Wanted For Pleasure

Chapter Forty-five: we branded him the monster

TW: drug overdose

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"Very often when people speak of justice, they are not referring to some abstract concept of law, or an ethereal vision of divine justice, but rather the more earthly idea of responding to a temporal wrong. They simply want to make sure that he who has caused suffering ends up suffering himself. The only way for the wrongdoer to know the pain that he has caused is by experiencing his own pain."

Chris Omar Vaughn

I'll let you in on a secret men don't want you to know: when we really like a girl, see something with her, and respect you, we won't want to have sex. At least not right away, like, it's not right on our minds. Some people argue this is "so backwards," I know. Others, think it's cute, respectful.
If you're Morgan, you think it's stupid, offensive.

I wanted to wait, hold off on sex, just for a while. She's different, this is different. After that last argument, I realized she means something to me. Fuck, I like her, I said it.

While there's no denying the fucking chemistry we have and how insanely physically attracted to her I am, I wanted to try and bond. Sex isn't everything. Don't get me wrong, sex is a lot, fucking love it with her especially.

Alright, shit, maybe I'm lying a little bit. Okay, not lie, but I'm trying to convince myself that's the truth.

Really, I just couldn't get over the fact that Malcolm—

Ugh, I can't even bring myself to say or admit it.

That shit really makes me sick and I hate that I feel that way about it, but I hate the fact that he touched her even more.

No matter if she liked it, did anything back, or not, it still happened. She said she was mine and he—

I'm going to be sick.

At the very least, we're not blood related. That makes me feel, like, two percent better.

I know a hundred and ten perfect Morgan doesn't want him, but she sat there and let it happen. Literally.

It was driving me crazy.

Vacation was going great, St.Lucia was beautiful, I loved every second of our time together.

Well, up until the tub. I tried. I fucking tried. I wanted Morgan so bad— still do— but when I tried to go down on her, all I could think about was that his lips were there, too.

She got tested, she doesn't have anything and she's sworn she's taken all kinds of internal cleanses and several deep, long scrubs in the bath with anything from soap to damn near bleach. I believe that. I do.

It's not her I'm pissed at... anymore. And I tried to tell her that but by then she was convinced I was too disgusted by her to ever touch her again.

When we woke up the final morning of the trip, she didn't say anything, hardly talked. During breakfast she was quiet, only spoke when I spoke first. On the hike, she only chatted with random tourists and the guide.
At the beach, she only asked me to run sunscreen on her back. When my hands fell to her lower back, she stopped them and said, "I can get that. Thanks."
The ride to the airport, we didn't hold hands, she didn't let me put my hand on her thigh, and when she fell asleep on the plane, she didn't use my shoulder or lap as a pillow.