Chapters (55)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Cast of Characters
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Part Two
- 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
- A note on the Author
She wanted me to fight all the time. We’d be at a party and she’d press her face into my chest and say, “Him over there! He tried to make me dance with him, and when I wouldn’t, he said I was ugly!”
Nobody said she was ugly. Except her. But I’d have to step up, and we got escorted out of a few parties I was really excited to be at. When we were in front of other people, whenever we were in a crowd, she wanted to be protected. But when we got home, and it was just us, she wouldn’t let me help her. It was like the guy trying to prove that he’s heterosexual by making out all over his girl in public and then not touching her in the cab afterward. She wanted everyone to see that she needed help. And it made people not want to help her. I was the only one. And she screwed with my heart. Intricate little screws in my heart, tiny and sharp, nailed tight while I was sleeping, until my heart was screwed so close to my lung I couldn’t breathe right.
She would get drunk and start telling everyone in the bar about the size of my dick. It was humiliating. I know on paper it shouldn’t be: “Oh God, I’m so upset because my girlfriend’s telling everyone I’m hung like a donkey.” But it was fucking humiliating. I’m not like that. I don’t talk about things like that. I mean, I’ll talk about it in the bedroom, if it’s me and some girl. But I didn’t even want to talk about it to her. I didn’t like talking dirty with Ruby because, I told you already, I really, truly loved her.
I tried to tell her she was making her life crazier than it needed to be. That nobody ruled her. That nobody said she had to slash her arms and leave ten minutes into any meal to throw up in the John. I tried to tell her that she wasn’t going to become who she thought she was by reading biographies of people she thinks are geniuses. I tried to tell her that I wasn’t a shiny, happy person myself but that she made me feel less alone. And that if she felt the same, then we were in love.
She didn’t feel the same.
