Part 7
We continued... I hated how much she did not matter ..
🕑 Added 2022-01-25 17:29:03 +0000 UTC
Part 7
We continued... I hated how much she did not matter at all. I knew her name, I'd seen inside her home, how she lived. The way I felt having him in my life was like nothing I'd ever felt before. He made me fall in love with myself. I felt empowered, I felt seen and most importantly - I felt understood. I woke up each day energised and ready - there was absolutely nothing I couldn't handle cause he knew me... I felt like I could change the world.
It wasn't like that for him, at the start of our affair I expressed my concerns. That when push came to shove and he needed to cull the excess from his life - I would be the first to go. This thought terrified me. We joked about how if he died, I'd be the crazy stranger losing her shit at the back while his mob watched on, clueless to who I am. School friend he would joke...
We continued and it came to a head... it had been 6 months since I first stripped down and fucked myself just like he asked... His graduation came around and he was celebrating in Melbourne. His snapchat told me so, but he did not.
I messaged him and congratulated him but he did not respond. Not wanting to take away from his night I said nothing. I laid there all night, wondering why he would ignore me like that but deep down I knew...
The next morning rolled around - 'somethings changed' I told him...
'I told her' he responded
Feelings washed right through me... so many feelings.
He went on... 'I didn't tell you because -'
In my mind I cut him off - 'you didn't tell me because I don't matter.'
He told me after everything, he hated himself. He hated himself for even considering the thought of us. He told me his worked too hard for his home and his children and he hated himself for wanting to leave all that for sex.
The most incredible, beautiful man I had EVER known told me he hated himself and then compared the most beautiful feeling I'd ever experienced to something as simple as sex.
I fucked up.
