Illicit Affairs

twenty-eight. this is okay

For some time, I've been worrying about all of the things that my family has said. What Cole insulted me with. What I'm now seen as.

I have to get over that pain. I just have to. They have a flawed view of me.

Everyone has been telling me that I did something bad, but it doesn't feel that way. I don't think anyone understands what it's like to be caged up for so long and then to finally be let free.

Like all illicit affairs, we were found out, but if I had a chance, I think that I would do it all over again. Being with Aria provided me with this thrill and unexplainable high. She made me feel what no one else ever could.

Besides, it's not like I did something that Cole hasn't been doing to me. I'll consider this my payback for what he did to me. The look on his face when he saw us, I'll never get over it. It feels like my own personal revenge for all the hell he's put me through.

Making me participate in some kind of fake act, knowing that he never felt anything for me.

Obviously, I never liked him but it's different. I could never like him, I'm a lesbian. He also knew that I never liked him, yet he forced to me act like it anyway.

In some alternate reality, I think that we could have been friends. We could have had a bond over this fake dating and have come to our own compromise about it.

Except that didn't happen.

One major difference between Cole and I is that he's straight and I'm gay. I was able to date the girl that he probably wanted to flirt with with while he failed.

Cole never expected that from me. He was right about one thing. I didn't listen to him, and suddenly things didn't end up fine, but one good thing came out of it.

I finally got to punch him like I've been wanting to do all these years.

It just felt so good. It's as if I'm getting the last laugh from that action.

Except, I scroll through my photo gallery and find the last picture I took with my parents and suddenly it feels like I've fallen back into the hole that I just thought I had gotten out of.

It doesn't feel that good anymore.

The picture is of me and my parents at my high school graduation, a bittersweet goodbye to my parents that was only temporary. At the time, that's what I thought.

I slowly start to remember that in the process of getting caught, I lost my family.

That thought really brings me back to reality. That thought reminds me that I'll remain alone forever. That thought forces me to think about how I'm supposed to survive.

I'll be fine financially for the rest of this semester, but what about the next one? I had earned some scholarships in high school, but I had relied on my parents for the rest. They were supposed to be there for me.

Well, financially.

It's not like they ever did care much about my well-being. My father has always been distant, and for my entire life, I can't help but feel as if I was never enough. It always seemed as if he was waiting for a replacement, but instead he got me. Meanwhile my mother is even worse than him. She constantly has to bring up how she finds me worthless in every way possible.

Maybe they loved me. . . At some point.

They certainly never liked me though.

It's the complicated feeling that I could have done so much more but it never would have been enough anyway. It all would have been in vain. It would have been some stupid attempt to protect the family image without an end.

I hear my phone ring, and I realize that it's Spencer. It's probably the 10th text he's sent me so far within the past day. I know that I should respond. . . I know. I just can't bring myself to it.

I've been spending the last day on my own, stuck in my room with Aria as a guest who flies in and out of our space. It's hard to confront someone like Spencer, especially since he's been there from the start. He knows just how disastrous it is for my parents to know the truth, and I know that he's going to force me to talk about it.

But what's the point?

My pleas will not bring them back, and my words will be forgotten as quick as the wind that passes by. I remind myself that even if I don't feel like talking to him, I still need to give a response though.

He needs to know that I'm physically fine, and that, well, I'm alive.

"Is that Spencer you're texting?" Aria asks as she walks in at that moment, catching me on my phone.

"Yeah, I'm going to tell him that I'm ok-"

"I already did. I called him and told him more of what happened," she says.

"What? That was none of your business."

I can't help but feel annoyed. It wasn't her job to talk to my best friend behind my back. It's not her problem.

"Do you remember those times when you would talk some sense into me after I was stuck in a depressive phase?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You took care of me, so I'm going to take care of you."

Though I appreciate her efforts, I scoff and say, "I don't need to be taken care of."

"And I also said that I didn't need any help. We both know that was a lie."

I sigh deeply, and I decide to sit up straight. I let go of the sparkly gold pillow that I've been holding on to tightly for the past hour, and I focus my attention on Aria.

"Thanks for doing that. You didn't have to. What did Spencer say?"

"He said that when you're ready, he'll be there for you."

Of course he will be. I always feel like I'm a burden whenever I show any emotions that require this kind of attention.

"Hey! I know what you're thinking," Aria says in a scolding manner. "You're not some kind of problem or whatever it is that you're telling yourself. Sometimes people need help and that's okay."

"I don't really feel okay about that. Or about anything in general."

"I know you usually go to Spencer about that kind of stuff, but do you want talk about it?"

"Not yet. I don't really want to talk to anyone."

"Do you want me to leave?"

I laugh, and I tell her, "you don't have anywhere else to go. Besides, I want you here. Can we just be. . . Quiet? Together?"

She nods, and gets on to the bed next to me. I make space for her, and her warm skin makes contact with my cold soul. We simply cuddle, and somehow our silent movements are more meaningful than the ways we've been fooling around under the sheets in the past.

I'm not okay yet, but this. . . This is okay. I could get used to being with her.

This is officially the longest story I've ever written.