𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐗𝐗𝐈

• 21 •

A lot of things can make a woman feel good about herself. In a world where there's always two sides to everything, this only means that numerous things can make her feel bad too.

For example, I feel good when I manage to clean my whole apartment within a day. I feel good on the occasions when I cook myself an actual meal and not just settle with greasy hamburgers. I feel good when I'm able to help a stranger out. I feel great whenever I make my mother proud. I feel fantastic whenever I finish washing my face without having any encounters with some bloody woman standing near when I close my eyes to rinse. I feel amazing whenever I make it through a night without having some underworldly entity grab the portions of my legs which are not covered by blankets.

I feel bad when I'm called stupid, immune as I seem to Keenan's like comments. I feel bad when I accidentally spill something on someone. I feel bad when I walk on flooring which had just been mopped. I feel terrible when I let my damn vagina decide for me even though I have a brain. I feel fucking awful for having let a man down by sleeping with another guy, especially when it built insecurity for the first dude. I feel damn-fucking horrible when I've just confronted a woman that I copulated with her partner. And fuck, fucking horrendous when that woman's been nothing but nice to me.

Janella gaped, mouth parted, one brow perked up. I had stomached the ball of anxiety in my tummy when I released my words. With that, I can say that I was shitting my pants as I waited for her verbal reply. I licked my lips. She stared. I wanted to look away, but I found myself gazing back in plain shame.

She spoke, "You... what?" and I hoped that she didn't mean that because I did not want to repeat myself.

I cleared my throat, feeling as uneasy as I was with Adil just hours earlier, "Something happened," well, a lot of things happened, but she'll be better off without the details.

"But I thought you were with—" "Adil, uh-huh, it seems that everyone thought so," I cut the young woman off. Yes, rub it in. Rub it in like lotion on the skin or else I go and hoe again.

Keenan's girlfriend furrowed her brows, not from anger, but from cogitation. She was processing things and understandable would be a word too shallow for her displayed reaction. I'm just happy I haven't been slapped yet today. After seconds, maybe minutes, heck, they felt like hours, Janella spoke again, "When?"

With the woman's gaze like nuclear radiation, my face felt like burning off. I gave myself five seconds to supply a response, at the third blurting out "I don't think that matters," when it can matter if Jan wants it to.

Not a trace of hate could be seen on Janella's face. I don't think this woman is even capable of displaying resentment. The said pretty face softened and after a sigh, her shoulders fell, "You're right."

The awkwardness in the air was astronomical. I squirmed in my seat. Feeling uncomfortable, I folded my legs beneath me, bones cracking when I did so. It made things more awkward. How did bone-cracking make things more awkward? When I figured that no amount of position-shifts can ease the weight on my shoulders, I said what needed to be said, "I'm so sorry, Janella."

"Gia," she began, voice softening. She scoffed and it was met by a laugh—light, beautiful, nervous, short, "Thanks for telling me. It's fine, w-we weren't really..." she struggled for a word, tip of her tongue grazing her vocabulary, "locked. We've talked about this before. We've settled things, settled them again, and made them clear. Keenan and I have always been allowed to be with others, but..." grasping her next words again, Jan trailed off again.

I watched her gaze at the wall behind me, eyes flying back to my face when she continued, "It just never happened before. I guess I was hoping that since I wasn't indulging in that freedom, he wouldn't too. I mean... I've met guys that I might like, but I never planned on doing things with them while Keenan's in the pic."