Tag: love

12. Against The Grain.

I began to talk to this guy almost every day. We’ll call him…Jesse. We began to play this game asking questions about each other. I learned he was from out of state, that he lived in his dad’s house and lived a ways from where I was at. Over the next few days, I found myself stumbling onto his profile almost a little more than necessary. I looked through his pictures so I could really get a good look at the guy I was talking to every night.

He was becoming cuter and cuter to me the more we talked. He was definitely wasn’t my type. He sagged his pants (which I fucking hated) and liked a lot of rap. But then again, they say that opposites attract.

We decided to go and meet up at a concert. We arranged rides to get there. I remember sitting at the venue, eagerly waiting for his appearance. Then I saw him. I could tell he saw me too. He smiled and turned away shyly. Okay, I thought to myself. I’m gonna have to make the first move on this one. I was not used to this. Being married had definitely done a number on my dating skills. Of course, I never dated much to begin with.

I walked up to him at the bar. He turned to look at me, said hi, and looked away. He was definitely shy. I believe I asked him to go sit at a table together. He said yes and we started talking. I don’t know what we talked about, but I remember I was extremely flirtatious. I kept my hand on his thigh, whispering in his ear (also, it was a show so it was loud. The key is to not be too sexy). I remember asking him if I could kiss him. Lord knows he wasn’t gonna do it on his own. This boy needed some help. He nodded and I made my mood.

The sensation that coursed through my body was amazing. The kiss was different, for I had not made out with anyone with facial hair and he had more than I had ever been used to. I deepened the kiss and remember running my hand through his hair. Then, I, ever so classily, took his hand and put it in front of my leggings. This was to be my new persona. I could literally be whoever I wanted with this guy. I wanted to be bold, sexual, and desirable. He was the first one I had ever met that I could be that way with. It was dangerous, naughty, and tons of fun. Excellent date.

I told him he could come back to Hannah’s place that night, if he wanted to. He did, but knew he’d have to ask his dad. He literally waited until his dad was about to drop me off and got out of the car and told him he’d be back home the next day.

And then he never left.

That is the story of how I met the man that would someday become my entire world, unbeknownst to myself.

6. Max

I’m going to keep this story as brief as possible. There’s a 700 page book I wrote dedicated to Max. Max was my first love. I fell in love with him in high school. I was the Christian girl and he was the emo kid with eyeliner and the Blink 182 shirt. Every interest I ever had in music, guys, and pandas came from Max. He was the only guy I had ever cared about more than myself. We were friends first and we’d only ever kissed once. And when it looked like we were going to be in a relationship, he’d decided to go back to his ex. Looking back, it was not that big of a deal. But at the time, it was catastrophic. I had given my whole heart to this guy emotionally, and when he broke it, I was shattered. That was the first bout of depression I had ever come across. That was the first instance that launched my addiction to self-harm. I had cut letters into my ankle. I was distraught. To help me learn and mend, I wrote a book about my life in high school right up until I joined the Air Force.

Eventually, Max and I came to a resolution and it was fine. We talked every once in a while, but nothing substantial. My husband knew how much I had loved Max. But in the book I wrote, I came to the conclusion that I had to stop dreaming about him. He was never going to tell me he loved me, he didn’t want me. Max was a dream, and a far-fetched one at that.

Or so I thought. When I was neglected by my husband, Max and I started talking. We hadn’t talked in quite a while, but he still did something to my heart, four years after the fact. The thing about Max, was that he was the most unique person I had ever met. I have never met a soul like him. He talked in riddles and metaphors. There was something dark and mysterious about him and it was so easy for him to reel me in.

Max and I started skyping while my husband would be at work. Our conversations were light hearted and enjoyable, but still, I shouldn’t have been talking to him without my husband knowing. I just needed some attention. Doesn’t make it right though, I know. He’d call my son “Little Max” even though he knew that wasn’t his name. Then he did it. All of the convincing I had told myself, and this motherfucker ruined it.

“A part of me wants to tell you, but I feel bad because of your life now.”

“Tell me what?”

“Idk. Everything. If I had a chance to be in your life now, I would be there in a heartbeat.”

FUCK. And it all came back. And then of course, my dumbass had to ask.

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever stopped. I’ve buried it at times.”

Everything. Everything I told myself for years. He never loved me. He didn’t want me. It was all a lie. He’s always loved me. The way I loved him. And this motherfucker decided to tell me after I was married and had a child. WHY THE FUCK–goddamit men. So fucking stupid. I can’t.

My heart had opened right up to him. I was so confused. I had literally built a wall around my feelings for him and with one sentence, it crumbled. What was I to do now?

Max and I talked for a few more days, before I finally told my husband. I had to be honest. I couldn’t hide it. I owed him the truth. Of course, when I did, he was angry as fuck. So angry, he punched the wall next to my head. Scared the shit out of me. He made me feel like such a piece of shit. I felt horrible. How could I, as a wife and a mother, consider taking my child away from his dad to chase after a high school love? I couldn’t. It was selfish. Max was my missed connection, one that I would miss for life.

My husband was so pissed at me for days, but I had decided to tell both him and Max that I made a commitment to my marriage. This was my life now. This was the life I chose. My son came first. Max understood, but mending things with my husband, that was going to be difficult. I had talked to my mother about the situation and she told me to take a breather. She asked me a series of questions, and I told her I just wasn’t feeling valued by my husband. I told her we weren’t having sex. She stopped and asked me if I thought he was cheating. I was like, no way. He wouldn’t sacrifice his family for it.

OR SO I HAD FUCKING THOUGHT.

Mom’s little question floated around in my brain. It had been a while since I checked his shit. The last conversation we had about anything remotely like that was four months prior, when I went into labor.

So out of sheer curiosity, I opened up his Yahoo! account. Apparently the idiot forgot I knew the password. And what did I find? Sure enough, the bitch that he had been exchanging pics with before I got married, Hannah, was in there.

And there was a lot of messages from the the previous month. They talked about me, about Adam, and about wanting to have sex with each other. And I’m not talking simply, like explicitly. Apparently, when he was doing his “shift” with our son, and I was sleeping, he was messaging and calling her. He would tell her how much he loved her.

I was shattered. And then I was livid. Here I was, telling him I had feelings for someone and BEING FUCKING HONEST, he was lying and doing this shit. I was done.

So I did what I do every time I find out about this kind of shit. I made myself look gorgeous, did my makeup and waited for my husband to wake up. And he did, while I was doing my makeup.

“Baby, will you get me something to drink?”

I smiled sweetly. “Of course.” I walked into the kitchen, got him some orange juice, and gave it to him. He looked at me. “You look pretty. I love you.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“What do you mean okay?”

I took the screenshots I had printed out. I threw them at him. “Wanna tell me what the fuck this is?”

Why is it that all men when they know they’ve been busted, evidence and all, act like you’re out of your mind?

He looked at it and acted confused. “I don’t know what this is.”

“It’s all your fucking messages with Hannah.”

He tried to make excuses, but he knew his ass was grass. I laid into him. I yelled at him for treating me like shit, making me seem like I was a horrible spouse, and betraying me again. I told him I wanted a divorce. I told him that I had said if he ever did this shit while we were married, it would be the end. And here we are. I told him I was taking Adam and I wanted him to suffer.

I also messaged Hannah on Facebook and told her she was a homewrecking whore and I hope she was happy that he was going to lose his family. Also, I told her that he said she meant nothing to him and was like porn. Which, is what he told me. He told me he didn’t love her and it was a mistake.

For some reason, this offended her. So much, in fact, that she gave me her Facebook password with the promise from me that I would not post anything on her profile publicly. I didn’t need to do that. I had more class than that.

But when I read through her messages between her and my husband, I was completely and utterly appalled. He had told me it only happened for that week of messages I found in the Yahoo! Turns out, they had been messaging since that night I was suspicious. The night that I went into fucking labor for our child. This motherfucker lied straight to my face. Four fucking months worth of the most sickening shit I had ever read in my life. All of the things he did nice for me during that time was wiped completely out. I hated him. I hated him. I fucking hated him. They talked about how when he’d visit back home, he’d make up a story about “hanging out with the guys” and leave me with Adam, and then going to go fuck her. These messages guys, they were so detailed. I swear to God, I had a vivid picture of what this girls pussy looked, tasted, and smelled like by the end of these messages.

I couldn’t fucking believe it. HOW COULD I HAVE BEEN SO FUCKING STUPID. WHY THE FUCK DID I MARRY HIM? WHY THE FUCK DID I HAVE KIDS WITH HIM. I WAS GOING TO MURDER HIM.

I was so angry and I ripped him a new one. I screamed that he was a liar. Thankfully, my son slept pretty well, so he didn’t hear me yelling. My husband didn’t know what to do with himself, except beg for my forgiveness. And I wouldn’t give it. I was done. Fuck him. I was taking my son and going for Max. Fuck this. FUCK THIS MOTHERFUCKER. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

I bawled and bawled. I hated him. So much.Three days later, I told my Mom everything. I was making wild decisions and she had to tell me to calm my shit. Then she asked another detrimental question, damn her.

“When was your last period?” She thought maybe I had been overreacting and losing my shit because of PMS, which has been known to happen. I sat down and thought about it. I had one period after I gave birth, but I couldn’t remember my second. Then it dawned on me. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. NO.