To freedom.
“Don’t throw us away.” Another stroke over my bare skin.
“There’s nothing to throw away. I’m not scared—I’m indifferent.” I will not slap him across the face and demand he snap out of his fixation.
My mom and sister told me that because I humiliated him in front of the entire town, I need to show compassion. So even though none of this is my fault, I’m required to show him empathy.
And I’m trying—really, I am—but he’s making it so, so difficult.
All I need to do is be compassionate for a few minutes longer.
“You’re reluctant to trust, but we can work through it together, Jessica.”
I used to deal with his excessive mansplaining by covering his mouth until he shut up, but that doesn’t seem appropriate any longer. However, I am done explaining myself. Again. “I’m sorry, Travis. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”
“I love you. We can work through this mess. I know we can.” Travis gives me his choirboy smile.
The compassion grows too much for me. I can’t stand it.
I am going to shred his ego with a knife and enjoy each and every cut. I part my lips to slay him, but then I spot the accounts payable group eavesdropping to our left.
Behind my back, they call me The Crusher.
Judy Klompski is excitedly clutching her best friend’s arm.
They are all waiting for me to take a wrecking ball to Travis.
But I refuse to give them the satisfaction. They don’t deserve it.
I glare intently into Travis’s eyes, hoping he’ll see the truth of my words in my expression. “You don’t love me. You don’t even know me.”
“How can you say that? We’ve been together for eight months.”
I will not punch him. I assume bashing him in the face won’t help matters. I search for the words, a new phrasing, something, anything that will break him from this fever dream. “We had casual, intermittent sex. We went to a few parties. That’s not love.”
He frowns like he’s never heard anything so disappointing. “You don’t mean that.”
“If I’d had any idea you were going to ask me to marry you at the opening baseball game, on the jumbotron, in front of the entire town, I would have set you straight.” At my screeching, several people look in our direction, ears perked in anticipation, like a pack of dogs.
This is what I get for being lazy.
What kills me is I’d planned on ending things after that stupid game.
But he’d decided to propose.
It had been the seventh-inning stretch.
I’d been busy stuffing my face with popcorn.
They’d just finished “Take Me out to the Ball Game.”
I’d finally noticed him standing next to me.
Then, to my shocked horror, he’d dropped to one knee.
My reaction had been…unfortunate.
Now, he’s the poster child for sympathetic nice boy, and I have a semi-viral video of myself set to the song “Cannibal” by Kesha.