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495 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 22, 2019
He took Stephanie, so he deserves to die.
She sucked my dick and helped me forget for 3.2 seconds.
Normally, I turn them around so I don’t have to see their faces when I disrespect Steph. I prefer the anonymity.
I can’t have Steph, and I’m too tired to work for the rest. Instead, I distract myself with new girls and getting high.
Steph took my goodness with her, and now all I’m left with is the shell of an asshole. And though a part of me wants to get better, a part of me wants to be better, I still find myself high and fucking a new chick twelve hours after Emma’s party.
“You don’t look like any teacher I ever saw, Brat. I don’t remember any of my teachers ever showing off ink and side boob.”
“Jesus, Bambie. Fuck, you feel good.”
“You have a nipple piercing.”
“You haven’t seen my clit yet.”
“You need to go. Get the fuck out.”
“Cab money. Now put your shoes on and get.” “I’m not your whore, Jack!”
“Actually.” He stops in front of me and snarls. “Yeah, you are. You fucked a stranger, now I’m giving you fifty bucks. Fuck off.”
“I had no expectations except to be treated with common decency!”
“That chick you just humiliated,” Aiden bites out. “That’s Smalls’ school teacher.”
six months of flushing everything away: my career, my body, my health, my money and reputation.
I had no clue I’d created a dependency on alcohol, but there you go.
“I still love you, baby. Every day for the rest of my life. I’ll see you next week, okay?”
I can’t even try to compare you both, because it’s like comparing a unicorn and a… well, maybe a raccoon.” I smile and pick the last three petals off. “Or maybe a unicorn and a deer.
“I love you, Steph. I’ll love you for the rest of my life, I promise.”
How could I ever compete with the love of his life? How could I compete with this history?”
I write about the virginities we gave up for each other, and the sex talk I was given when my brother thought I was already experienced. I wasn’t. I was in love and thinking ahead.
I can’t compete with you, Steph.”
I can’t compete with romanticized memories. Steph will forever be immortalized and remembered as young and beautiful and perfect.
“You’re right.” I acknowledge quietly. “You’re not my girl. You’re not my anything…” I swallow past my heartbreak and self-loathing. “You’re just a whore. Get your boyfriend to drive you home.”
“Jack–”
“Go fuck yourself, Brittany.”
I gave her space, I tried to move on, but I just can’t.