Dirty Women

52 All Penises need to feel Loved

Listen to Into You by Ariana Grande

Diane Jewel

The moment I kissed Richie, I knew that I had sinned. 

I had pushed away from him at the speed of lightnight.  Without even looking back, I had run away.  

Above the problems that were already decaying into my brain, I would have to live with this guilt my whole life.  Simon's heartbroken face kept flashing in front of my eyes, halting me from any thought for several hours.  

But as I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling of unending white, my thoughts fell into a cavity I wasn't expecting.  

Money.  

Why did I even kiss Richie?  I didn't even like him.

I did it for the glorifying piece of valuable paper in his hand.  I did it for the money.  

My brain felt like a broken cassette that was playing the same reel again and again, but it still made no sense.  I already had enough money now.  Why didn't I quit working at the strip club?  Why do I want the money so bad?  Why do I just blank out when a money note is simply flashed at me?

I should tell Simon about everything.  If I didn't let him know at the earliest, it would be too late.  I wanted to let him decide if he wanted to be with me or not even after he knows my raw flaws. 

The thoughts of money haunted me all night till the sudden ring of the doorbell startled me.  

My heartbeats suddenly plummeted like tennis balls on my chest.   When I stole a glance at the electronic clock by bed, it read 6: 55 AM.  

Who was here at seven in the morning?  Hearing my heartbeats echo in my ears, I tiptoed through living room and looked through the peephole.  

Simon. 

My heart jumped out of my throat.  Breathless, I leaned on my door, contemplating my next move.  

I am not ready to confess.  

The doorbell rang again.  Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob.  The door creaked open to reveal him.  He wore the an old, grey shirt, the long sleeves slumping down with his resigned shoulders.  Simon's hair was uncombed and messy, and along with the dark circles under his eyes, it was obvious that he didn't have a blink of sleep.  His face was consumed by sadness.

We stood rooted to our spots, unable to find words to apologize or to comfort.

His dry lips parted to speak.  "Did I wake you?"   

I shook my head no.

"I couldn't sleep," he stated the obvious. 

It hurt to see him like this.  Vulnerable and guilt-ridden.  When I didn't answer, he hung his head low.  I slowly reached for his hand and felt his rough skin on mine.  I tugged, making him look up.  "Come inside." 

I didn't leave his hand when I closed the door, nor when I led him to my bedroom.  

"Are you ready to talk?" I asked, my voice gentle. 

He momentarily gazed at my bed wrapped in ink blue sheets.  "Can we cuddle?" he asked, hazel eyes expectantly brightening the tiniest amount.

Wordlessly, I hugged my arms around him and pulled him onto the bed.  With our heads on the pillow, we stared at each other, drinking each other's presence.  His eyes were a shocking shade of grey as they threatened to swallow me into their dark seas.  His arm smoothed the back of my neck, a rough thumb drawing circles on my skin.  He kept sighing, unable to start the conversation.