Page 60 of The Pursuit of Happiness
Unknown Number
Do you even remember me or have you
fucked that many guys since we’ve broken up?
Unknown Number
You are a worthless, filthy whore
My heart races. His texts become more and more aggressive. Every time I block his number, he texts me from a new one, but I know it’s him every time. He refuses to leave me alone even though I don’t reply. I want to crawl into a pit and never come out. Just knowing the texts are from him, just reading them, makes me feel so dirty. It taints the happiness I feel with Sly. It turns my happiness into a bitter tasting chemical in my mouth.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump, quickly shutting my phone off and tossing it face down in my lap. I turn over my shoulder and find Sly, his brows knotted in confusion. I realize that my defensiveness over my phone may make me look bad, but I don’t want to discuss Duncan with him. “What was that?” He asks, hurt in his eyes.
I hate the look on his face. It’s a look of mistrust, something I never want to see when he’s looking at me. I turn to face him completely and shake my head, forcing a smile, “Nothing. It was just Ivory texting some really weird shit in the groupchat.”
The look he gives me tells me he doesn’t believe a single wordcoming out of my mouth. He puts distance between us, breaking contact with me as he pushes himself back over to his side of the bed. I want to reach out for him but he gives me a warning look, “Don’t.”
I panic. I don’t want to ruin anything that’s happening between us. What we have is so important to me, I can’t stand the thought of it ending. Especially not because of Duncan.
He takes a long, deep breath and exhales, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, “Why are you lying to me, right now?”
I hesitate. I don’t want to talk about Duncan. “Sly, it’s noth-”
He snaps, “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. Don’t do that. Not when you practically freeze and look like you’re in pain every time you get a text. This isn’t the first time, Aria.” The use of my full name stings. I suddenly crave to hear him call me Kane. I crave his smile and his playfulness, not this betrayed look in his eyes and hurt that I’ve caused.
I shrug, “I don’t want to talk about it.” I feel my eyes start to sting, the threat of tears starting to form.
He scoffs, “You did this before too. The last time you got a text like that and I asked you who it was from. You got defensive when I asked who it was and if someone was bothering you.”
I feel my cheeks starting to warm. I do the only thing I can think to do, as horrible as it is. I crawl towards him and seat myself in his lap, straddling him. I hide the tremble in my body by running my hands up and down his body, under his shirt and along his abs. I try to kiss him, but he pulls his face away. I frown, hurt, but he hasn’t tossed me off of him yet. I want to take his mind off of the texts so badly I’m willing to do anything.
I lower my hands until they reach the waistband of his boxers. Just as I’m about to reach inside he grabs my wrists tightly and traps my arms against his chest, “You’re not using sex as an escape,” he fumes.
I feel the dam breaking on my tears and as one treacherous tear escapes, I lower my head in hopes he doesn’t see. He releases one of my wrists and grabs my chin, angling my face towards his. I squeeze my eyes shut, too afraid to see the expression on his face when he finds my tears free falling. His voice softens, “Baby, I need you to talk to me.”
I shake my head, biting my lip so hard to contain my tears that I taste blood. He uses his thumb to separate my lips, “Stop that,” he commands, his voice growing sharper despite his soothing tone.
I try to remove myself from his lap before I completely break, shattering into pieces around us both, but he keeps me where I am, my arm pinned to his chest and my face forced to meet his. “Open your eyes and look at me,” he demands.
I slowly blink my eyes open and start sobbing when I take in the concerned, and pained expression. I can read his thoughts clearly in his eyes. He’s worried about me, concerned that something or someone is doing this to me, but also hurt that I don’t trust him enough to tell him the truth. “Sly, please,” I choke out.
He wipes tears away with his thumb, “Aria, I need you to trust me as much as I trust you. What’s going on?”
I contemplate telling him. I’m afraid that if I do, he’ll see things from Duncan’s perspective and think maybe I really am all of those horrible disgusting things. Maybe he’ll realize he was so blinded by infatuation that he didn’t see what was right in front of him. Maybe he’ll take my ex-boyfriend’s account as a warning. But if I don’t tell him, what if he walks away from me like he almost did the other night? I can’t expect him to be okay with me keeping things from him. That isn’t how relationships work.
I realize two things in this inner conflict. The first is that I don’t know the first thing about healthy relationships, butkeeping secrets definitely doesn’t seem like something someone in a healthy relationship would do. The second is that nothing scares me more than the thought of Sly walking away from me. Sometimes we have to do hard things. Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do for the sake of those we care for. What I have with Sly has ventured past like and is starting to feel a lot like something else. Something more concrete and irreversible. I don’t want to risk what we have because of Duncan.
“It it-,” I take a deep breath and finally manage to say, “It’s my ex.” A tsunami of tears stream down my cheeks as I panic over what’s gonna happen after I tell him the truth. I’m so afraid he’ll change his mind about me, but it’s a risk I have to take if I want to be honest with him. If I want this relationship to be healthy.
Sly gives me a hesitant, defensive expression, “Ex?”
I nod, “We broke up five years ago. We dated in highschool and we moved in together after I graduated. We were together for a few years before I left.”
“You left,” he repeats my words, trying to get a better understanding. “Why did you leave?”
I start hyperventilating through tears and I try my best to say the words clearly with the exception of a few hiccups, “He wanted me to be his dutiful housewife. He didn’t want me to play guitar, he didn’t want me to pursue my dreams, he didn’t want me to beme. He wanted me to be whohewanted me to be. I left because I couldn’t take it anymore.”
Sly’s jaw hardens, “When did you break up?”
