Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 46943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
I shook my head, shrugging, red coloring my cheeks. This was not the time to tell my mom, or anyone, that I’d rubbed my kitty on my groom’s face while he was sleeping. I’m not sure which part was worse … that I’d done that to an unconscious man, or that my new husband, who was supposed to adore my kitty, had stormed out in anger after he found out.
So I just shook my head, shifting gears.
“I’m sure Gary will come around,” I said reassuringly. “He’s probably just running a little late, maybe he needs to get gas for the car.”
But to my utter embarrassment, that asshole didn’t show up. Didn’t come to his own wedding brunch, leaving me humiliated in front of assorted family and friends, making apologies and excuses when we should have been putting on a show as lovebirds, cooing at each other, romantic with stars in our eyes.
“Well,” said my mom tightly. “I hope this is a one-time thing for your sake.”
I nodded.
“I know, Ma, I know,” I said soothingly. “I’m sure Gary will come around, this was just an aberration, he’s usually really responsible and kind.”
But the look in my mom’s eyes wasn’t so sure. Maybe Linda knew something that I didn’t, or maybe it was the fact that she’s been married four times, but my mom’s instincts proved right. Because my new husband had gone certifiably crazy, he pulled the plug on our union just like that. Gary never moved into our new apartment, never moved his stuff in, never applied for the extra parking space we’d talked about. Instead, the incident on our wedding night opened a can of worms and I realized the man I’d married had been a mirage, a figment of my imagination.
Because almost immediately, gossip started circulating that Gary was seeing a pretty blonde thing on the side, someone young, perky and skinny, the whole boobs on a stick thing.
I was aghast, horrified and beyond hurt, the pain terrifying because it was so unreal. Maybe I’d fucked up during our wedding night, maybe I shouldn’t have face-fucked Gary while he was sleeping, maybe I’d crossed some invisible line and I was willing to admit that. But an affair? After we’d just been married? We’d literally just signed the wedding certificate, this was a nightmare come true.
And who the fuck was this chick? How had this blonde girl come out of nowhere? The ramifications left me gasping for air, a dying fish. We’d just celebrated our big day, how could this be happening?
But like a slow-motion car crash, news kept on filtering out and the house of cards came crashing down, lie after lie after lie piling upon one another, becoming a giant snowball of falsehoods. Because Gary had known this girl for a while. She was a student at the community college where he taught, a tiny blonde thing who was barely legal, tanned and toned and skinny, probably weighing a hundred pounds.
Gary really was fucking her. Really, truly fucking her, that “waiting until we’re married” spiel had been a giant deception because she was pregnant with his child, her tummy already growing big with a boy or girl, I have no idea which. And the realization was crushing. All the lies he’d fed me were just that, lies. There was no “special occasion,” no “special event” where we learned about each other’s bodies, exploring, touching, kissing passionately while bringing each other to our first orgasms. No, Gary had been pounding this other woman all along, spurting his seed into her so much to the point where she was actually pregnant, this ho was going to have the child of a married man.
So I was devastated, beyond terrified at what I’d discovered. I was a wreck, cold sweats pouring down my forehead, my knees, neck and back clammy and chill, my brain half-dead with shock. I thought about disappearing for a while, treating myself to the whole Elizabeth Gilbert Eat, Pray, Love world tour, but I don’t have that kind of money. I have a job, bills to pay, responsibilities, and I couldn’t just jet off for months on end while finding myself and rebuilding from the ground up.
So I stayed state-side and filed for divorce, like what a regular person does. I moved out of our joint apartment as soon as I could, as soon as the broker presented me with an option that was cheap and affordable. Sure, the fifth floor tenement wasn’t ideal because I didn’t want to live a student lifestyle again, but fuck, I couldn’t stay in that huge apartment anymore, not when I’d heard Gary was planning on moving his new paramour there, setting up a nursery for his new child.
So here I am. I’d just fucked my delivery man because I was starving for love, my marriage had been a complete sham, my life in tatters. My supposedly strong launch into wedded bliss had collapsed when brushed with a feather, and all that was left were broken pieces, my heart, my body, my soul shaken to the core, my belief in destiny and happily ever afters destroyed, my confidence in shreds. Even more perverse, I was a divorcee who was still a virgin. Can you believe it? It sucked, but I was ready to change that asap … hopefully, with a little help from my gorgeous delivery man.