Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- Dedication
- KARLA
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Epilogue
- The Affair
- Hear more from Sheryl
- Books by Sheryl Browne
- A Letter from Sheryl
- The Babysitter
- The Second Wife
- Acknowledgements
He does. He would have known as soon, as he contemplated leaving me, what that would do to me, but he didn’t care enough to stay. This is my unpalatable reality. I am unloved, unlovable. Unwanted, unless by a stranger. The ache in my heart grows unbearably heavy as I move closer to the man whose Tinder profile I swiped right on. My ‘date’ for tonight. He’s younger than me, but he doesn’t seem concerned about that. And I think I’m past caring about anything anymore. We exchange meaningful eye contact, but we don’t speak. We can’t compete with the music, and words are superfluous anyway. We both know why we’re here. I feel the heat of his gaze travelling over me as I turn around. I’m aware, as I raise my hands in the air, gyrating my pelvis to the pulsating rhythm, that my short dress is creeping higher, revealing the bare flesh of my thighs above leather boots. I know it’s a come-on. I don’t protest as he pulls me suddenly towards him, my back pressed close to his body, his hands anchoring my hips hard to him.
He searches my face as I twist around, his eyes communicating his question. He finds his answer in mine. He grasps my hand, leading me away from the dance floor. This is okay. This is what I want: someone to want me, whoever ‘me’ is.
Who are you? I ask the painted-on face that stares back at me through the over-sink mirror as he thrusts into me. This person who is not me, but another part of me. I’m not embarrassed at being taken like this. I want it – to go back to basics, to see love for what it really is: a lie. A primal need to fuck, that’s all, dressed up to mean something. It means nothing. My marriage, what I thought Jason and I had, all lies. My father, who was supposed to care for me… a liar, a misogynist, a cheat. My mother, disappeared. I understand, to a degree, why she would need to separate herself from all that’s happening – this is the same urge that drives me: the need to not be here, in this life. But to not contact me, talk to me. Does she truly care, the only person I thought I could depend on?
And me, I am nothing. I watch a tear spill down my face. Someone who is worth nothing.
But you are. Sarah. Her voice is frightened. An urgent whisper.
Am I? Another tear falls silently. I don’t believe her. How can I?