Kinsley: Someday

This is it!  Kinsley's last post.  As soon as I post this, I'm going to start the finale post, which will take a future jump and be from Liv's perspective.  It will be posted by the end of the day next Saturday, possibly sooner.  As much as I've loved writing Liv, Lauren, and Kinsley's stories, I'm looking forward to wrapping it up.  Writing a long, drawn out story is hard.  I know you guys will miss this blog, and I'm so grateful to you all for making this such a well-loved story.  I really hope you'll love the new one just as much.
____________________________________________

The dread I felt as I left Lauren's house subsided as I walked towards Damien's car.  I figured one of two things were about to happen:  I'd tell him everything and he would decide I wasn't worth the work, or I'd tell him everything and we'd be good and that would be that.  I wasn't sure how realistic those options were, but it was calming at the time, so I didn't argue.

But as soon as Damien got out and opened the passenger side door for me, the worry came creeping back in.  "Hi," I said softly as I accepted Damien's hand that he held out to help me into his truck.  "Thanks for picking me up."

"You're welcome," he replied.  He didn't sound happy, but he didn't sound mad.  He just sounded like Damien.

We were both quiet as he drove us to my house.  I was surprised.  I guess I just assumed we'd end up at his house.  Then I got even more worried, because I realized that this way he wouldn't have to bring me home when we broke up.  He'd be able to just leave.  Leave, and go on with his life.

It was 8:30 by the time we got to my house.  My buzz was wearing off and I just felt ridiculous and very tired.  The beginning of a nasty headache was pulsing at my temples.  Why gin, Kinsley?  Ugghh.

We got inside and Damien gave me a weird look.  "Are you drunk?" he asked.

"No," I replied.  He raised an eyebrow.  I rubbed my forehead and clarified.  "I was drunk, now I'm just pathetic and ridiculous."

"You're not--" he started to argue, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.

"No, don't," I told him.  "It doesn't matter.  Let's just...can we sit?"  We were both still standing in the entryway of my place

"Yes," he replied, nodding.  He had his game face on, and I had no idea what he was feeling.  It was already making me more anxious.

Once we were sitting down, I said, "Look, I have a lot to say, and I'm not sure how well I'll handle your calmness tonight.  So, if you've got feelings about something, maybe you could try to show it a little?"

His face relaxed slightly, and concern creased his forehead.  "I'll try," he said.  "It's kind of my default mode in a stressful situation, so if it happens, I'm not doing it on purpose, I promise."

I nodded.  That was good enough for me.  I shut my eyes briefly.  So far this conversation was awkward and forced and formal.  "I don't really know where to start," I admitted.  "I just realized a whole lot of things about myself about an hour ago, which sounds really stupid, but it's true.  And it's hard to put it all into words that make sense to someone else."  I bit my lip and looked up at Damien.

He nodded encouragingly, and I opened my mouth and everything came tumbling out.  "I've never been good enough for anyone.  Ever.  I wasn't good enough for my mom to want to take care of me, or my dad to want to keep our family together.  I wasn't good enough to keep my brother out of jail.  They all left me.  Every single one of them.  Lauren and Kendra are the friends I've had the longest, and they're just from the very end of college.  Everyone leaves me, or else I leave them before they can do it themselves.  I've learned to be okay with it, because I just don't get attached to people."

Damien started to talk but I held up a finger.  I wasn't quite finished.  "I used to hate myself.  I really did.  I figured I must be a pretty shitty person if my own parents didn't love me enough to care about what happened to me when I was a kid.  But once I figured out how to live my life in a way that made sense to me, I actually started liking myself.  Then I met you.  And you didn't fit with how I was living my life.  And I started to wonder if what I had been doing really did make sense to me, because I actually seemed to like this new thing better.  For a little while, it was okay.  It was great, actually.  But somewhere along the way I fucked up and got attached to you.  And then you left.  So then I got back to feeling like I'm not good enough.  And at least if I fuck things up, it'll be my fault and not just because you suddenly realized I'm not good enough."

Damien stared at me.  He looked confused.  He didn't say anything for a long time, and I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my forehead on my knees, because I couldn't even look at him anymore.  

Finally, he spoke.  "Kinsley," he said softly.  He waited until I raised my head and reluctantly made eye contact with him.  "I am not in the business of loving people that I consider 'not good enough', in your words.  I could sit here and tell you all the reasons I think you're a great match for me, all the reasons I love you, and why I sometimes feel like I'm not good enough for you.  But I'm not going to, because it doesn't matter.  I could tell you all those things, but they shouldn't have any bearing on how you feel about yourself.  You should think you're good enough regardless of what I think.

"And you're right.  I did leave, and it was one of the stupidest things I've ever done, but there's nothing I can do about that now except to tell you that I was wrong and I'm sorry and I love you."  With that, he stopped talking.

Now it was my turn to silently stare.  I don't know what I had been expecting, but it wasn't this.  I expected to be angry that he wasn't validating me and telling me all the reasons I'm good enough, but I wasn't.  He's right, it means little coming from him if I don't believe it.  And it's not his job to make me feel good about myself.

"Well..." I said finally.  "Now what?"

"That's up to you," Damien said gently.  "If you need some time to figure out what you want to do, you can have it.  I want to be with you, but I don't want you to feel stuck in a relationship where you don't ever feel good enough."

I considered this.  I know I wanted to stay with Damien, but I also didn't want to be stuck in a relationship where I didn't feel good enough.  I knew it was my issue and not his.  "I don't want to break up," I told him honestly, "but if you can give me some time to work a few things out in my head so I can be fully in this relationship without trying to sabotage it or feeling shitty about myself, that would be for the best."

"Okay," he said.  "I can do that."  He shifted as if he was going to get up.

"Wait," I said, stopping him.  "I know that I have to figure my shit out, but will you tell me what you want?"

He smiled.  "I want to marry you someday.  When we're both ready.  I want to be your husband and your partner.  I want to raise a family with you.  And I want you to be happy with whatever you decide, and I don't want either of us to have any regrets or question it."

I expected to feel panic at the thought of getting married and starting a family, but I didn't.  I felt a smile playing at the corners of my lips and realized I loved the idea.  I smiled at Damien.  "Thanks for sharing that," I said.  It sounded silly, but I knew he was being vulnerable by telling me that right now, and I appreciated it.

We both stood and I walked him to the door.  At the door we hugged, staying with our arms wrapped around each other for a long time.  "Look," I said, once we separated.  "Don't freak out if I fall off the radar completely for a little while, okay?  I promise I'll reach out when I get my shit together.  It won't be more than two weeks."

"I can live with that," Damien responded.  "It helps to have a time frame."

We stood awkward for several seconds, until he put his hands on either side of my face and kissed me.  The kiss was soft and gentle but I could feel the emotion behind it.  I gripped his forearms, holding his hands in place against my face as I kissed him back.  Finally, we pulled apart and he looked down as he put his hand on the doorknob.  "I'll see you in a couple weeks?" he asked.

"Yes," I said firmly.  "You will."

He nodded and left, and for a second I felt panicked and alone.  I reached for my phone, and in that second I realized that I needed to be okay with being alone before I could be okay truly being with someone else.

The last time I'd been alone had been after Kaleb went to jail and I was stuck at home with a drug-addicted mother and an absent, philandering father.  All "alone" meant to me was fear, uncertainty, and knowing that I wasn't anyone's priority.  After high school graduation and before Damien, I filled my time with friends and flings and strangers to avoid those same feelings.  Lauren was right.  She truly enjoyed having sex with whoever she wanted, and she did it for fun.  I had sex with whoever I wanted to prove a point, manage my emotions, and validate myself.

Once I realized this, I did the most logical thing that I could think of.  I sent my boss an email, begging for some time off of work.  It was tax season, and usually we avoided taking time off at this time of year.  Luckily, it was still early enough that after promising my boss the next day that I'd do some work while I was away, he granted me three days off: Friday, Monday, and Tuesday.  After work, I did what anyone in my situation would do, and I booked myself a room at a tiny, adults only all-inclusive resort in Mexico--far away from the party spots, of course.  Because it was so last minute and all the bigger resorts were booked, I paid a ridiculous amount for the room and the flight, but I was hoping it would be worth it.

Taking myself on a sweet vacation seemed like a good way to either self-destruct or remember the things I actually liked about myself.  At the moment, it seemed like it would be a toss up, but either way it would make my decision easy.

By the time I got to the resort on Friday, I was so wound up with nervous energy.  I was pretty sure I was going to regret taking a 4 day trip to Mexico by myself.  During tax season, no less.  But I had to do something different, and this certainly qualified.

By lunchtime on Saturday, I was a mess.  I decided my plan was backfiring.  I hadn't even left my room yet.  I couldn't bear to go out to the pool or the beach when both were full of happy couples that were enjoying their vacations.  I glared out the window at the pool angrily, then pulled my laptop out.  I grabbed a beer from the fridge in the room, cracked it open, and drank it as I got my computer connected to the painfully slow wireless.

I managed 3 hours of work before I got frustrated with the slow internet service.  I wandered back to the window.  The pool area wasn't quite as busy as it was before.  I was dying to get out in the sun, so I pulled one of my swimsuits out of my suitcase, grabbed one of the magazines I'd brought along, and managed to leave my room.  I threw a sidelong glance at my phone on the way out.  I wanted to take it with me to listen to music, but I knew if I turned it on I'd end up on social media or texting Lauren or Liv, and I needed to just detach.

It took over an hour at the pool to realize that no one was paying any attention to me.  No one was wondering why I was alone, judging me, or caring at all about whether or not I was there, taking up space.  It was a relief, and I relaxed a little bit.  Another hour was all I could take, though, and I headed back to my room.

Dinner was a whole different story.  I forced myself out of my room, but when the host at the restaurant I chose asked if it was just me, I almost turned around and left.  But I stayed, and while it wasn't the most comfortable meal I've ever eaten, at least I survived.

Over the next couple days, I relaxed even more.  By the time I had to pack up to catch my shuttle to the airport to go home, I was definitely ready to leave, but I was no longer miserable.  In fact, as I was handing off my suitcase to the shuttle driver, I thought to myself that I might enjoy taking another solo vacation again someday.

...someday.

_________________________

I do apologize for the cliffhanger (actually, that's mostly a lie), but I promise all will be wrapped up in the final post!  

Update

Hi all!  Sorry for the delay.  I'm working on Kinsley's post.  I hope to have it up tomorrow (Sunday).  At that point, I'll give you the ETA for the very last post from Liv's perspective, but my guess at this point is it won't be up until next weekend.

Lauren: If It's Important to You, It's Important to Me

This one snuck up on me, and you guys are going to be displeased, but this is the last Lauren post!  I thought it would end up being two posts, so I was going to warn you today and then have one more.  But it didn't work out that way once I got it all written up.  I know there are still a few loose ends, but I promise that those will get tied up in the very last post of the blog.  The next Kinsley post is very likely her final post as well, but I haven't written it yet, so I'm not positive.  Be prepared for the possibility.
_____________________________________

I manage a few hours of restless, dreamless sleep.  In between, I toss and turn and think about what Alex said.  I'm not an idiot.  I can understand his original point.  I know that if it was anyone but me, marriage would be part of Alex's long term plan.  Maybe kids, too.  And I get why he's frustrated and hurt by my reluctance to move in or seriously talk about anything long term.

But I'm also hurt by him saying that I haven't done anything to show him that I'm truly in this.  Is he for real?  I don't know what else he would consider these last 6 weeks to be, but he knows me well enough to know that I wouldn't do any of the things I'd done for him out of guilt or the goodness of my heart.

I try to remind myself that both our lives have been disrupted in serious ways.  People don't think rationally when they're upset.  We both have other things going on that have increased our stress.  But I've been trying so hard to show Alex how much I love him since the night he was in the hospital and questioned it.  I don't know what else he needs, besides me to decide to move in with him.  To me, that seems like a really arbitrary marker for commitment.  People can move out just as easily as they move in.  Everything else I've done (especially making peace with his parents and doing my best to be polite to them even as they continued to be rude and dismissive of me) says more to me than moving in ever would.

It's nearly 4am before I realize that the fundamental problem is that we have different ideas of what commitment looks like.  Alex, who is probably still coming to terms with the fact that I may never want to get married, is looking for something a little more concrete and traditional.  I, in my ever-oppositional state, consider more abstract things to be an even bigger show of dedication.

Trying to figure out how to meet in the middle keeps me up until 5:30.  Finally I give up on that, and fall back to sleep for awhile.  I wake up again around 7 and just throw in the towel and get up.  I take a long shower and spend far too long doing my hair and makeup.  Around 8:30 I give up on stalling and call Alex.

He answers right away.  "Hi," I respond to his greeting.  "Can we talk?"

"Yes," he replies.  "I can come over."

I get a bowl of cereal while I wait and eat it mindlessly.  I hate fighting with Alex.  It's so rare, and it's always awful when it happens.

I see Alex pull up in my driveway and I open the door for him.  "Hi," he greets me, smiling sheepishly.  He surprises me by hugging me tightly and then kissing me.  "I love you, and I'm sorry."  I blink in surprise, and he continues.  "I was an asshole yesterday, and you had a good point.  But I'm also kind of unhappy and I also think you are, so I think we need to talk about that.  Without me taking cheap shots."

"I agree," I say softly.

We both sit on the couch and I look at him, waiting for him to start.  "Well," he says, fidgeting nervously.  I have to bite my lip, because I've never seen him so nervous and it's adorable, but also this isn't a good time for that.  "Lauren...you were right last night.  You've done a lot in the last several weeks to show me that you're committed to me.  I was an idiot for not seeing it.  It honestly didn't even occur to me how much everything you've done lately means in that way.  I'm sorry for not recognizing it, and I'm sorry for being a dick about it last night."

"Thank you," I say, relieved that he can at least see that.

"You're welcome.  Everything you've done means a lot to me, and where it comes from with you means a lot too.  But everything that has happened makes me even more sure that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and it's hard when you won't even have a conversation about it."

"So let's have a conversation about it," I say.

Alex looks at me silently for a second, then says, "I want to have a conversation about why we can't even talk about it."

That isn't what I'm expecting, and I'm not ready for it.  "I...well...what do you mean?"

Alex starts to sigh, but catches himself.  "I don't know, Lauren.  Tell me what freaks you out so much about it that you physically react when I even mention it."

"It doesn't freak me out, that's the thing," I tell him.  He looks skeptical, but I push on.  "It just doesn't mean the same thing to me that it means to you.  So when you think 'move in together', it means commitment and taking things to the next level.  When I think it, it doesn't mean to that me.  So all I think of is how much things change, and it's hard for me to see the meaning of it.  And if you say 'let's move in,' and I say, 'yeah, but', what you hear is that I don't want to commit.  But that's not true.  It's not true at all.  So instead of trying to explain it, I just avoid the conversation because it's easier."

Alex looks confused, and I can tell I didn't do a good job explaining.  "So, if you don't want to get married, and moving in doesn't mean 'commitment' to you, what does?" he asks.  I have to give him a lot of credit for trying to understand.

"I don't really know how to explain it," I tell him.  I see his face change, and I hurriedly continue.  "No, wait.  I'm going to try, I just needed to let you know that it might not make a lot of sense.  To me, commitment just...is, I guess?  Like, if I didn't want to spend the rest of my life with you, I wouldn't even still be with you.  Much less having this terribly uncomfortable but undeniably important conversation.  It's in all the things I had to do differently than I normally would have in order to help you out for the past month.  I don't change my routine for just anyone, you know." That gets a small smile out of him, and I smile back.

"Look," I say.  "I get it.  I get where you're coming from.  You pictured getting married and having kids someday, like most people do.  Then I came along and for some stupid reason you fell in love with me, and I basically ruined the idea you'd created of what your life would be like.  That sucks."

"Well--" Alex starts, and I can tell by his face that he's going to argue, to say it's not that bad.

"No, it does suck," I insist.  "You don't have to lie about it.  Alex, I have no intention of changing my mind about getting married.  It's not me.  I don't understand it.  I don't want it.  If you want to get married, it's not going to be to me.  I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I'm not ever going to marry you."

He stares at me.  Before he can get too upset, I continue.  "If you're okay with that--and I mean truly okay with it, because the worst possible thing you could do is stay with me hoping that someday I'll change my mind--then let's move in together."

Alex looks stunned.  He doesn't say anything, so I just keep talking, because apparently that's my thing now.  "I'm not going anywhere until my lease is up, obviously, but that gives us some time to plan and talk about it and all that shit that people do."

His eyes narrow suspiciously, and he finally says something.  "Are you just doing this to placate me?"

I take a deep breath and try not to lose it.  "No.  Do you know me at all?  When is the last time I did anything to placate anyone?  Much less made a major life decision just because someone else wanted me to?"  He's still looking at me suspiciously.  "Alex, my resistance to moving in with you is because it's change.  It's change, and it's giving up my space, and those things are really hard for me.  It has nothing to do with my level of commitment.  I don't think a living situation says anything about how committed someone is.  But I don't not want to live with you.  It just doesn't mean the same thing to me as it does to you.  But if it's important to you, then it's important to me.  I won't marry you, but I will absolutely live with you.  And I might even like it."

Alex finally grins at me.  "We can have separate bedrooms, if you want," he teases, and I know we're okay.

"Don't tempt me!" I tell him.

He frowns then, his brow furrowing with concern.  "My house isn't the best set up for us both," he admits.  He's right.  It's tiny.  It's probably smaller than my townhouse, but it's laid out a little better.  His frown deepens.  "But neither of us are exactly in the best place to be thinking about buying a new house.  Or even renting one."

I shrug.  "We'll figure it out.  We have a little time.  And it's not like we don't have options.  We've made your house work for now, though I've always had my place to go back to when I need a little space.  Otherwise I can probably stay here month to month until we can find something else, if we decide that's what we want to do.  I hope I'll have a job soon.  You have a job, it's just a matter of time before you're back to work full time.  It's going to be fine, we just can't be impulsive."

Alex rolls his eyes.  "As though you'd let us do anything impulsively."

"Some day you'll thank me," I retort.

"I doubt it," he replies, smirking.

"So, is this a thing?  Are we going to move in together?" I ask him.

He looks puzzled.  "Well, yeah.  I mean, isn't that what we just established?"

"You're really, truly okay with never getting married?  Or having kids?" I ask, studying his face for any hint of hesitation or uncertainty.

"Yes," he answers immediately.

"And you're not just saying that because you assume some day I'll change my mind?" I press.

"No."

"Because I know that you'd get married and have kids someday if you were with someone else," I say.

"Lauren, I don't want to be with someone else," he insists.

"Okay," I relent.  "I just know that getting married and having kids is really important to a lot of people."

"Those things aren't as important to me as being with you," he promises.  "And not getting married and not having kids are things that are important to you."  Then he grins as he says, parroting my words from earlier, "If that's important to you, it's important to me."

Lauren: Commitment

Before I even think about what I'm doing, I hang up.

Alex looks up at me, confused.  "Who was that?  Why'd you hang up so fast?"

"It was a reporter from the Denver Post," I answer.  "He wanted to talk to me about my job."

My phone starts ringing again, and I stare at it.  "You know," Alex says, looking amused.  "You could just tell him you don't want to talk to him."

"Oh, look who has logic and reason today," I retort.  "I can't answer now after I hung up on him.  He'll think I'm ridiculous."

Alex snorts.  "He already thinks you're ridiculous.  But you're right--if you answer, you're giving yourself numerous opportunities to become even more ridiculous."

I glare at him and hit the button to silence the call.  "You're--" I start.

"The worst," Alex interrupts.  "I know."  He grins at me and I roll my eyes and turn away before he can see the smile tugging at the corners of my lips.  I head upstairs to my makeshift office.  I need to comb through job postings again.

I actually find 3 that I want to apply to, and I carefully craft my cover letters and tweak my resumes, then send them off.

I get a call later that day from a job I applied to the week before, asking to set up an interview.  I don't answer it, fearing that it might be the reporter again.  After I listen to the message, I call back and set up an interview in two days.

The next day, I meet Liv for lunch.  I'm taking advantage of being off work and using it to improve my social life.  "How's the job search going?" Liv asks after we order.

"Not bad," I reply.  "I have an interview tomorrow."  I fill her in a little on the job search, and we talk about my old company.  Liv read the article in the paper and we'd texted about it quite a bit already.  "And how's married life?"

She groans.  "I wish everyone would stop asking me that," she answers.

"Uh oh," I say, concerned.

"Oh!" Her cheeks turn pink.  "No, nothing's wrong," she clarifies.  "It's just everyone's favorite question.  Actually, things are really good.  Brody finally has things at work set up the way he wants them, and things are starting to really slow down for him."  She tells me about his restructure at work and their plans to take a trip to Jamaica in March.  "Everything should be set by then, and we can celebrate him finally having a normal amount of work.  Provided nothing goes wrong between now and then, at least."

"That's awesome," I say sincerely.  I've struggled watching how busy Brody is.  From the outside, it's hard to see how their relationship works sometimes.  To me, it's seemed like he hasn't always made Liv a priority and I know they fought about it a lot towards the beginning of their relationship.  It's great to see him really making an effort to make more time in his life.  I know they want kids someday, and Liv has said that she won't even talk about it until his work schedule is more manageable.

"How is Alex doing?" she asks me.

I shrug.  "Pretty well.  He's working from home some, and we've been getting out more.  He's pretty self-sufficient now and only really takes pain meds once in awhile.  Usually after he overdoes it."

"That's great!" Liv says excitedly.  Unfortunately, she has to get back to work soon, but we make plans to go out this weekend.


My interview the next day goes well, and I leave it feeling hopeful.  I really click with the interviewers and I like the the feel of the company.  I stop on the way home to pick up some groceries, and I'm a lot more cheerful than I've been in awhile.

When I get back to Alex's house, he helps me put the groceries away.  I head upstairs to change out of my suit.  Then I make my way back downstairs and lay on the couch, settling my head on Alex's leg.  "I was thinking," I say, getting comfortable.

"Wait," Alex interrupts.  "If you were thinking, I think I need a beer before I listen."

"Shut up, jerk," I tell him, rolling my eyes.  "I was just thinking that once we're both working again like normal, productive members of society, we should plan another trip.  Savannah was so much fun until...well..." I stop.  I don't need to say 'until your mom went full bitch and tried to replace me.'

"I was thinking too," Alex counters.  "I kind of like this sweet set-up, and I thought maybe you could get a job and I'll just be a stay at home boyfriend forever."

"Tomorrow's headline: woman kills boyfriend with bare hands just for the hell of it," I reply.  "And anyway, who would pay your mortgage then?  Because I'm surely not paying my rent and your mortgage."

"I thought you'd appreciate my plan because it's breaking traditional gender roles!" Alex says, pretending to pout.  "And anyway, I just figured you'd eventually move in.  Or we'd find a new place together."  He throws this part on casually, but I stiffen involuntarily.

I hear him sigh, but I don't say anything.  "Laur," he says gently.  "You've practically been living here anyway.  I'm not saying let's move in together tomorrow, but I'm also struggling with the idea of spending the rest of my life with someone that I don't even share a house with."

I sit up and look at him.  His jokes are gone, and he looks serious.  "I'm not saying I don't ever want us to live together," I tell him uneasily.

"No," he replies, looking frustrated.  "Maybe in 10 years you'll be okay with some real commitment."

I blink in surprise and my mouth drops open a little.  I stare at him, and he returns my gaze easily.  "Alex," I start, but I stop.  I have no idea what to say.  I finally settle on, "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" he asks.  "You're terrified of commitment.  Hell, we've known each other for almost 9 years at this point, and the best I can get from you is a verbal confirmation that you want to spend the rest of your life with me.  All talk, no action."

"Now that is really not fucking fair," I protest, trying not to raise my voice.  "I've spent the last how many weeks here, taking care of you?  I slept on your hospital bed after your accident.  I cried in public like a huge fucking mess.  I've put up with your parents, who hate me and just want me to go away, and I've done things for you that I don't even like to do for myself!  So I'm sorry, but just because you don't recognize those things for what they are, it doesn't mean I'm all talk and no action.  I've been nothing but action since the weekend before Christmas!"

My voice, which rose steadily as I talked on, shakes slightly and falters on the word "Christmas."  I try hard to see his perspective, and if I wasn't so angry I might be successful.  But I'm livid at his accusation that I've done nothing to prove that I'm in this for the long haul.  Where has he been these past 6 weeks?

I see the uncertainty in his eyes, and I can tell he's thinking about what I just said.  But I also see the stubborn set of his jaw, and I know this conversation is going nowhere good, and fast.  "I think maybe I should go home for now," I say softly.

"Sure," Alex says bitterly.  "Run away."

"I am not running away," I hiss fiercely.  "I am giving us both some space so we can come back to this after we've had some time to calm down and think.  You're hurt.  I'm hurt.  If I stay here, one or both of us will say something stupid and potentially relationship damaging.  I am walking away to save this relationship."

Alex doesn't say anything, and after giving him plenty of time to respond if he wants to, I stand.  I force myself to walk calmly up the stairs, and I collect some of my stuff.  Might as well do some of my laundry when I'm at home.  I've been doing it here, but I'll need something to do at home.

When I come back downstairs, Alex is standing with his keys in his hand.  "What are you doing?" I ask suspiciously.  Alex hasn't driven since before his accident.

"Going for a drive," he snaps.  I resist the urge to caution him and I just nod.  He follows me out the door, locking it behind me.  I don't wait around to watch him walk into his garage.  I leave as soon as I get in the car.

On the way home, I try to remind myself that the last 6 weeks have been really trying for both of us.  I hate being unproductive and not working.  Alex hates being cooped up.  That's all this is--our frustration of the last 6 weeks coming out sideways.  I hope.

Kinsley: Good Enough

Once I started talking, I couldn't stop.  Lauren, who had started off leaning against the kitchen doorframe, sat down heavily in the armchair in the corner after a couple minutes.  She listened silently as I verbally vomited the events of the last few weeks at her.

When I was done, Lauren pursed her lips and just looked at me for several seconds.  I looked away and pulled my knees up to my chest, bracing myself for the verbal smackdown I was sure I was about to receive.  Finally, she surprised me by saying, "When are you going to stop feeling like you're not good enough for him?"

My head snapped up and I stared at her.  She met my gaze and stared back.  "What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Kinsley, come on," Lauren said.  "Look, I don't know enough about pre-college Kinsley to know if something has happened that's made you have this weird inferiority complex that I think you have.  But I know self-sabotage when I see it, and you are guilty."

I narrowed my eyes.  "You think I'm trying to fuck up my relationship?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head.  "I don't think you're trying to fuck up your relationship.  I don't think you're aware of it.  But I think that on some level, you feel guilty about something, or like Damien is better than you and you don't deserve him.  In turn, you're doing stupid shit to confirm that belief and force him to break up with you, which will further confirm it."

I looked at her skeptically.  "I didn't realize you were fucking Freud," I muttered.

"Listen to me," Lauren persisted.  "What did you do when you guys broke up?  You went out and made a bunch of questionable decisions.  You might argue that you'd have done all those things before you started dating Damien, and maybe you would have.  But you wouldn't have done them all in as short of a time period."

"I fail to see how that has anything to do with me feeling like I'm not good enough for Damien," I said, crossing my arms.

Lauren thought for a minute.  "Okay.  You deal with your feelings by drinking, exercising, and having sex.  Especially with sex.  Do you at least agree with that?"

"Yes," I agreed grudgingly.

She nodded encouragingly.  I still did not see her point.  Luckily for me (eyeroll) she continued.  "You use sex to feel loved, to feel validated, to feel happy, to deal with being pissed off or hurt."  I glared at her, not appreciating the first two things.  "When you and Damien broke up, you went out and had a bunch of sex to deal with being hurt and angry, and to feel validated.  It was like you needed to prove to yourself that you were good enough.  That men wanted you."

"Yeah, but not really, because I was still miserable."

"That's exactly my point!" Lauren crowed.  I rolled my eyes.  "You were still miserable because men wanted you, but they didn't love you."

"You know what, I'm really sorry that I called you," I muttered.  "You're not making any fucking sense and you're starting to piss me off."

"You should have called Liv, she could have explained this a lot better and been a lot nicer about it," Lauren said.

"Oh, have you been talking about me?" I snapped.

Lauren nodded.  "Yes.  I mean, not as an ongoing thing, but we were both worried about you the night you left the bar with Cole.  So we did talk about you."

I stood up and glared at Lauren.  "You are an asshole," I told her.  "If you were so fucking worried, why didn't you say anything to me?"

Lauren's cheeks flushed a little and she glanced down.  "You're right, and I'm sorry," she said, looking back up at me.  "We should have.  We wanted to, but I was worried that if we tried, you'd get angry and push us away.  Then we wouldn't be around if something like this happened.  We thought it would be better for you if we didn't say anything at the time."

"Whatever, Lauren," I muttered, shaking my head.  I walked to the door.  "I'm going home."

"How?"

"I only live a half mile away, remember?  I'll walk."  Of course she doesn't remember, she's been MIA lately.

My hand was on the doorknob when the doorbell rang, making me jump.  "Pizza is here," Lauren said softly. I backed away from the door and let her answer it.  Lauren answered the door, paid the delivery driver, and shut the door.  "Look, if you want to go home, I'll take you.  If you want to eat, I'll shut up.  I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, and I'm sorry that I did.  I'm sorry that Liv and I were talking about you and didn't just tell you we were worried.  If you want to talk, I'll listen and I'll keep my mouth shut."

I glanced at the door and then back at Lauren.  I was still a little wobbly from my 4 martinis, and the pizza did smell really good.  My stomach grumbled softly and I decided to stay.  "I'll eat," I said finally.  "And I'll also take you up on that offer to shut up."

"Okay," she said, grinning.  "I'll get some plates."

We sat and ate in silence.  I didn't care for the quiet, so I grabbed the remote and turned the TV on.  I flipped through the channels until I found some Friends re-runs and left it there.  After about 20 minutes of neither of us talking, I looked at Lauren.  "Inferiority complex?" I asked.  "Really?"

"Okay, that was a really poor choice of words," she said.  "Sorry."

I was quiet again for a few more minutes.  Then, still staring at the TV, I started talking.  "His family is amazing, and mine is a disaster.  I don't talk to either of my parents.  The last time I saw my mom she threw something at my head and called me a whore.  The last time I saw my dad he physically assaulted me and basically disowned me.  My brother spent half my childhood in jail and just resurfaced a couple months ago.  Damien's mom loves me and his sister is married and has two great kids.  Even his stepdad is really nice to me.

"Damien has his shit together and can stay calm in a crisis or an argument.  When he's pissed at me, he tells me calmly.  When I'm pissed at him, he listens while I yell at him and act like a fool.  Meanwhile, I've fucked half of Colorado's male population and lose my shit if someone looks at me wrong.  When I'm mad I yell and say hurtful things and run away like a child.  Aside from having a good job and a retirement account and some investments and a decent amount of money in savings, I'm not very good at being a grownup."

Lauren listened silently, as promised.  "So," I finished, "I don't even think that it's just that I think I'm not good enough for him.  I'm just not.  I'm a disaster."

"Why do you think Damien is with you?" Lauren asked softly.

"I...don't know," I replied, biting my lip.  "I don't even know."

"He seems like a pretty reasonable guy," she pointed out.  I nodded.  "He seems like he knows what he wants."

"Yeah," I agreed.  "He's got his shit together."

"So why would someone with his shit together be in a relationship with 'a disaster'?"

"I don't know," I said again.

"Think about it," she prodded gently.  "Why is Alex with me?"

"Because he's loved you forever," I said, rolling my eyes.

"But why does he love me?"

I shrugged and rubbed the back of my neck.  "Because you guys just...work.  You get each other's sense of humor.  You have things in common.  He probably enjoys having sex with you."

Lauren laughed.  "I hope so," she said.  I smiled a little.  "Do you think he'd be with me if he thought I wasn't good enough for him?"

"I see what you're doing," I muttered.  "Of course he wouldn't."

"Does Damien act like you're not good enough for him?  Does he treat you like you're less than him?  Not let you make decisions?  Is he disrespectful to you?"

"Of course not," I replied.  "I wouldn't be with him if he did.  He treats me better than anyone else ever has."

"Then you're getting in your own way, because you're the only one that doesn't see you two as equals," she said bluntly.  "And my guess is him treating you so well is part of the 'problem' because you don't think you deserve it."

I didn't say anything for a long time.  I toyed with a piece of pizza crust laying on my plate.  "So what do I do about it?" I asked finally.

"Talk to him," Lauren answered immediately.  "Tell him all of this.  And Liv would suggest therapy, I'm sure."  I snorted.  Tonight was the first that Lauren was hearing about any of my shit, why would I tell a stranger?    "Talk to him, at least," Lauren said.  "I love you two together, and I want you to be happy."

I looked around for a clock, then realized Lauren didn't have one.  Another check in my grownup column.  I may stomp my feet and slam doors when I'm pissed, but at least I have a clock in my living room.  I pulled out my phone.  It was not quite 8pm.  "Call him," Lauren urged me gently.  "If you want to see him tonight, I can take you."

I glanced at her, then back at my phone.  She stood and took both our plates into the kitchen, then I heard the water running.  With a shaking finger, I pulled up my recent calls and tapped Damien's name.  He answered halfway through the second ring.  "Kinsley."  The way he said my name in greeting made me feel sad for some reason.

"Hi," I said quietly.

"Hi," he replied.  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I answered.  "I think so, anyway." I paused, but he didn't say anything.  "Damien, I'm sorry for the way I acted this morning.  Can we talk?  I want to see you."

"Yes," he said immediately.  "Should I go there, or do you want to come here?"

"I'm at Lauren's, actually.  I, um, don't have my car.  She said she could drive me over there if you want."

"I can come get you," he responded.  "Give me 15 minutes, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed.

Lauren appeared in the doorway shortly after we hung up.  "Do you need a ride over there?" she asked.

"No, he's coming to get me," I said.  "Thank you for everything tonight."

"You're welcome.  And I really am sorry I started off kind of poorly."

"It's fine," I said.  "I wouldn't have heard you any other way."

Damien arrived 15 minutes later, just like he said.  I hugged Lauren impulsively--rare for us.  I couldn't remember the last time I'd hugged her.  "Good luck!" she told me.

"Thanks," I replied.  "I might need it."  Then I opened the door and left the safety of Lauren's house and headed towards Damien's truck at the curb.

In All the Wrong Places

Guys, I am SO excited to launch my new blog on March 1st.  I can't wait to find out what you all think of the story.  It follows Jenna, a recently divorced 29-year-old woman who is living in Minnesota and trying to figure out how put her life back together. Unlike Liv's story, there is no life-altering move across the country, no devastatingly handsome, wealthy man to sweep her off her feet, and no guys falling all over her every time she turns around.  In short, it's a little more realistic.  

I have about half of the first post for you guys here as a sneak peek.  If you like what you read, please head over to https://inallthewrong-places.blogspot.com/ on March 1st to read the entire first post!

_________________________________

“I’m getting a divorce,” I said matter-of-factly into the phone.

            “Jenna, what are you talking about?”  Chelsea sounded confused.  And she should be.  She had no idea that I was unhappy in my marriage, much less that I had been considering getting divorced from my husband of just less than five years. 

            “Actually,” I corrected myself, “I am divorced.”  The divorce was finalized yesterday, four weeks exactly after the day we stood in line to sign our do-it-yourself divorce agreement in front of the court administrator.

            “I don’t understand,” Chelsea muttered, dumbfounded.  “You guys were just here two months ago.  You were fine then.”

            “No, we weren’t fine then,” I admitted.  “We haven’t been fine for almost two years.”

            “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.  She had progressed from confused to angry, and I can’t say I blamed her.

            “Because I didn’t tell anyone,” I lied.  That wasn’t true.  I had told two people.  But Chelsea, my best friend since Kindergarten, didn’t need to know that.  All it would do was hurt her feelings.  The truth was that Chelsea hadn’t picked up on my subtle hints that things weren’t perfectly pleasant in my world.  She was too busy being head over heels in love with her shiny new husband, and it never seemed like the right time to tell her.  And really, is there any such thing as the "right time" to tell someone you think you might want to divorce your husband?

            “But what happened?”  She was back to confused, and I debated what to tell her.

            “I’m not sure.”  Another lie.  “We just…I guess we just don’t love each other anymore.”  Not a lie.  Not the whole truth either.

            “But did he cheat on you?  Did he hit you?  There has to be a reason!”  The pendulum swung back towards anger, this time tinged with incredulousness.  

            “No.” Blatant lie.  “And no.”  Truth. 

            “So you just don’t love each other anymore?  And that’s it?  That’s not a very good reason to get a divorce,” Chelsea admonished. 

I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see me.  “Who gave you the authority to decide what good reasons to get a divorce are?” I snapped.  I was quickly losing my patience. 

“Jenna, I’m sorry,” she said contritely.  “I’m just trying to understand.  From my perspective, this is all very sudden and doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“I know,” I replied.  I didn’t say anything else, and we were both silent for long enough that it started to get uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” she asked finally—the first bit of sympathy she’d shown since I’d dropped the bomb on her.

“I am,” I said.  “I really am.  I’m…well, it’s better this way.”  And, on some level, I was okay.  I didn’t want to be pitied.  I didn’t want to be coddled.  I wanted to put this part of my life behind me and move on to something (hopefully) better. 

“What can I do?”

“Nothing!” I chirped brightly.  The brightness, just like half of my statements in this conversation, was a bald-faced lie.  “Maybe we can get together sometime soon, though?”

“Definitely,” she agreed.  “Maybe after the holidays?”  She reminded me that Christmas was in three weeks.  Merry Christmas to me!  How do you wrap a divorce? 

“Sure,” I replied.  “We’ll plan something soon.”  

With that, we finished up our bizarre conversation and hung up.  The conversation would have gone much differently if I had told her the truth about my divorce.  About how I’d caught him cheating—again—two Februaries ago.  About how we’d gone to counseling, where he’d acted ashamed and contrite and apologetic.  About how the writing was on the wall, but I couldn’t seem to read it.  About how I had spent the last two years married to a man I didn’t trust who continued to cheat on me up until the day I had finally reached my bullshit limit.

_______________________________

That's all you get for now!  I hope you're all excited to read more because I'm definitely excited to share more.  As always, thanks for being the best readers--it's because of you guys that I want to keep sharing more of my writing!

Kinsley: Tough Love

Happy Saturday, all!  Come back tomorrow for a special Valentine's Day treat: an excerpt from the first post of my new story, "In All the Wrong Places."  The blog launches with the first post on March 1st, but of course I'm going to torture you all with a sneak peek!  

___________________________________________

I woke up early the next morning.  Really early.  Uncomfortable under Damien's arm, I carefully extricated myself, leaving Damien sprawled across his half of the bed and part of mine.  It was just a little after 5, almost an hour before Damien would get up.

I quietly got dressed, pulling on a tank top and a pair of pajama pants that were laying on the floor next to the bed.  Once downstairs, I made some coffee before I grabbed a blanket and curled up on the couch.  I flipped the TV on and turned the volume down enough that I was certain it wouldn't wake Damien.

My eyes glazed over as I mindlessly watched some stupid early morning show for about 40 minutes.  The perky blonde hosts were chirping cheerfully away about some new fad diet when I uncurled myself from the nest I'd created on the couch and walked into the kitchen to make some breakfast.

I'd just started scrambling some eggs when I heard footsteps on the stairs.  Seconds later, Damien appeared in the kitchen.  "You're up early," he said softly, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder.

"I woke up around 5," I told him.  I considered telling him I wasn't tired anymore or couldn't sleep, then decided not to lie and just ended my statement as it was.

He dropped a light, tender kiss where my neck meets my shoulder and tightened his arms around me.  "I got a little worried when I woke up and you weren't there," he said.

I abruptly set down the fork I was using to aggressively over-beat the eggs and turned to face him.  "You were?"

"I still am," he admitted.  I looked at him curiously, and he took a step back and sighed.  "Kinsley, I can't tell where your head is, and I don't think you know either.  You do impulsive things when you're not thinking clearly."

I bristled and clenched my teeth.  "You said you trusted me," I spat, suddenly furious.

Damien tried to move closer to me and I dodged him, stepping to the side.  "I do," he said calmly.  "But I don't think you trust yourself, and that worries me."

"You don't know anything," I hissed.  I didn't know why I was so angry all of a sudden, but I was and it was overwhelming.  "Don't tell me how I feel!"

"Kinsley," he started, but I didn't let him finish whatever he was going to say.

"No," I interrupted.  "Don't.  Just...go.  Please."

Damien's level gaze wavered, and he looked confused.  "Go?" he repeated. "Kinsley..." His calm was crumbling and I could tell he thought I meant something that I didn't mean.

"Not forever," I amended, trying to think clearly.  "Just...I can't have this conversation right now.  It's not even 6 am."

I could tell he wanted to argue.  I could tell he wanted to protest, to demand to stay, to talk about this rightnow.  But instead, after several long, agonizing seconds, he set his jaw and nodded.  "Okay," he agreed.  "I'll go."  He tentatively moved towards me again, and I didn't move.  He touched my elbow and kissed me softly on the cheek.  "You tell me when you're ready, then."

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes.  Unsatisfied, he tipped my chin up with a gentle touch.  I locked eyes with him and said, "I will."  Damien took a deep breath, nodded again, and left the kitchen.  I listened to his footsteps go up the stairs.  Not even a minute later, the footsteps came back down, and then the front door opened and closed.

I turned briefly back to the eggs that were now thoroughly beaten on the counter.  I looked at them sitting in the bowl, yellow and slimy.  Disgusted, I dumped them down the drain and shoved the bowl angrily into the dishwasher.  Then I stomped upstairs to get ready.

Over my lunch break, I called Lauren.  I needed a reality check.  She answered.  "Can we do dinner tonight?" I asked, not even returning her greeting.

"Sure," she replied, sounding confused by my tone.  "Do you want me to invite Liv or Kendra?"

"No."  I needed brutal honesty, not coddling.

Lauren didn't say anything for a moment, then asked, "Is everything okay?"

"We'll talk tonight.  I need to get back to work."  Lauren accepted that and we hung up.

I got to the restaurant early and sat at the bar to get a drink.  I hadn't eaten breakfast and I'd just eaten a random granola bar I found in my desk for "lunch."  When things got chaotic, I lost my appetite.

I ordered a gin martini and sipped it a lot slower than I wanted to.  I was awfully early though, and sipping slowly didn't stop me from drinking too much.  I was just finishing my third when someone sat down next to me and said, "Bad day?"

I blinked placidly at him, then smirked.  "Something like that," I replied.  I glanced at his empty scotch glass, cocked an eyebrow and asked, "What's your excuse?"

"Good day," he replied with a devilish grin.  He was handsome in a cheap department store catalogue sort of way.  "Promotion and a hefty raise."

I was bored already, but humored him.  "Congratulations," I said.  I turned and thanked the bartender, a tiny waif of a girl who could barely reach past the call liquors, as she deposited my fourth martini in front of me.

"My name is--"

"I actually don't give a fuck," I interrupted.  I stared straight ahead, taking a good sized drink.

After a moment of what I can only imagine was stunned silence, Mr. JCPenney snorted.  "Then I guess I don't care about yours either," he replied.  I thought he'd leave, but he leaned closer to me.  Apparently bitches turned him on.  "So, how about you finish that drink, and--"

"Have you lost your goddamned mind?"  I turned my head and saw Lauren standing behind me, her disgust apparent.  "Did you pay cash or do you have a tab?" she demanded, gesturing at my drink.

"Cash," I informed her.  I almost laughed at the bewildered look on Promotion-and-Hefty-Raise's face.

"Then take that and get over here, because I got us a table and you're being an idiot."

"I actually just told this man that I don't give a fuck about him," I responded calmly, shrugging as I stood.  "Apparently he likes that sort of thing."  I looked seriously at Lauren and said in an exaggerated whisper, "Mommy must not have loved him enough."

"I am so sorry," Lauren apologized to the asshole next to me, who now looked angry.  She grabbed my forearm and pulled me away from the bar.  "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?" she snapped, after practically shoving me into a booth on the opposite side of the restaurant.

"Didn't eat enough and drank too much, I imagine," I replied.  I was starting to become amused by her clear irritation.

"And I suppose you drove here, as well," she said with disdain.  I nodded.  "Well knock it off before I take you home."

"Sorry, Mom," I replied.  "Oh wait, my mommy didn't love me enough either, and she wouldn't give a shit if I got home safely."

Lauren gaped at me.  Our server showed up at that second but paused, looking between Lauren and me.  "I'm really sorry," Lauren said.  "Something came up and we need to leave."

"Oh, of course," the server replied, looking confused.  "I hope everything is okay."

"I do too," I said to her, nodding seriously.

Lauren stood abruptly and stared pointedly at me.  "Let's go," she hissed when I didn't immediately stand.  I followed her dutifully, becoming aware of the fact that I was not fit to be seen in public right now.  As soon as we were outside, Lauren almost exploded.  "You are a mess," she chastised me.  I didn't answer.

She pulled out her phone and dialed someone while we walked in what I assumed was the direction of her car.  "Yeah, can you order a pizza for delivery to my house?" she asked someone.  She paused, listening.  "Thank you.  I might not be back tonight."  Another pause, with a glance at me.  "I'm not sure, but I hope to find out....okay, love you too."  She hung up and looked at me, making sure I was still walking along next to her.

She said nothing more until we were in her car.  Then she turned to me and said, "You and Damien broke up again."  It was a statement, not a question, and said it kindly.  Well, for Lauren anyway.

"No," I replied.  "Not yet."

"Not yet?" she asked.  I didn't say anything.  "Kinsley, does this have something to do with Cole?"

When she said that, I crumpled against the door.  I stayed silent.  She sighed softly and started the car.  She drove straight to her house and we went inside.  "Do you want something to eat while we wait for pizza?" she asked me.  I shook my head.  She went into the kitchen and came back with a large glass of water, which she handed to me wordlessly.  I took several long drinks while she stood and watched me.

Finally, I set the glass aside and looked up.  I tucked my hands between my knees to make them stop shaking, and then I finally spilled the entire story to Lauren.

__________________________

Don't forget to come back tomorrow for your sneak peek of "In All the Wrong Places"!

Lauren: Fired

I sit down heavily on the couch and scan the article:
                 Several top executives have been placed on paid leave while an undisclosed, independent  company investigates claims of sexual harassment.  One former employee from the company's Boulder office has come forward and said that she was sexually harassed on several occasions by her former supervisor.  Sean Condin, the supervisor in question, was quickly and quietly moved to one of the Denver locations following the incident.  This appears to be his second move within the company. Condin, who was already on paid leave for unknown reasons, was fired yesterday amidst the accusations.

There's more, but I've seen enough.  "Wow," I say, slowly folding the newspaper.  Then the dots connect and I look up at Alex in panic.  "Shit, what if they think I violated the non-disclosure?"

"The employee in the article is from the Boulder office," Alex reminds me.  "And from the sounds of it, this is something that has been in the works for awhile.  Probably since before you even quit."

"Which explains why they were so eager to give me a nice severance package and have me sign the non-disclosure," I reply.  "What the fuck."

"That means they knew this was happening the whole time," Alex finishes my thought.  "That's..."

"I know."  We look at each for several seconds, then I shake my head and say, "I'm glad I don't work there anymore."

"I am too," Alex says.

I narrow my eyes.  "And I knew there was something off with him!  I told you."

"You did tell me."

"And you blew me off," I accuse him.

"I did blow you off," he agrees again.  "I will never blow you off again."  Then he smirks, because apparently he's 12 and "blow you off" is funny.

"Good, because I imagine you still want to be blown at some point in your life," I retort.

"Mmm, I kind of want to be blown right now," he replies, cocking an eyebrow at me.

"That sucks," I tell him, standing up.  I intend to go back into the kitchen to finish the dishes I was washing when he called for me.  He snorts and I roll my eyes.  "Go ahead, make the joke," I dare him.

"Well it's not fun anymore," he complains.

I smirk and head towards the kitchen.  "Neither is blowing you!" I call over my shoulder.

"Ouch!" he yells back.  "I'll remember that!"

"File it away with your fond memories of blow jobs!" I shoot back.

I hear him start laughing and I grin to myself.  Now that Alex is starting to work again a little, he's been in a really great mood most of the time, rather than just some of the time.  I've even dragged him grocery shopping with me just to get him out of the house, even though I absolutely hate grocery shopping with him.  He's like a small child, wandering away and coming back with fruit snacks or random cookies and throwing them in the cart.  I reach down to grab something, stand up, and he's gone.  Reach for something else, turn around, and he's back with candy.  It's the worst.  But getting him out of the house helps his mood more than anything else, so I suffer in silence.

I'm just finishing up the dishes when Alex yells, "Your work ex-boyfriend is texting you again!"

"You must mean my ex-work ex-boyfriend," I correct him, walking back into the living room.

"I have no idea what I mean," he replies, handing my phone to me.

"Are you supporting my ex-work-romance?" I tease him, sitting down next to him.

He snorts.  "No, I already read the text when it popped up on the screen and it's clearly not romantic in nature."  I cut my eyes at him and he laughs.  "And also I trust you, and all that jazz."

I roll my eyes and open the text.  It says, "Holy shit.  You see the paper?"

"Yes, can't say I'm shocked." I text back.  I see Alex trying not to peek and I thrust my phone in front of his face.  "You can just look if you want to," I tell him, smirking.

"I don't want to!" he insists, shutting his eyes.  I laugh and hold my phone an inch from his face so his eyes cross when he opens them.  "Seriously, are you 12?" he asks, laughing.

"Says the guy who was making blow job jokes earlier," I reply, shaking my head.

"No, I believe you tragically took that pleasure away from me," he says.

I can't help it, I burst out laughing.  "It has so many meanings," I say when I finally get my shit together.  My phone vibrates in my hand, startling me enough that I drop it.  Alex tries not to laugh, but when I try to use my toes to pull it closer and end up sending it skittering across the room, he cracks up, holding his ribs with both hands.  "You're the worst," I mutter, walking over and picking it up.

"I'm the worst for laughing because you dropped your phone and then kicked it across the room?" he asks, wiping tears off his cheeks.

I don't answer, simply glaring at him instead.  I swing my feet up onto the couch, propping them against his leg, as I text back and forth with Logan for a couple minutes.  Alex takes one of my feet and starts massaging it.  "If you're trying to win back blow job privileges you're doing a great job," I inform him.

"I'm not even," he replies, shaking his head.  "Don't think everything you've done for me in the last 6 weeks has gone unnoticed.  I think you've totally earned a foot rub."  He stops abruptly, placing my foot back down on the couch.  "In another 6 weeks, I'll do the other one."

I raise my eyes from my phone and he's smirking at me.  "You're the worst," I tell him.  "I'm going out for lunch and I'm not taking you with me and I'm not bringing anything back for you."

"Finally some peace and quiet.  See you later!" he replies, fighting to keep a straight face.

I lift my phone to my ear and pretend to be having a conversation.  "Hi, Liv?  I'm going to need a shovel and an alibi."

Alex grins and leans over, grabbing my hand and tugging.  "Come here," he requests.  I shift around and settle myself carefully against his right side.  "I love you."

"I love you too," I reply.  "And I know you appreciate all the hard, agonizing work I've put in over the last several weeks.  I'll be patiently awaiting your repayment."

Alex chuckles.  "Okay, I'll keep that in mind."

I have plans to have lunch with Kendra, who has the week off work.  Alex jokingly complains about me leaving him on his own for lunch but quickly shuts up when I offer to bring him back some food.  I haven't spent much time with Kendra lately.  She was pretty sick for the first couple months of her pregnancy so she wasn't doing much.

"Hi!" I greet her cheerfully when I walk into the restaurant.  She's standing just inside the door, waiting patiently for me.  We hug briefly, because it has been that long, and I grin at her.  "You look so good," I tell her.

"I feel fat," she complains.  She smooths her shirt carefully over her itty bitty bump.  "It's just enough that I just look really bloated."

"Not a chance," I assure her honestly.

We sit down and order an appetizer, then start catching up.  I miss her, and I don't even realize it until we're sitting here talking.  Missing people is weird like that for me.

"So I just got a promotion a couple weeks ago, and I feel bad because--" Kendra starts.

"You got a promotion?" I ask, surprised.  "I had no idea!  Congratulations!"

She smiles shyly.  "I did," she confirms.  "I haven't seen you so I guess I didn't even think to tell you, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I insist, feeling guilty for not keeping in touch with her better.  "Okay, go on."

"I feel bad because they don't know I'm pregnant.  I'm worried they're going to be pissed that I didn't tell them when they offered it to me, but I was worried they would take it back."

"I don't think that's legal," I say, shaking my head.

She shrugs.  "Even so, I didn't want them to second guess it.  Though I guess they will when I tell them, anyway."

We chat about her promotion for awhile and then I fill her in about what's new with my former job.  an hour passes really quickly and I'm disappointed when she says she has to go home to meet a contractor that's doing some remodeling on their house before the baby comes.

We hug again and I get in the car.  I'm driving home when my phone rings.  It's a number I don't recognize, and I ignore it.  It rings again as I'm walking into Alex's house.  Irritated, I answer it.  "Is this Lauren?" an unfamiliar voice asks.

"Yes, who is this?" I snap.

"My name is Jacob, and I'm a reporter for the Denver Post.  Were you recently fired or let go from your job?  I'd like to talk to you about your former company."

I'm sorry

I'm sorry, I suck!  I feel like the wheels have come off.

My Lauren post is almost done, but I'm about to head to class so I can't finish it now.  I WILL finish and post it tomorrow (Wednesday) evening.  Then you can expect a second post this week on Friday or Saturday.

I will actually have writing time this weekend (and intend on being pretty lazy elsewhere in my life, because I need to recharge a little) so I hope to get a couple posts written to have a little cushion.

I know a bunch of blogs have ended recently and a couple have just disappeared, and I know it can be frustrating and disappointing.  That is the last thing I want to do to you guys, which is why I try so hard to keep you up to date on what's going on here. I can tell from the number of hits that you guys have been checking for new posts and I want to really thank you for your patience.  If you want to know when new posts are up without having to check back, I highly recommend you follow me on Bloglovin' or by email.  You can find those links on right side.  (mobile users, you can scroll all the way down, hit "view web version" and subscribe from there.

Thank you again for your patience, and I'm looking forward to getting my next post up tomorrow!

Kinsley: Blame

Hi guys, thank you so much for your kind words and patience waiting for this post!  This week ended up being a total shitshow and it was ridiculous.  I've got a Lauren post in the works that I hope to have up tomorrow or Monday.  
______________________________________

I kept myself busy for the rest of Sunday.  I went to the gym, I ran some errands, I cleaned my house.  By the end of the day I felt better and was able to relax and then sleep like a normal person.

My workday was so slow on Monday.  I wasn't busy and it felt like it dragged on and on.  Finally it was time to leave.  I actually left about 20 minutes early because I wanted to have enough time to go home and spend some extra time getting ready for dinner with Damien.

When I got home, I took a quick shower, being careful not to get my hair wet while I shaved.  I dried off, slathered lotion all over my body, and quickly pulled one of my favorite casual dresses on.  I touched up my makeup, darkening my eye liner slightly and adding an extra coat of mascara, reapplying my blush, and finding the perfect lip gloss.  Then I ran my flat iron over a couple pieces of hair that had done something weird over the course of the day.  I admired my reflection in the mirror, pleased.  I really did love my new haircut.

I was a little nervous, just because I hadn't talked to Damien since I left his house yesterday morning and I wasn't sure if dinner would be awkward or how he'd be.  It turned out that I didn't need to worry.  He rang my doorbell just as I was finishing applying lip gloss, and I ran down the stairs to let him in.  "Hi," I said, slightly self-consciously.

"Hi, Kinsley," he replied warmly.  Then he looked me up and down and grinned.  "Are you actually ready?"

I laughed.  "I am, for once!" I told him.  "But only because I left work early."  Damien started laughing, and I was so relieved that everything felt normal.

"Come here," he said, once he had collected himself.  I finished sliding my feet into my shoes and stepped over to him, looping my arms around his neck.  He kissed me softly and then pulled me into a tight hug.  "Should we go?" he asked my hair.

"Yes, I'm starving," I replied, pulling away finally.  He kept one arm around my back and briefly rested his hand against my face, stroking my jaw and my neck before smiling and letting both hands drop so I could step away and grab my coat.  He held it while I slid my arms into it, then we left the house.

We ordered a bottle of wine and a couple appetizers to share.  Things felt so close to normal I could almost ignore the nagging voice in the back of my head that wanted to keep telling me over and over that I fucked up.  We talked about our days and I told Damien a story about an idiot at the gym the day before.

We didn't linger long after we finished before we headed back to my house.  In the car, Damien's fingers trailed under my skirt and up my leg before stopping and resting his hand on my upper thigh, his fingers lightly tapping against my leg.  I sighed softly and moved my legs apart a little more.  His hand immediately slid higher, stopping just short of where I was hoping it'd go.  "Trying to torture me?" I asked him.

"I would never do something like that," he replied without taking his eyes off the road.  But he smirked as he moved his fingers, stroking my inner thigh lightly.  I sunk lower in my seat, trying to press my hips towards his hand, but it remained planting firmly where it was on my thigh.

After a 15 minute drive that felt like forever, we finally made it back to my house.  Damien barely let me get my high-heeled ankle boots off before he pulled me close and kissed me.  I pushed one hand into his hair and gripped his shirt with the other, relieved at how normal it felt.  He pulled his lips away from mine and kissed along my jaw to my neck.  I leaned back against the door and groaned when his hand slipped up my skirt, sliding along my tights up my inner thigh.  He teased me with his fingers through my tights and underwear until I wiggled away to get them off of me and out of his way.

Once I had the clothing barrier gone, I grabbed his arms and kissed him again.  Damien again moved his lips to my neck, this time the other side.  "Do you want me to fuck you, or do you want it nice and slow?" he asked.  The combination of the words (which were always unexpected from him) and his breath on my ear made me shiver in anticipation.

He was watching me, and I looked up at him and softly said, "Both."

At that, Damien grinned.  "You've got it," he said.

He pulled my dress over my head and spun me around, planting his left hand between my shoulder blades and pushing me up against the door face first.  I squirmed impatiently as he undid his pants with one hand.  Finally I heard his pants hit the floor, then he slid his fingers between my legs and got me worked into a frenzy.  When he finally slid his right arm under my right leg and pulled it up, bracing his hand against the door, and slammed into me, I felt like I had been on the edge of an orgasm for hours.  The hand between my shoulder blades lifted now that he could press my body against the door with his own.  Since I couldn't see anything he was doing with that hand, it took me by surprise when he grabbed a handful of my hair and used it to turn my head so he could kiss me.  I kissed him desperately, moaning against his lips.  He kept a tight grip on my hair, then pulled my leg up a little higher.  His hand was high enough now to free my breast from my bra, and he pulled and twisted my nipple as he thrust into me hard enough to shake the door.  I cried out as I came, and if it wasn't for his body against mine and his arm hooked under my leg, I would have been on the floor.

He stayed pressed tightly against me, grinding his hips against mine instead of thrusting until I resumed normal functioning.  He pulled out of me, still hard, kicked off his shoes and pants, and pried my sweaty, trembling body away from the door.  Then he lifted me and carried me upstairs into my room, where he made good on the second half of his offer.  I came twice more before he finally finished, and I slumped into a breathless heap against him when he rolled off of me.  "Jesus," I muttered.

"Yeah," he agreed.

We laid there silently for a really long time.  Damien was absently stroking my shoulder with his thumb when I suddenly blurted out, "How did you do it?"

"Do what?" he asked, yawning.

I wriggled out of his arms and pushed myself up on one elbow so I could look at him.  He opened his eyes and watched me, waiting for me to clarify.  "Just forget about everything and move on?"

He considered this thoughtfully.  "Well, I don't know.  I guess I just did.  Maybe because it was just a kiss that you didn't want and ended?  It's not like you had sex with him."

I frowned.  "You don't think it was my fault," I said.

"You're right," he agreed easily.  "And you do think it was your fault.  Because you should have 'known better' than to let a guy that wants to have sex with you walk you to your car."

"Basically."

He shrugged.  "If you hadn't, it probably wouldn't have happened.  You're right about that.  But he's the one in the wrong, because you shouldn't just go around kissing people that are in relationships and have made it perfectly clear they're not interested."

Had I made it perfectly clear?  I'd made it perfectly clear I was in a relationship...did that count?

"Stop blaming yourself," Damien said.  "I honestly think you're more upset by this than I am.  I'm not really sure what that's about, but as far as I'm concerned, we're okay."

I slid back down until I was laying next to him again, rolling onto my other side.  Damien immediately rolled onto his side and wrapped his arm around me, pulling my back against his chest.  I sagged against him, trying to relax.  I wondered how long I'd feel guilty and awful about this.  Damien was right, I absolutely did blame myself and think it was my fault.  Wasn't it?  It felt weird that he was so unfazed by it.  It didn't feel real.  I felt like I was waiting for him to decide he really was pissed and leave in a blaze of glory.

As soon as that thought popped into my head, I immediately felt bad.  I trusted Damien.  He'd never lied to me, he'd never done anything to make me think that he wouldn't be honest about the way he felt.  If he said he moved on, he moved on.  I relaxed a little, realizing this.  I still had the nagging self-blame in the back of my mind, but I was able to push it away long enough to drift off to sleep, still nestled against Damien.

Author's note

One day into my new semester and I'm already running late on a post.  I will for sure have one post up later this week.  I'm going to still shoot for two, but if I can get a second one up, it will also be later this week.  Sorry!