decorating his beautiful skin as I take in every detail. Merely looking is not enough—I’m compelled to trace the word ‘Bitch’ directly under ‘Alani’. I’m not surprised to see it there, knowing how he felt about me in the beginning. I wanted him to despise me so that he’d move on. I scoff at that thought—I wanted him to move on, but how can he when he has a constant and permanent reminder that he can’t escape?
What’s most shocking is the realization that this has to be a year’s worth of tattoos—maybe even longer. The more I gaze at and explore the writing, the more I see the beauty in both the artwork and of his chest. His build is amazing and lean—the tattoos are perfectly placed over each defined muscle. I reverently brush my fingers against some of the words as I read them, knowing they contain the feelings that he’s kept hidden from me this whole time. I’m overcome with emotion as when I trace the words directly over his heart with my fingers—’Always mine’. My eyes are drawn to his face and I look searchingly into his eyes.
“When?” I inquire, mesmerized.
He briefly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to answer. “The day you accused me of only caring about money,” he finally replies, his gaze meeting mine. “So over a year ago.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I don’t know what to think. And I don’t know what to feel. I’m still reeling from shock of it all.
“Alani?” he says gently as he softly brushes his knuckles against my cheek. It occurs to me that he’s treating me like a skittish horse, probably afraid that I’d bolt on him.
“Yeah?”
“Can we discuss all of this and just get everything out in the open? I don’t want to waste any more time trying to anticipate what may or may not happen.”
He’s right, we do need to talk. And if Evan is honest with me, then I’ll be honest with him. “I’d like that,” I reply with a slow nod of my head. He leads me to the bed and we sit down on the edge. I’m still at a loss. He did this to his body? For me? Because of me?
“I guess now you can see why I’m always covered up,” he starts out saying, easing us into the conversation.
“Yes, but I don’t understand why you’d do that to your body...especially, with my name—we aren’t even dating,” I tell him, the confusion evident in my voice.
“Because you’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted—I meant it when I told you the universe decided we should be together. I can’t fight it—God knows I’ve tried,” he responds earnestly .
“I know you may think that’s how you feel, but you’ll–”
He cuts me off before I can continue. “No, don’t do that. Don’t put words into my mouth. Don’t assume that I don’t understand what I’m feeling. I know what I feel. I’m almost thirty-five and I know myself by now,” he declares harshly, standing up from the bed. He runs a hand through his hair as he walks over to stand in front of the glass door leading to the outside balcony. I can see the anger on his face reflected by the glass. I stand up and walk over towards him.
“Look, I don’t mean to diminish your feelings, but I just don’t understand. I’ve told you over and over that I’m not looking for a relationship. Then, you go and do this to your body,” I address his reflection while gesturing towards his upper body.
He turns to face me, and the anger has been replaced by determination. “Regardless of whether you want me or if we ever end up together, I wanted these on my body. I want to feel all the emotions you’ve ever brought out in me whenever I look in the mirror. And even though you piss me off and frustrate the hell out of me, you’ve given me life, and I don’t want that feeling to go away,” he says, his voice impassioned.
“Evan, you made a mistake. You shouldn’t have done this to yourself.” God, I hope he can get these lasered off. Although I can appreciate the beauty of his tattoos, his future wife will, sure as shit, freak the fuck out. I feel a sudden, sharp pain in my chest at the thought of Evan marrying anyone but me, but I know I need to open up to him so that he can hopefully move on. He lets out a long sigh, but doesn’t say anything. I realize I’m hurting him, but I’m hoping he comes to the realization that it’s better if it happens now, rather than later.
Evan
Well, her reaction is better than I thought it would be. She may not be hurting me physically, but once again, she’s doing it in a way that cuts deeper. The way that completely fucking sucks and I may not recover from. I need to leave the room—the pain is making the anger within me rise, and I don’t want her to witness it.
“Evan?” she says, tentatively placing her soft hand on my arm. I know she’s trying to let me down gently, but she’s not aware that I’m deeply, head over heels and forever in love with her—there is no gentle way to do it.
“I’m going to my bedroom to start packing for tomorrow,” I announce, defeated. I can’t even look at her right now. I’m no stranger to rejection. After being rejected by both of my parents, I thought I understood pain and could handle it—I was completely wrong. I hate myself for allowing me to fall for her. God, I hate her. I walk past her and get out of the room.
“Evan?” she asks, her voice filled with compassion.
“What, Alani?” I pause on my way out.
“They’re really beautiful.”
“So are you,” I say, leaving her bedroom without turning around.
I get to my bedroom and sit down on my bed, trying to come to terms with that fact that I will never have her. Before meeting Alani, I always thought I’d be numb to any kind of emotion. Now, I just wish I could go back to not feeling anything, because the fire I felt in my heart for Alani has turned into a raging inferno determined to destroy any life I have left.
Lani
After Evan left my room, I decided to shower and pack for tomorrow. I know I hurt him—when I had my hand on his arm, I caught the mix of sorrow, anger, and pain haunting his soulful eyes. But before I could explain and provide him with the reason we couldn’t be together, Evan left, doing what he always does whenever feelings are involved—he shut me out. After much contemplation during my shower and feeling more refreshed, I head to his room to seek him out. I’m not letting it end like this—he needs to hear what I have to say. Knowing he’d just turn me away, I don’t bother to knock and walk straight in.
Finding him on his back, stretched out over the covers of his bed with one arm bent up and cradling his head, any feelings I had quickly change to burning need. Wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs, his tattoos are magnificently displayed before me. Although it’s covered up, I can see the extensive bulge of his flaccid cock, and I’m amazed by the size of it. As I lustfully gaze at it, I wonder how much bigger it would become if Evan was aroused. I probably should’ve knocked before entering his room to give him a chance to cover up because I’m suddenly distracted by the thoughts and images of how I could stimulate Evan and find out the answer to that question. I turn to leave, knowing I’ve forgotten what I came here for, much less concentrate on anything that needs to be said. Before I can get out the door, I’m stopped by a deep, emotionless voice coming from the bed.
“What do you want, Lani?” Evan asks. It doesn’t escape me that he didn’t call me Alani.
“I uh…I thought maybe we could try talking again,” I reply, turning back around to face him.
“What’s left to say?”
“Well...I didn’t get a chance to say what I needed to, so I just want to explain my side,” I answer, walking closer to his bed.
“I already know your side, Lani. You don’t want me, and you want me to move on,” he replies, turning his head to look towards me, but not budging otherwise.
“It’s more than that, Evan. Will you just hear me out?” I implore him as I reach his side, “Please...I need you to understand.”
“Go ahead,” he relents with a sigh, facing the ceiling and closing his eyes.
“I pretty much felt invisible when I was growing up. I had parents who loved me, but they were always too busy for me and my brother. We had nannies, but for the most part, I was left alone a lot and had to learn to be independent early in life. In high school, I was a geek and I didn’t really have any friends. I felt like an outcast—always alone. One day, when all the loneliness had finally gotten to me, I decided to go to a high school party. I didn’t really know anyone there, but I just wanted to be around people...it would have been enough. So then, at the party, Michael came up and started talking to me. I couldn’t believe my luck that such a cute guy was paying me any attention—I was so excited to have someone finally see me.” I’m forced to stop as the memories of Michael and the feelings he still sometimes evokes threaten to choke the life out of me. I can feel the anxiety building inside and I try to beat down the fear that still immobilizes me at times. Concerned, Evan sits up and pulls me to sit down next to him on the bed. As I start to tremble, I feel Evan put an arm around my shoulders and pull me to his side.
“I’m sorry, Evan. I...I thought I could, but I can’t. You just need to know that you deserve more than me,” I shakily tell him, leaning on him for support.
“Please...finish the story. I want to understand.” He grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly to lend his strength for me to continue. I feel like a total shit. Here he is, in so much pain because of me, and he winds up having to try and comfort me. The man’s strength amazes me, and I wish I could be like that. It fuels my resolve to get him to move on to someone who deserves him. I go back to the things I’ve learned in therapy—I take big deep breaths, count slowly, and remember I’m done giving my attackers any more fear. Once I feel calm and my heart rate slow down, I continue for Evan’s sake.
“Sometimes, I can still feel his hands on me,” I reluctantly admit, and I’m forced to take a deep breath. The feel of Michael’s arms surrounding me is something I’ll never forget. He held me from behind, trapping me against him so that I could feel his erection pressing into the cleft of my ass. He squeezed my breast and pinched my nipple so hard it brought tears to my eyes. I can remember the feel of him pulling on my shirt, trying to expose me….
I feel the gentle caress of Evan’s thumb on the back of my hand, and instantly, I’m pulled out of the horrible memory. I look down at our clasped hands and continue. “Anyway...I remember being really scared and looking over at the bed to find a girl laying on it. There was blood on the sheets, and her naked body lay open on display. I was sick to my stomach, but I didn’t know what had happened to her. Kerrigan and I never heard anything about her after that, and we were too afraid to tell anyone. I always wondered—maybe if I had any kind of relationship with my parents, maybe I would have told them and gotten help. Of course, I’ll never know the answer to that, but I made myself a promise to never let fear control me again. Evan, I know what you want from me, but I’m all messed up—I’ve been messed up for ten years!”
Evan
Hearing what she had to say, I want to comfort Alani, but I know I can’t. This is something that she’ll have to work through on her own. I’m so fucking pissed right now at the men who hurt her and the memories that continue to haunt her. I can’t do anything about it right now, so I follow her lead and take a deep breath when she does. It takes her a few minutes, but she starts to talk again.
“The thing is, I don’t know how to move on from that night. I don’t even know who I am, so there’s no way you can. You might think you love me, but how can you without knowing the real me? I can’t be who you want, Evan.”
“I know who you are, Alani.”
“No, you don’t. I’m not like Kerrigan and Molly—I’m not some Hollie homemaker. I don’t want children, and I don’t want the white picket fence,” she argues, breaking from my hold and pulling back to look at me.
“I don’t want children—never wanted them. And I’ll never want them, but I do want you!” I declare passionately as I take her hand in mine and look into her eyes.
“Why?” she questions, searching my eyes. I can see it in hers that she doesn’t believe me.
“Because you challenge me,” I answer. “You have a great heart and you’re a loyal friend. You speak honestly and don’t do anything just for show. I know you think I view you as weak, but I don’t. You’re the strongest woman I know. You took a terrifying incident and made it work for you. You made it your life’s mission to give other victims some justice—you fight for the underdogs and that’s not weak!” I place my hand on her cheek.
“Thank you” is her only response.
“Alani, why can’t you give us a chance? If it doesn’t work out, then at least we both know.”
“Because you like rough and I can’t do it,” she replies sorrowfully.
Shit. I do like rough sex—I like the sweet bite of pain and I like inflicting it to bring out a woman’s pleasure. With her experience, she probably shied away from anything sexual associated with pain. She wouldn’t know that a little pain can bring her to an unbelievable orgasm, and I can be the one to teach her—but this isn’t the time for that conversation.
“I don’t have to do rough, Alani,” I tell her gently.
“Yes, you do. I saw you in the bathroom that night—that kind of aggression doesn’t leave,” she insists.
“While it’s true that I enjoy rough sex, it’s not a make or break for me,” I explain.
“You don’t think it is, but you’ve never had to give it up. I don’t want to be your experiment.”
“There you go again, trying to tell me how I feel.” We aren’t getting anywhere tonight, so I tell her, “Look, why don’t you just go and we can talk more after we get back from the wedding.”
“I’m sorry, Evan,” she says, standing up and looking at me. I can’t be her doormat anymore, so I don’t respond and just lay back down.
After staring at me for a minute, she finally turns and walks out.