I’ve told myself millions of times to stop. Stop going out of my way to satisfy him. Stop watching Hell’s Kitchen, just because he likes it. Stop cutting my hair short, just because he says I look prettier that way. Stop being “that girl,” because she’s definitely not me.
But how can I stop myself from doing these things if they make him happy? If he’s happy, I’m happy. That might be the shittiest thing you’ll hear today, but it’s true.
Yesterday, I woke up to the reality that what I’m doing is too much. But I still can’t fathom the thought of leaving him. Call me stupid, but that’s just how much I love him. Last week, he asked me if I was willing to watch him have sex with another girl. I answered him with a question. “Will that make you happy?” He said yes. “Yes. It’s fun and it’s one of my fantasies. Just thinking about it makes me giddy.”
So I agreed.
He never told me when it would happen, so my heart stopped beating when I saw a girl’s clothing scattered on his stairs. I could hear both of them panting and the bed creaking as I made my way into the bedroom. Every step I took felt like a step closer to my death. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. I reminded myself of why I answered yes in the first place. Because it would make him happy and I would do anything to make him happy.
Once I got inside, I couldn’t do anything, except sit in a chair as I watched them ravish each other. The same chair where I’m writing this story.
“So you’re here,” he said to me as he stopped to catch his breath for a moment, not even looking me in the eyes. I didn’t answer. I just stared blankly at the bed. I guess he was too busy to wait for my answer, so he went back to thrusting. I felt the blood rush down from my head as I was filled with questions. How long had she been here? Could she please him better than I could?
I knew I should’ve said no. But I loved him too much to do so. Seeing him touch her made my whole body numb. With every thrust, my bones cracked. I died every time I heard him moaning in pleasure as she rode on top of him.
He fucked her as if he hadn’t been fucked for years. He fucked her as if I wasn’t even there. It almost killed me when I heard him groan as he climaxed. My heart nearly exploded when I saw her bring him to that high.
I stopped myself from crying, because I wanted him to think that it was all fine with me. That I was willing to do anything for him. But I felt like an outsider inside of our own house. Minutes passed by, both of them breathing heavily. I finally heard her leave the room. And then it was just us.
Or was it just me?
I wished I was enough for him, because the thing is, he’s more than enough for me. I was left with so many questions. Would this happen again? Would I allow it to happen again? The sad part was, I already knew the answer.
Yes. It will always be yes.