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katedrakeohd · 5 years ago

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The Royal Honor 👑

Chapter Four

A repost for @ritachacha 😊

A ‘The Royal Heir’ Fanfiction

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All According to Plan

Kate leaned against the closed bedroom door, her eyes burning and sore from wiping at her tears. On the other side of the door she hears Drake mumble something and then the slam of the door as he leaves. In the silence that followed she could hear the echoes of their argument going through her head. She felt a mixture of anger and remorse for all the hurtful things she had said to him. He had bared an intimate and secret part of his life to her and she had tarnished it by throwing it back in his face.

Sliding down the door she crumples to the floor. What the hell just happened? How could Drake do this to me? We just talked last night about having a baby, and it all felt perfect and wonderful. He knew damn well that Nicholas was going to come here and ask us for his heir. He knew all of this was going to happen and he didn't bother to warn me. Because it was all part of their stupid plan.

“That Son of a Bitch. How could he do this to me? To us?” she cried out loud to the empty room.

Grabbing handfuls of her hair she rests her forehead on her knees. I need a way out of this situation. I need to convince Drake this is a bad idea. But wait he's already jumped into the shark tank with his pockets full of chum. What an idiot I've been not to see this coming. His whole life he's sacrificed his own happiness for Nicholas. Why would I expect things to change after we got married? Even at Valtoria we're still under his thumb. Any semblance of a normal life or freedom is all an illusion.

Kate can feel the grit of sand in her hair, it collects under her fingernails as she scratches her scalp. After a week on this damn island there was no escaping the sand. Thank God this was the last night here. Sitting up she wipes the tears off her neck and chest, feels the gritty sand in her bikini top. With a sigh she gets up off the floor and takes off her clothes. Walking over to the full length mirror she looks for more sand. Pulling her hair off to the side she inspects her naked body.

Smoothing her hand over her breast she lifts it and brushes away the grains that had been trapped underneath. She looks down at her smooth, flat belly. Biting her lip she fights back more tears. Smoothing both hands across from hip to hip, she tries to imagine her belly swollen with a baby inside of it. She might already be pregnant. Her last period had been the week before the wedding, nearly a month ago. With Drake's sexual appetite it was quite probable that something has already taken root. She should be happy at the idea that the product of their love could already be blossoming. But the thought of Nicholas announcing to the world that their child would be his successor made her feel ill. She was seriously regretting ever coming to Cordonia in the first place.

As she tried to brush off the sandy grit from her skin she became increasingly frustrated. She wanted to rid herself of this cursed place for good. This island, Cordonia, stupid Two-faced Nicholas, god damned lying Drake, everything. As she swipes at the grit under her armpit, the stones of her wedding ring scrape at the underside of her arm, leaving a red mark. Ahh! Motherfuck that hurt.

She tugs at her rings angrily trying to get them off, but only one will move. Drake's engagement ring. Holding it in her shaking palm, she considers throwing it across the room but she can't. Clenching the ring in her fist she sucks in a deep breath and screams, long and loud, until her throat and lungs burn from the effort. With tears streaming down her face, her body shaking, Kate walks over to the bedside table and slams the ring down under her palm. Feeling jagged and torn on the inside from Drake's betrayal, she looks around the bedroom suite.

This was supposed to be our honeymoon damn it. Up until today it had been perfect.

Her skin felt raw and sore as she wiped at the tears on her cheeks. The salt and the sand, she needed to wash all of it away and pull herself back together. Leaving her engagement ring on the nightstand she goes to the bathroom to take a shower.

The hot sun beats down on Drake's shoulders and back as he walks along the beach. His footprints in the cool wet sand are rinsed and then flushed away by the bubbling surf. He and Kate had walked many kilometers of this beach during their week together. They had laughed and played in the shallows, filled their pockets with pretty pebbles or seashells, and swam naked in the waves. Drake had been truly happy, and so had Kate. He loved her so much it hurt sometimes. The beauty of her smile made him want to cry.

Seeing her so angry at him today had been heartbreaking. He knew he was wrong to go behind her back and make this deal with Nicholas. He had been torn between helping his friend and the commitment he had just made to his wife. They pledged to be honest about everything, no matter how much the truth might hurt. But he also knew if he had brought up this royal heir business before the honeymoon, her answer would still have been a resounding no. So he was fucked either way.

Turning back in the direction of the villa, he stops walking as a clump of seaweed washes up against his foot. When he angrily kicks it away, his toe catches on something rough in the sand. Sidestepping and hopping out of the surf he lifts up his foot to check for damage. There aren't any marks on his skin, but the waves tumble the object up onto the beach. It’s half of an oyster shell. Picking it up, he intends to throw it back in the ocean but then hesitates and puts it into his pocket instead. He remembers how Kate liked to pick up shells during their walks. The oyster shells were her favorite. At first he couldn't understand why. To him they were rough and ugly, and sharp. He had stepped on many of them when he'd been distracted by Kate.

Her smile, her laugh, the way she looks at me, means I'm almost always distracted by Kate

He thought back to the second day of their trip. They had been walking along the beach and Kate had picked up an oyster shell.

They remind me of you, she'd said.

They're ugly and rough Kate, hardly a compliment.

That just made her laugh, Oysters are rough around the edges, almost like they have a stony armor. But if you can crack one open there can be treasure inside.

You mean like pearls?, he'd said.

Something tasty, or something precious. But always something special.

Drake had blushed at her comparison, mostly at him being something tasty.

When she had turned the shells over and shown him the beautiful sheen of the mother of pearl on the inside, he had understood how every oyster held something special.

She had seen something special in him despite the walls of stone he'd tried to throw up around his heart. To her he was like an oyster forming pearly layers around a grain of sand and making something beautiful to give to her.

On every beach walk after that day, he had tried to find her the prettiest shells, still not convinced that ugly oysters should be her favorite. She would just smile and shake her head, so he had given up on shells and started collecting rocks instead. When the tide went out they'd sit on the cool, damp sand and see how far they could toss them, counting the waves as a scale. Drake always won, but Kate didn't mind. She spent the time comparing the oyster shells she’d found for the one she liked best. But she never kept them, preferring to let the ocean have its treasures back.

Walking back to the villa, Drake pulls the shell out of his pocket. It's still sandy, so he bends down to rinse it in the water. It was their last full day on the island and he wanted Kate to have one shell to bring back home with her. A souvenir, and a peace offering. To prove that the trip had had some moments that were special, before their fight had tarnished things.

Kate steps out of the steamy bathroom after her shower. Her skin was pink from the hot water and from the scrubbing effort to remove every last grain of sand. She didn't want to use the fluffy towels that Nicholas had provided, and instead walked over to the window to air dry. Opening it and the curtains wide, she enjoyed how the warm sunshine bathed her skin all over again, and how the fresh air rinsed her clean. Off in the far distance she can see a lone figure walking along the beach. She recognizes Drake right away by his bright blue shorts. He had chosen them because they reminded him of Captain America. She had smiled because it reminded her how much he was still just a little kid at heart, even if he was almost 30. Running her hand over her bare belly again, she thought about what a great Dad Drake would be. She wanted to start a family with him so badly, but not in the public way that their first child being heir to the throne would constantly overshadow things. She, Drake and Nicholas had to talk this over again. Without the interruption they'd had this morning.

But for now she was alone, and she intended to enjoy it. Closing her eyes she basked in the warm sunshine as her hands roamed her body. The risk of being so exposed, coupled with the sensation of her smooth hands on her fresh clean skin just added to the erotic thrill. The fresh air teased at her skin as her body started to dry. Her wet hair dripping onto her chest accentuated the cooling effect.

Her areolas puckered as her nipples hardened. Pinching and pulling one nipple roughly between her fingers she feels the spark set off fireworks down below. Biting her lip, she reaches down between her legs where she knows she's still warm and damp from her shower.

It had been a while since she'd had intimate time like this to herself. During the social season her mornings had been interrupted by Maxwell. But her evenings had been all about her thoughts of Drake while she'd laid alone in her bed. Back then her thoughts had all been fantasies. But now she knew how wonderful it felt for him to touch her intimately with his hands and his mouth. Kate gasps as the thrill of remembering enhanced her desire, and the movement of her fingers stimulated her clit. She couldn't do this standing up anymore as the need to spread her legs became more urgent.

The crazy thought of placing her foot up on the windowsill crosses her mind, but then she pushes it away because standing on one foot would make her unstable and apt to fall over. With giddy excitement she runs over to the bed. Throwing off the blanket she leaves just the crisp white top sheet behind. Smoothing her hands over the cool surface, she relishes the rare moment to have such a big bed to herself. She slinks her naked body across the mattress like a cat, arching her back, and then sliding along on her belly. Giggling, she rolls over and lays spread eagle in the middle of the bed. Her hair falls over her face, and she combs it out across the pillow with her fingers. The breeze from the open window finds her again, stimulating her already aroused nerve endings as it tickled her skin.

Glancing toward the door she wondered how much time she would have before Drake returned. As exciting as it would be to get caught, she wasn't interested in giving him a free show and making him horny. This was her private naked time, not his. Bringing her knees up she slid her hand back down between her legs.

Drake was hot, sandy and thirsty by the time he returned to the villa to change for dinner. He had entertained the thought of stripping down and taking a dip in the ocean to cool off, but then remembered how the paparazzi had found them all on the beach this morning. For all he knew they were watching him right now. Raking his hands back through his windblown hair in an attempt to tame it, he takes one last look around before turning the doorknob and entering the villa. He's immediately struck by the refreshing cool air conditioning and he sighs with relief. After brushing his feet off on the doormat, he closes the door. The house felt empty in the silence. As he walked across the cool floor to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, he wondered if Kate had gone out. After opening his water and taking a drink, he looked around the space again. Kate's sandals were still by the couch where she had left them, and her phone was still on the coffee table. Turning his head he looks down the hall to the bedroom and sees that the door was closed. Was she still in there? Taking a nap? Was she still mad at him? After drinking down the rest of his bottled water, he decides to investigate. He needed to shower and change his clothes anyway. Tiptoeing to the bedroom he listens at the door. He couldn't hear anything. He knocks quietly and then opens the door to peek inside.

Kate is naked in the bed, half covered by the sheet. She's laying on her side facing away from him, seemingly asleep. Drake can't help but stare at her as he quietly steps into the room. She looked all tousled and spent as if she'd just been ravaged by an invisible lover. The white sheet was twisted around her, and one of her beautiful tanned legs was exposed. He wanted so badly to touch her, to pull back the sheet some more and drink in the sight of her nakedness. He had the sudden desire to hold her in his arms.

Drake wanted to mold himself to her in the way he knew her soft body fit so perfectly with his. But her spiteful words and the hurt in her eyes suddenly came back to him, and he knew it was too soon. His ardor cooled further as he noticed the glint of gold on the nightstand. Was she still mad at him? Was this a message?

Walking over to the bed he pulls the shell out of his pocket. He swaps the ring for the seashell on the nightstand. Looking down at her still form for a moment he decides to leave her alone. She had said that she wasn't interested in going to dinner with him and Nicholas, and he was hungry and missed his friends. Still holding her ring in his hand he goes to his suitcase to pick out something to wear. He slips the ring into one of the small pockets on the outside of his suitcase. He'd give it back to her later. If she still wanted it.

Taking off his shorts and underwear he tosses them over with her discarded clothes. I guess that's the only thing of mine that's going to be touching anything of hers tonight.

As Drake showered and then dressed, Kate laid quietly in the bed with her eyes closed. She wondered whether Drake would say something or try to wake her, or if he'd kiss her goodbye before he left. When she heard the bedroom door close, and then the muffled sound of the villa's door closing, she stopped wondering and started to cry.

Drake's feet floundered and swam across the sand as he walked toward the rendezvous point. He was wearing sandals and he hated them. The hot sand just flicked off the flat soles like he was trying to paddle a canoe. Taking a hard left, he headed for the ocean and the wet packed sand along the shoreline. The sandals had been Kate's idea to add some more tourist chic to his new honeymoon wardrobe. She had taken one look at his scuffed up brown shoes and then dragged him into the shoe store. He had grumbled that nobody other than her needed to see his bare toes or feet, and besides they were going to a private island.

You can't go barefoot over the entire island Drake, and I'd hate to smell the state of your feet if you chose to plod along in your old shoes in the hot sand for a week.

You sound like Olivia when you nitpick me like that.

Good, I'm glad some of her taste for harsh criticism has rubbed off on me. You're a grown man Drake, and I'm not going to sugarcoat the truth when you really need to hear it.

Drake had been at a loss to refute her logic, but at least she had let him pick out his own sandals, as much as he'd hated the concept of wearing open toed shoes in a sandy environment in the first place. He had chosen the most rugged and sporty looking pair he could find. She had chosen a flimsy cute pair of flipper things that he couldn't believe could possibly be comfortable. She had just shrugged and told him to appreciate his ‘mandals' because her footwear would totally show off how cute her toes were, and how nice her nail polish looked. He thought of pointing out that after a week in the abrasive sand that there wouldn't be much point in nail polish, but had held his tongue because she had no doubt paid someone for a pedicure and lacquer.

As he made his way around the edge of the cove he spotted his friends standing on an outdoor wooden deck shaded by a pergola. A long rustic table was set for dinner, and beyond it a small comfortable seating area was clustered around a stone firepit. The whole area looked warm and welcoming with sparkling string lighting and hanging baskets of tropical flowers. Drake felt a pang of sadness that Kate would be missing out on this evening of fellowship, considering their friends had come so far to spend the day with them. Hana and Maxwell wave and smile at him as he approaches.

“Hey! There's the delightful Duke we all adore. Where's Kate?” Maxwell says, as he waits for Drake to bang the sand out of his sandals before stepping up onto the deck.

Drake gratefully accepts the cold beer that Nicholas offers him out of the ice chest packed with refreshments.

“She..uh. Kate's had a little too much sun today and decided to take a nap. She sends her apologies.” Drake says, with a shuffle of his feet as he busies himself with opening up his beer to hide his lie.

Hana frowns with disappointment, “That's too bad. I hope she's able to join us later. It would be a shame to spend the rest of the evening without her.”

Drake nods, taking a drink of his beer. He catches Nicholas�� look of concern but then quickly looks away. “So Maxwell, tell me all about your zipline adventure today.”

Maxwell bubbles with excitement at the opportunity to recount their story, “Oh My Gosh Drake it was totally awesome, you should have been there!”

He proceeds to act out the whole afternoon including impersonations of Hana and Nicholas as they screamed and flew along the cable from point to point. Hana couldn't help but laugh at his spot on reenactment of the harrowing and crazy experience.

“At the end of it we all joined hands and jumped off the last cliff into the ocean.” Maxwell says, finally out of breath from acting out and experiencing the whole thing over again. He goes to the ice chest to get himself a beer to calm himself down.

“I must say after such an intense day I'm starving. Come on Max let's go check out the appetizer buffet.” Hana says, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away.

Nicholas sidles up to Drake, seeing how tense and distracted he looked.

“Is everything okay Drake? It's not like you and Kate to be apart like this.”

Avoiding eye contact, Drake looks out toward the sinking sun over the ocean. “Yes Nicholas, everything's fine.”

Nicholas turns to look out over the ocean as well. He leans against a post and folds his arms across his chest. “You know Drake after all these years you can't hide from me. I know when you're lying.”

Turning his head briefly to look at the profile of his longtime friend and then turning back to watch the sunset, Drake shrugs and finishes his beer. “So, what's it to you?”

Nicholas frowns, “What's it to me? It's everything to me if you and Kate aren't getting along Drake. I've put my future in your hands.”

Drake looks at him, his frown deepening to a scowl. “Your future? You mean Cordonia’s future right? Well what about mine and Kate's future huh? You've put a lot of pressure on our shoulders with this heir request of yours. Kate's pissed.”

Nicholas looks down, “I'm sorry Drake. But I love you both so much and there's nobody else I can trust with this responsibility.”

Drake scoffs at his response. “Oh come on Nicholas. You're a man. You can sire your own goddamn heir for Christ's sake. You're the fucking King of Cordonia. Leave the stuffy traditions and precedents behind and be the King you want to be.”

Nicholas sighs, “If only it were that easy Drake. I may be at the top of the food chain but I need the support of everyone below me in order to be a successful ruler. My Father's reign of tyranny may be over, but I'm still the product of it. I want this cursed family line to end with me, and even if it takes the next twenty years to erase the mark Constantine has left on this country I will leave it a better place for everyone.”

“Ok now you're making sense. You need to explain this to Kate, because when I tried to she didn't want to believe me.”

“I believed you Drake, but I just needed to hear it from him to really understand.” Kate answers quietly, causing them both to look over to her with surprise.

“Kate? Holy shit, how long have you been standing there? I mean..”

Drake walks over to her and pulls her in for a kiss on the cheek, “I'm so glad you could make it.”

Nicholas offers Kate a small smile, but then looks down at his feet when she doesn't immediately return it.

Kate looks from Drake to Nicholas, “If we're going to make this three way partnership work, because that's how I see this arrangement between us, we need clarity, trust and a commitment that I and my child are going to be safe and protected.”

Nicholas nods, “You have my word.”

“We need to sit down and discuss this further, informally and formally with legal counsel present.” Kate folds her arms and looks at them both sternly.

“Are we clear?”

Drake nods, swallowing hard. “Crystal clear.”

Nicholas nods again, his expression serious.

Kate sighs with relief, dispelling the heavy atmosphere with a smile and slipping her hand into Drake's “Ok good, now let's eat because this future Momma is starving.”

#drakewalker #choices #long post

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theactivememoir · 5 years ago

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This, was the Hardest Fall 11.17.19-2.5.2020

Warning: ~10,600 words, This one is long. And very painful.

My life turned to hell in a matter of months, I left California 1.5 years ago and ever since then it turned into one big mess, and took all the strength I could muster to change that. But it took waking up. And one day I finally did it, I woke up.

But let me start from how this all got started.

I got broken up with 3 days before my 21st birthday in May of 2018. So I moved states after that to live with my cousin in North Carolina for a time. It was supposed to be a small vacation, just a couple months. It was supposed to be me finding myself as to who I am as an adult, how to be independent from living at home with my parents, how to live life. That’s what it was supposed to be...

But then I met him...

I was walking to the bar, since there were only 3 in this small town of Southern Pines and that’s just what you do on a Wednesday night. I saw someone I knew and gave them a hug and they introduced me to this disheveled skater boy named Josh. I didn’t really think anything of it, I met so many people every single day, I was the new girl in town, I ended up meeting everyone anyways.

I think I was still playing around, enjoying being the new girl since that brought all the attention, which is always fun, but he kept persisting. And persisting, and persisting, until finally I said yes to hanging out with him. We spent 36 hours together awake doing things with each other. It started at the bar on a lazy Sunday night, not many people, I could actually hear him talking across the table from me for once. I enjoyed his company, he was different from the rest, not some small town hick, he was actually pretty gentlemanly, and a Florida boy too. So here we were, the two random ocean children in the middle of a luscious green never-ending forest.

We talked and talked, and walked all around downtown after the bar closed down at 2am. There’s something calming-ly romantic about walking the streets of a lullaby downtown. The streets are lit just for us, window shopping is a must, as merchandise in the windows is the only thing to really look at. The stars shone overhead, and the distant rush of the wind, and a couple just passing the time by enjoying each other's company...

Monday was when he was supposed to take me on a date, and as the hours passed by into 7:30 am on the day of our date, we respectively went our separate ways for maybe 30 mins and he picked me up to go on our date.

And what do the only two Ocean Children do for a date?? Why go to the beach of course, an excruciating three hours away. But music and soft touches are enough to keep one's hopes up until the awaited sound of the sea.

When we got there he first took me to an aquarium, and like I always do, I got a pressed penny to solidify the memory. The aquarium was small, nothing beats the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach. “Everything is better in California”

Then we went to the pier, lots of fishing guys out there, we even met a pelican named Frank. We spotted a stingray and a shark so we opted to not touch the water, on my behalf, so we posted up under the pier and laid in my double hammock for God knows how long, resting and snoozing to the crashing waves in the warm August sun. As the night went on and the sunset was breaking, he took me to dinner, and then the drive back home.

It was so calm and relaxing, his soft touches on my skin, drawing random patterns on my arms and neck. I thought I was the only one who did that. He listened to my fusion music and really enjoyed it, at the time he was interested in my dancing and liked how I danced. And he told me how he wrote music and played guitar, he used to surf in the Florida waves, and did construction for the longest time, always stressing his body but never giving up on it. I think that moment in the hammock, when we kissed as the sun hit our faces, our bodies entwined into one in the lightning blue cocoon, that’s when I fell for him.

I should have known myself, it was only 3 months that I had been single. I should have known better...

“I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast, I fall in love so terribly hard for love to ever last…”

I think after that day at the beach we saw each other almost everyday. His sister, who owned Southern Angel Donut Co. offered me a job, which paid way better than my $2.13/hr waitress job. Once I started working there it was all over. We almost never left each other's side. And he kept “calling it” saying working together would ruin our relationship. But I paid it no mind, and enjoyed making light and fluffy donuts with him.

While the rest of the world was sleeping, we were hard at work making the warm, melt in your mouth donuts that Sarah’s recipe was known for. We’d get off work at 10 am, and go to sleep the rest of the day away. A horrible habit that was ingrained into our bones far too early on in our relationship.

I think it was a mere 2.5 weeks that we started dating and seeing each other that I then started working with him at the donut shop. And within that mere 2.5 weeks we made it Facebook official that we were together.

I almost immediately got a phone call from my family members asking about who this person is and that I should be careful since I’m basically on my own and I should ask my cousin for advice about it. I didn’t listen. I was too in love to see that I was moving too quickly, and getting settled too fast.

As I stated before, we almost never left each other’s side. Wake up at 1:30/2 in the morning, go make donuts for 6-8hrs, then come back to his-I mean Sarah’s house, hang out with the kids for a bit, and then go to sleep in his room until around 7pm, or just sleep straight through until we had to work the next day. If memory serves me correctly I went back to my cousin’s house only a handful of times, for new clothes and a breather from Sarah’s gaggle of children.

The weeks blurred by, and the change in lifestyle left my bar friends wondering where the hell I went. My old coworker even reached out to see what the hell I was up to. “Making donuts! It's great!” I would reply. Oh, if only I could go back and tell myself how wrong I was.

No actually that is a lie. Making donuts is great. I’m a baker at heart. I love baking, I used to do it with my mother and so baking things and seeing people's reactions to the delicious delicacies I create for them is something I hold very near and dear to my heart. So yes, the art of making donuts is great.

First you fill the giant mixing bowl 1.5 liters of warm water, crumble and toss in a block of high quality yeast and whisk together. Then weigh out a top secret amount of top secret donut mix, 2 with all the weight, 1 with one weight off. Followed by attaching the VERY heavy dough hook, turn on the mixer and mix together for 8 minutes.

After the dough is mixed you bring it over to a very well floured baking table, pour out the heavy dough and push it to the back of the table, making sure the edges are fluffed underneath itself so when it rises in about 20mins it will have lovely rounded edges. Then you wait.

After about 20mins, you gently tap the dough, and if it feels right (which is a skill in and of its own) you either let it proof a little longer, or you start cutting donuts.

Now cutting donuts is also an art form, as we made handmade donuts. Each one is a little different from the one before. We cut the donuts with a roller, but each donut was touched by our hands as they were placed onto the frying screens. And then put into the proofer for another 15 mins.

Once they are proofed, and again, with sight and touching the dough you can tell if they are ready or not. Sometimes they would proof slower or quicker depending on the heat, the humidity, or the weather.

Then bring over to the 365 degree fryer, and drop the donuts in, fry each side for approximately 25-30 seconds, flipping with wooden chopsticks, lift the screen and donuts out of the fry, let drip as you cook the next screen, bring over to the glaze, lift the other screen from the fryer, glaze donuts, let drip, drop another screen, bring glazed donuts to glaze rack, flip donuts, bring screen to glazer, lift donuts, rinse and repeat for 6 -8 hrs.

My favorite part was decorating the donuts, especially when there is a holiday because my fully artistic self got all the pleasure of making themed donuts. But even the regular topped donuts were fun to make. Topping too had an artful skill in creating the perfect topped donut. Which all of the other employees didn’t have one flying fuck to learn to perfect.

There is a certain sheen, a certain drip, a certain way the frosting coats a donut, when melted to the perfect temperature. And no one else besides myself and his Sister cared to figure out what that perfect frosting consisted of. There is also a certain way the donut should look when certain toppings are put onto the donuts.

Sprinkles should, as the name is, be sprinkled, lightly, with carnival sprinkles. All others should be pressed. A maple bacon donut should have the bacon patted off so that the grease doesn't ruin the consistency of the maple frosting, a fruity pebble donut should never have crumbs or crushed pebbles on top, an oreo donut should never have fine oreo powder on top it should be big chunks, and a half and half donut should be vanilla icing first and then chocolate not vice versa. Not to mention cinnamon sugared donuts need to be cinnamon sugared whilst hot and Long Johns are always,always, ALWAYS double filled. If a filled shell has a bubble it should be tossed and if a round has a chopstick hole it too should be tossed because the donut will be too greasy. If the donut doesn’t have a halo it was under proofed and if the donut deflates or cooks too fast it was overproofed. If the donut is light yellow or dark brown it was either undercooked or over fried. A perfect donut is a lovely golden yellow brown, with a heavenly halo all around it, and a perfect thin shiny coating of glaze.

So when I say I enjoyed making donuts, I really did. Truly it was a skill I perfected over the course of a year and a half. I could put down “expert donut maker” on a resume, and I will in fact get laughed at when I say I only made donuts for 1.5 years. But if I showed someone, if I showed how I make donuts, how twists are twisted with minimal flour and second run only, how apple fritters are chopped and rolled, how cinnamon rolls are flattened and fluffed. They would say I really am an expert donut maker.

Three months into my relationship with Josh, it became crunch time for him and his family, as their lease was up at their house and they were going to move. Josh wanted a place of his own and, honestly I don’t know why Sarah moved out of that house in Pinehurst. It was actually a decent size. I think the reasoning was to be closer to the new up and coming second location in Robbins. (I will touch on that later) But honestly where she moved to in Carthage was quite a downgrade. I don’t know what else to call it besides a permanent mobile home? There's a name for it I just can’t remember right now. It had a long length but the width wasn’t very big. A single wide home? There was barely any space for her 6, ahem, 5 children plus one on the way.

Oh I haven’t explained that yet.

Let me backtrack some more.

Josh’s sister, Sarah (32), has been pregnant for most of her life. Her first child, and only daughter, she had when she was fifteen, FIFTEEN. And then right after came baby #2, her first son. Those two were fortunate enough to have the same father, Brandon, who comes into this story later. Her next son was born from a Haitian man. Her next son she won't admit has a different father so she insists the Haitian man is both baby #3 and #4’s father. Even though baby #3 is obviously Haitian, and baby #4 is obviously Mexican. Then comes baby #5, a 3 year old who can’t talk in full sentences, isn't potty trained, can’t dress himself, doesn’t usually put his shoes on the right feet, and has extreme anger and attitude issues, whose father is also in jail. AND THEN Sarah’s boyfriend, Alex (21, yes they are 11 years apart her being the older one) who SARAH AND JOSH KNEW WHEN HE WAS A BABY, is the father of her now baby #6.

So when I say I learned to bite my tongue very early on...I mastered the fucking skill, of biting my tongue and not speaking my mind.

In the moment, it was, oh to each their own. But that too became resentment.

Along with Sarah’s children, there was also their mother, who I liked, she was nice and always thinking of her children, but she too began to wear on me and for reasons I will soon explain.

When Josh and Sarah were 10 and 11 years old, their dad (who was born in the 1920’s) passed away. 6 months later their house burnt down. And soon after that their mother basically ditched them for drugs and also went to jail. So at the young age of 15, Sarah, who I presume was also pregnant at that time too, took custody of Josh. Which I’m sure some psychologist can look at that and explain to me that how I was treated was rooted from not having very good role models as a child and basically immediately into later childhood was put into survival mode and had to grow up in order to survive at the age of 10.

Going back to moving houses. Sarah basically downgraded her living to be directly in the middle of the two locations for her donut shop. Josh wanted a place of his own, but because we spent every waking moment together and I basically never left, he brought up the idea that we should move in together. My family DID NOT like that idea at all, which to my stupidity I withheld the information of our moving in together and kept it a secret until the day before we moved in. Because I knew it was stupid, deep down I knew it was a bad idea. I had free rent, free groceries, a beautiful yard, and a car at my cousins. And I was leaving all of that behind why? For a guy. Yes that sounds like a wonderful idea.

But there was a part of me that wanted so badly to say that this was my house. To say, welcome to our home, look at my kitchen. Come into my living room. I wanted that title that I was living on my own. Sure we lived together but the space was mine, ours really, but it was mine.

We found a lovely town-home, 2 bedroom, 2.5 bath, in a small town waaayyyyy out in the boonies for only $800 a month, we didn’t have any furniture so it was definitely bigger than we really needed. We didn’t even have a bed for the first two weeks we lived there. We slept on the floor with layers of blankets as a cushion. My hips were purple from bruises since I slept on my side. It was actually a pretty decently sized space, again, we didn’t have anything to fill it with. It had a large living room, and a nice sized master bedroom. And an enormous backyard, which was shared but who cares, my patio was overlooking a lake. It was a half abandoned golf course, that started losing money when the government had to break the dam to the lake years before when a hurricane blew threw and the water was too much that flooding would occur if they didn’t break the dam. Except they never fixed the dam afterwards, so the lake, which supplied the irrigation for the golf course, mostly dried up. So the original owners took as much money as they could and ran off. Leaving a half developed golf home community to fend for itself. Honestly it was quite beautiful in it's half abandonment. The underdeveloped housing areas made for peaceful trail walks with Forrest, our pit bull. And the lake with bridges that were falling apart made for risky and thrilling adventures to go explore. Or at least they were when we first moved in.

Tell me why is it that when one gets comfortable with their significant other, the romance and the wooing stops? Tell me why is that when the mundane things that used to be made interesting, go back to being mundane, or even a chore?

I wanted to serve him. Show him I was such a great girlfriend compared to his crazy psycho ex. That I could take care of myself and him.

I shouldn’t have so soon. He got used to it far too quickly.

I loved my little kitchen. I loved to cook, discover new recipes and try them when I got home from work. I loved shopping at the ole Piggly Wiggly and bringing home extremely discounted items and using them right away before they expired. He’d never know they were one day away from expiration if I cooked up a good meal that night. He’d be too busy looking for error coins to add to his growing collection to notice that the chicken I was using was in the fridge for two days, if he knew he wouldn’t eat it. I loved hearing him say, “Damn, you showed out on dinner babygirl. My Latina wifey makes me so happy when she cooks for me.” I craved that so badly. The instant gratification that I was doing a good job. That I was making him happy by doing something that I loved to do.

...until I started hating to do it…

My cooking meals for us, no matter how long my work day was. My taking care of doing the laundry on my days off and cleaning the house. My going grocery shopping and late night gas station runs to get him more cigarettes. It was always me, me, me, every damn time. And I never saw it. Until it was too late, and even then, I still told myself I was doing it to show him I loved him. What a stupid lie that was…

“Babe it's 11pm we should be going to bed.”

“Then go to bed, I’ll be here looking at coins.”

“No Josh, it’s time for bed. C’mon I want to cuddle you, it’s so cold in the bed alone.”

“Alright, alright, just let me smoke this cigarette and I’ll be up there, fuck.”

And still I slept alone. And nothing was ever changed. And that was still North Carolina.

We lived in our town-home in Vass for 7.5 months. We had a folding table and 2 chairs from the donut shop as our dining room table, a twin bed borrowed from their mom as our couch. We had a chest of drawers given to us by a former employee that Josh didn’t even use for clothes, and a queen mattress sent to us from my mother out of pity that we didn’t have a bed yet. For 7.5 months we lived in that home and we never got more things, even though I wanted the cutest matching dish set, the cutest hand towels. The most perfect beach bungalow themed town-home in the middle of evergreen pine needles, and pollen covered lakes, where the occasional cow moo can be heard, from the cow farm just over yonder. I wanted our home to be a reminder of where we came from, the two Ocean Children in the sea of trees. But it was just a reminder of where he came from. Poverty, and not having a home feel like a home.

Once the second donut shop location opened in Robbins, a small middle of nowhere bodunk town with barely any residents, our work schedules changed completely. It actually benefited our relationship slightly. He would go to work at 6pm and be home by 2 or 3am. I became the manager and basically sole employee of Robbins, and would go to work from 5am-3pm. I had only a couple hours to be with him during the days we both worked, and we had one or two days a week where we both had off and enjoyed each others company doing absolutely nothing all day. We even stopped at a gas station a few times, him on his way home and me on my way to work, just for a lovers rendezvous so I could at least be in his arms and kiss him for a min before not seeing him again for another 24 hrs. It almost fixed our already rocky relationship. If anything it just kept it going longer than it should have. Robbins was the beginning of my overworked-ness with Sarah. I was the manager, and main employee. I only got a $2 raise, and was still going in and making donuts 2 nights a week. And occasionally, whilst I was at the shop at 8pm I would get a call saying my employee wasn’t able to go to work the next day. So here I am busting my ass to make donuts for two locations, I wouldn't be getting home until 4am after making donuts for 7 hours, and then would have to rush to go to work by 530 am and work another 10 hours.

That’s when I should have started saying no. That’s when I should have started putting my health and well being on the forefront of my priorities. If anything I put it all on the backburner. That’s when Sarah realized she had full control over me, and could work me like a dog, like her personal slave. And I wouldn’t even argue it. Nor would she act like she was doing it.

This went on for months. Robbins opened early December, and when March rolled around a new development came into play. The owner of Dixie Cream Donuts in Florida called. The owner, was Sarah’s previous partner, Brandon, remember that name from earlier? Yeah Brandon is Sarah’s two older kids' father. He owned the donut shop that Sarah worked for originally for 18years straight. That's how Southern Angel got its recipes, they were from Dixie Cream, because Sarah used to manage Dixie Cream in Florida, where Sarah and Josh are from. Apparently Brandon was planning on moving out of the country, and there was no one else he trusted more to run Dixie Cream Donuts, than the Donut Queen herself. So he struck the deal of a lifetime for her, and sold her the business for Xmillion dollars. Hey guess what guys, we’re moving to Florida!

I was ecstatic, elated, to move to paradise. Crystal clear waters, aqua blue surf. Its summer all year round, sure there’s rain and hurricane season what could possibly have me worried about those? I’m from sunny Southern California where it never rains and all we have to worry about is an occasional wind gust and the earth shaking violently and unexpectedly…

Sure I was scared but I was so excited to move into a new place with the man who I was so in love with. By this time we had expanded our little trio and now had three dogs, making us a family of five. We had Forrest our pitty, and Lola and Luna, twin mut pups from Sarah’s two dogs Princess and Chubby. Luna was my baby, my little puff nut fluff ball. There’s not a day goes by where I don’t think about my fluffy white little cotton ball baby.

But our little family of five was so excited to be moving all the way down to Florida. The move would consist of driving all of us down the coastline in a caravan. One big U HAUL and the rest of us driving all of our vehicles. One overnight stop in Alma Georgia to visit their family and their mother, who left in January due to medical issues and “being cruelly treated and forgotten by Sarah” *shrug, this whole family drama I just started plugging my ears to at this point* In total it took us 2 days to drive from Carthage, North Carolina to Port St. Lucie, Florida. Sarah was able to get a brand new 4 bedroom home, thanks to Brandon helping with money. Josh and I on the other hand were given $2k to work with to get settled. Only problem was, there wasn’t anything on the market that was readily available and up to our standards. (Or who would allow 3 dogs, one being a pit bull mix)

We started our move to Florida on a slightly rocky but wonderful beginning. We had basically two weeks off from work, and let me tell you I was reveling in the fact that I didn’t have to work, I was already overworked and I hadn’t even started to be overworked yet at Dixie Cream. We were stuck in one of the rooms at Sarah's temporarily until we could find a place. It reminded us a lot of when we first started dating. When Josh and I would get sick of being on the back porch or dealing with the kids, or since we didn’t go out much since money was tight, we retreated to our room for naps, cuddles, and quiet but passionate love making. I think we had more sex in those two weeks than the 7 months we lived together. The first week in Vass we did a lot, we had nothing else to do, no wifi, no TV. You wonder why people in the olden days had so many freaking children, there was nothing else better to do to pass the time away, might as well pass it with the most fun activity God created. At least nowadays we have protection or else I’d have been screwed…no pun intended....maybe.

But besides us retreating for a lovers rendezvous, we were incessantly out searching for a new place to live. Even on my birthday. And everyone knows how seriously I take my birthday. I thought my last birthday, getting broken up with was bad enough, no this one he didn’t even get me a birthday present, wanted to go metal detecting at the beach instead of go swimming-and let me tell you it was the most aqua blue crystal clear water you could ever imagine-and then pushed dinner so far back that we went to a restaurant an hour before they closed. I honestly don’t even remember if we went back to our room for birthday sex, I honest to God think I was so upset, of course I didn’t show it, but I think I was so upset I just went straight to bed. I wanted to go out dancing, like real dancing, or go down to Miami and experience the Memorial Day clubbing going on. But nope. And having not gotten me a present...that stuck...that got filed away into the ever growing list of things I could bring up in an argument, the ever growing list of grievances…

We were two weeks into Florida and already I was getting annoyed, resentful, done with all this shit. And shit hadn't even started...

June 1st was when Sarah got full ownership of Dixie Cream Donuts. June 1st is when my life rapidly spiraled downward. June 1st is when I became the most overworked and underpaid dog to ever come into existence in the world of making some goddamn motherfucking donuts. The lure of, you’ll just be baking, there are already employees there, but you will be on salary, and you will also get tips. What absolute maddening bullshit if I ever did hear something. But you know what, I believed it. I believe every single word of poison that came out of both Josh and his sisters mouth. That this donut shop was going to change our lives, we could retire in 10-15years from all the money we will be making from this shop. Josh you get to receive 35% of the company at the end of each month, Alysha you get to be on salary and make tips, it's going to be a huge pay increase compared to North Carolina.

Lies. All of it lies.

One week of being at the shop in Fort Pierce, and we fired everyone except one person who we kept on as our only weekend person. You know who got the other people jobs? Me.

It started off slow, I wasn’t touching dough yet. But I knew. I even told the one employee that we kept, “As soon as I touch dough and learn to cut donuts, he is going to leave me here alone.” And I was right.

Backtracking again, I come from living in Irvine, California. America’s safest city ranked 5 years in a row. We moved down to Florida, which already is a crazy place, but then we work and find a place to live in Fort Pierce, Florida. The ghetto of the ghetto. Take Compton x30, have it meth fuck skid row and the baby it gets out of that add a little bit of Vegas whackados x20. That’s Fort Pierce.

I knew, the instant I learned how to cut donuts, his sheer laziness shrouded in “I trust you baby” would take over and he would leave me at the shop alone.

Take what I explained about the process of making donuts earlier, and now add on top of that selling donuts at the cash register to people, while cleaning up the kitchen, washing all of the trays, sweeping, mopping, and throwing away leftover donuts, AND counting down the register and doing daily paperwork for closeout. We would get to work anywhere between midnight at 2:30 in the morning. He would leave me alone at the shop to finish up the day until 2:30pm. Still to this day I haven’t a single idea as to what he did all day. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he went home and slept all day. Or maybe it was a lie, because there would be days he would say he went home after work but as soon as I walked in, there was still dog shit on the floor, trash everywhere, and not a single thing picked up. Exactly how I left it that morning. He would say he was driving around town, doing what? I will never know. At that point, I was just happy he answered my phone calls and would come to pick me up at 2:30pm. There were sometimes he would sleep through my phone calls and I wouldn’t get picked up from the shop until 3:30pm. He was such a heavy sleeper. And an angry, angry, aggressive bear if you tried to wake him or ask him a question in his sleep. He was never physically abusive to me. But when I tried to wake him up in his sleep, he punched and kicked me a few times. I cried the most when he would yell at me in his sleep. He was so angry, and all I wanted to do was to get him off the damn couch and into bed with me so I could be wrapped in his arms. Or picked up from work so I could spend time with him. I would be at work all day, thinking of what groceries I needed for the nights meal, or stopping at the laundromat for a few hours to get some fresh work clothes. And it never worked out the way I wanted. We would always end up doing what he wanted to do. Which consisted of either going over to his sisters for way too many hours for paperwork and weed, or his mothers for weed too, and just chilling, when all I wanted was to go home and spend time with my dogs and my lover and not deal with another soul...It was always what he wanted. Even when we would go out on the very RARE occasion we were able to go out late. It was to the same dive bars with old retired people and pool tables; filled with cigarette smoke and lingering eyes on the curly haired girl who absolutely looked like she did not belong in a place of such filth and grimy repetitive routines of karaoke pool halls.

Then the hurricane didn’t happen. Hurricane Dorian, a hurricane so large that even categorizing it as a Cat5 is too small for how large this thing was. A Cat5 maxes out at 150mph, Dorian reached over 200mph. There was no label for this hurricane, and it was headed straight for our humble bungalow that overlooked the marina. Our house was built in the 1940s, a quaint little blue house on the edge of the ghetto, tucked away in a forgotten part of town, since the road was blocked thanks to a dead man who died on the train tracks. Our front door opened up to the marina boat yard, and just over the boats, if you stood on your tippy toes you could see the river and Hutchinson Island. We had an enormous backyard, perfect for our 3 pups. Our backyard was full of lush plant life, and a 100+ year old Banyan tree that gave wondrous shade to all the growing plants and our back porch. We had a mango tree, surinam tree, pineapples, and some wild cabbage. It was, in every sense of the words, a beach bungalow. It was tiny but adorable. And it would have worked out if things hadn’t started falling apart at the seams so early on into moving in. We had so many things, yet barely any furniture. I wanted to get an organized storage space out of the front room, I drew up some mock blueprints as to how to do this. He was the handyman after all. Nothing came about it. We lived out of unlabeled boxes for months. I bought a bedframe and it took 3 months for him to take it out of the box and put it together. Our dining room table was just a table for paint. (I did enjoy our painting nights, I got to teach him that his paintings didn’t have to be perfect, and that slowing down wasn’t a bad thing) My oil paints probably ruined the lovely wooden table we got from our employee. The dogs completely ruined the couch but he still slept on it. I had plans to rearrange the bedroom in order for our clothes to fit better since there was no storage space at all in this house, again nothing came about it, we lived by one single hanging rack and a 9 cube organizer.

And then came Dorian. I had two full trash bins, and we were under evacuation, we only had time to bring everything inside, and put the two trash bins outside. We had only enough time to pack the essentials, left everything else behind. Our quaint 1940s home was even unsafe in tropical storms, let alone an uncategorizable hurricane. I dropped nearly a grand to get all of our supplies in order to survive the aftermath of a giant hurricane coming. I even bought the very last inflatable mattress, which was a queen with lift-able headrests. And an entire carton of cigarettes so he wouldn't go too long without a smoke.

Then the hurricane didn’t happen. We went straight back to work, didn’t even go home, just straight to work from Sarah’s house to make donuts for the rest of Fort Pierce in their fear that we might still get hit. But it never came. It sat over the Bahamas for 24hrs bringing the ever beautiful beaches to ruin. And then moved straight up to hit the coast of South Carolina, and then New York.

I dropped nearly a grand on our survival, I dropped money I really didn’t have just in the off chance we would survive that behemoth in the sky. I never got a single penny in return.

Even when we went grocery shopping to restock the fridge I emptied in case it would be weeks until we could return, I got no money back from him.

The man I loved, the man who was actually my boss. The man who made $720 a week and 35% of the company at the end of the month and I never saw a cent of his money. And I didn’t get anything in return. But he asked me to go get him a pack of cigarettes for him because he didn’t want to put pants on and was too tired to move, and so I would go and get them for him. And still wouldn’t get anything in return.

I worked out the math. I worked 7 days a week, on a “salary” of $520 a week “plus tips”. That totals out to $5.77/hr. I was working 7 days a week at $5.77/hr, I paid all of my student loans, my Adobe and Spotify subscriptions, my gym membership (that I went to 4 times in 3 months because he would never take me nor let me drive his truck) I paid our electricity and rent on time, and he would occasionally pay me back in cash immediately. And then I would still shell out $40 for laundry because he would wait until 3 weeks worth of laundry had built up and he had worn the same underwear 3 times already. I still shelled out $150 on groceries that I cooked and cleaned up after for him and I. And everyday I would clean up the garbage that would get torn into because I didn’t have a trash bin because the two bins I had were still in the backyard from when Dorian was going to hit us, still full of trash.

I was on the verge of ending it.

I had a plane ticket.

September 15th.

I had a plane ticket.

I was overworked. Underpaid. Unloved. Unappreciated. Verbally abused. In full isolation. No friends. No family. I wanted out.

I.Had.A.Way.Out. And I STILL held on to this glimmer of hope that it would all work out. I thought the plane ticket would scare him. And it did. For a moment.

“Why? Why get into a relationship if you aren’t going to give effort? We were supposed to be equals and yet I feel like I am the only one giving effort. Why self prophecy that this isn't going to work out, and then not fight your own prophecy to make it work? Why not give such a simple effort to make me happy? I ask for such simple things Josh! I shouldn’t have to beg you to come to bed with me, I shouldn’t have to beg for sex with my own boyfriend, I don’t even care about the sex anymore. I just want to be held by you, to cuddle, to be given affection. I work longer hours and days than you at YOUR company and you cant even wash a dish or two? I can't live like this I'm going home.”

“Don’t go, please don’t go. Stay. We can work this out, I love you, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. I will fight for this relationship if it’s the last thing I do. Please don’t go.”

“....Okay I’ll stay...if you say you will fight and change, even though we have had this argument countless times….if you truly want this...show me….”

If anything it just got worse from there.

I was unemployed for two weeks. Two very long weeks. Honestly Assassin's Creed is what saved my life the last two months I was in Florida.

I was unemployed for two weeks, and every single morning when I would wake up around 9am, like a normal human being not having to work at 2 in the morning, I would pick up the trash littering my house thanks to the dogs ripping into the trash bag that hung from the door handle in the kitchen. I would sit on my phone scrolling through indeed, typing out my new resume with no way to print it. I had to wait for him to come home, and I so wanted to go out and do things, like visit the aquarium, or go to the beach and fall asleep to the waves crashing under the summer sun. But because I was Sarah and Josh’s workhorse, and once I told Sarah I was leaving then the next I wasn’t she didn’t allow me to work back at the shop. And because I did the work of 5 people, even though when I worked there I begged them to hire just one person, just one, to do the cleaning so I wouldn’t have to, they no longer had me there anymore. So Josh stayed longer, worked longer hours, and would come home tired. And sleep 90% of his day off away. So when he came home, I was so excited and wanted to talk about cool things I saw online, or wanted to go grocery shopping, or visit a mall. I got greeted with a heavy sigh, a plop on the couch, Joe Rogan or conspiracy theory videos, and snoring within 30 mins of him coming home. By the last two months of me being in Florida I didn’t talk very much with him. There was nothing to talk about. We stopped talking long before those moments though. I just hadn’t realized until I was home alone all day. What else is there to talk about when you work, live, sleep and breathe with the person you are in love with every single day. You run out of things that spark interest. You lose the feeling of, hey let's try something new, especially when your newfound intrigue is greeted with disgust, a steadfast no, or a blatant slap to the face that we obviously aren't going out tonight because he hasn't moved from his spot on the couch for 3 hours now.

My music is a very deep and obvious sign into my inner thoughts and feelings, whether I am aware of it or not. For the last four months of me being in Florida there were two songs I liked to listen to, specifically when Josh wasn’t home, because I knew he would give me shit if he heard them.

“All I Do is Sit Inside My House All Day” and “Suicidal Thoughts” from Josh A and IamJakeHill. And if that isn’t a blatant window into my soul in those months I don’t know what else is. There was another song, in which I quoted earlier in this piece, “I fall in love too easily, I fall in love too fast, I fall in love so terribly hard for love to ever last…”

Again, I will say, Assassin's Creed saved my life. If I hadn’t started playing AC2 on Josh’s PlayStation 2 and gotten absolutely swept away with Ezio’s story line and the beauty of ancient Italy and being able to sneak around assassinating bad guys, I would have killed myself. And I don't say that lightly. Every day, since September 15th, a little life from my soul faded away. All we would do is fight, and argue, or awkwardly sit on the couch together doing our own thing. I would beg for him to come to bed, ⅖ times I would be successful, and even then it was him on the base of the bed watching his videos, and he would fall asleep the wrong way on the bed. He would hint at wanting to make love to me but by the time he got home he was too tired or too dirty and would end up falling asleep anyways. I gave up thinking I would sleep with him every again. We did here and there but there was always a disconnect. I felt used by that point.

Due to such limiting factors of not having a car, and an unreliable boyfriend who wouldn’t let me drive his truck anyways, my job search was limited to what was within safe walking distance. I still carried two knives on me no matter what. It's the ghetto.

My options were 4 places: A gas station, another gas station, CVS, or a drive thru liquor store. I applied at the liquor store, as it was the closest and I didn’t have to cross a major highway to get to it. I got the job the day of my interview. 3 days a week at $8/hr. And that was, by far, the most whoreorizing and degrading job I have ever had in my entire life. And I was only there for a month.

Disgusting guys rolling up, with an AK47 in the middle console, their bro rolling a blunt in the passenger seat, the driver licking his lips at me saying,

“Hey mama, what’s your sexy ass doin’ in this window and not doin me? You busy later?”

To which I had to maintain my composure every single time and lie saying, “Sorry, I’m married, thank you though.”

“Aw c’mon that don’t mean shit. Don’t you want some side n*gga?”

“Here’s your booze. Thank you, have a nice night”

“Whateva gurl I’ll try again next week.”

Abso-fucking-lutely degrading. Luckily I only worked three days...but I also only worked three days. So I was home a lot more than my boyfriend. My job hours were normal, 10am-6pm. I could cross the street to go home with enough light for it to be safe. Come home, and hope on the playstation. Most nights I would either come home to an empty house, he hadn’t been home all day, I could tell. There would be certain signs that would tell me if he had been home at all or not. If the scent of cigarettes was stronger, there were new soda cans with ash on them on the cocktail table, if the remotes had been moved, if there was a new plate that was dirtied by some snack, or if there was a new pile of clothes by the couch… If none of those things were there, I knew he hadn’t been home all day. Our poor dogs stuck inside for at least the 8hrs that I was at work. And no, I would never know what he was up to all day. I know he had a previous gambling problem, but I nipped that early on when we were in NC. But it is legal in FL, and I still wonder if that’s where his money went….or just to weed...or if he really did just drive around all fucking day.

Having my shifts start at 10, I would usually be up until midnight or until he had to go to work in the morning, he would be fast asleep and so I could make private phone calls to my mother about what was going on. They saw it coming faster than I did. My therapist caught on to his behaviour long before I ever did, that he was toxic, verbally abusive, that he was controlling and his sister manipulative. It took a long time for my mom and I to get to the closeness we are now. To have the relationship we have now. It's been rough. But she helped me through this so much. And whenever he would say that she brainwashed me as a child, forced me onto ADD pills when that “shit fucks up your body” and that I was “still under her mind control and she still has power over you” always hurt. To say things like “oh I’m never going to California, I’m never going to visit your family if they are anything like your mother.” It killed me. When all we ever did was spend time doing the things he liked, and spending time with his crazy family. And not want to reciprocate. I played AC2 all the way up until the second week of November, when the PS2 crashed. I was left home alone for 80% of the week. Alone with my thoughts, and my music, and the strong suggestions of my parents that I need to think about my future, and if this is truly what I want for the rest of my life.

To sit at home, wondering why the man I love, the man I gave everything to, all of me, why he doesn’t want to give such simple efforts in return. Why I have to beg for attention and intimacy and never get it in return. Why the man I fell in love with brought me so far from family, and isolated me from everything. Why the man I love wouldn’t want to treat me with such care and love and selfless adoration the way I do for him. Why every morning I wake up wondering if I can even get through the day, or if the blade I keep strapped to my body in case some rando from the ghetto streets outside were to come into my house and hurt me, if the blade I keep on my person will be sharp enough to end my pain. If leaving and starting all over for the third time in a year will be worth it in the long haul.

November 9th,

I made a call, while the man I loved lay sleeping in bed, after begging him to come watch his show in the bedroom, and him finally falling asleep wrapping me in his arms. I snuck my way outside and called my parents. They were so happy on the phone, spending time with family and friends, like I would have been too if I was with them. But instead was calling, to ask if they could send me home. If there was any way I could come home sooner than 2 weeks from now for thanksgiving. If there was anyway I could come home and try again because I can’t be here anymore, and it’s killing me, and I can’t last 2 weeks.

They gave me a day to think about it. I had to say it for myself, it wasn’t their decision, it was mine. The last time I called like this I cancelled last minute because his words clouded my judgement and I listened to his pleas. I took the day to rule out the pros and cons. I took a day to really think about if this man was really everything I made him out to be. It’s a terrible thing when you realize the man you once loved is now a stranger. It's an even more terrible thing when you know that the man you love, who you know loves you just not in any way shape or form as much as you love him, is going to realize that now you are the stranger, and that you are going to make a very painful and difficult and traumatic event happen in his already traumatized and horrible past. That you are going to add to his already endless pain. That you are the one...that is going to break his heart.

November 10th,

I called in the morning, early CA time, he was already at work making donuts. It had been off between us the past few days. He knew something was up, but I was instructed not to say a word. I barely lasted two days not telling him anything. And the disconnect had already begun.

My dad answered the phone in such a loving and soft way, it was exactly what I needed...

“Hi sweetheart, how are you doing? Have you made up your mind at all or do you still need more time? We are ready for you whenever you are.”

“I…I need to come back home.”

“Is this your decision?”

“Yes ....I can’t stay here any longer…*the tears welled up in my eyes and my voice began to croak* because I know that if I do it will kill me and I can’t live like this. Please bring me home.”

“Okay, okay. I will send mom a text and she will send you flight information as soon as she gets it, okay? Are you already packed up?”

“*sniffles* yeah, I have 2 carry on sized bags, a duffel bag, and a backpack....I wish I could bring more, there's so much stuff I don't want to leave…”

“I know sweetie, I know, but what is most important is that we get YOU safely home. Things can be replaced, you are irreplaceable”

I got a call later that afternoon from Josh, asking if he should even come home because I might be leaving or not. I didn’t give him a direct answer, just if he can come home if he wanted to. He didn’t until late afternoon. And when he did, I got a message from my mother.

“Your shuttle comes to get you at 8:45am, your flight is out of West Palm Beach at 11:30am. We love you, keep us updated. We can’t wait to see you tomorrow boo.” “So that’s it then…” I muttered. “So that’s it what?”

I took a deep breath, and read him the text my mom had sent me. I couldn’t bear to keep it hidden from him any longer. Somehow I thought he deserved to know. That he needed to know.

“So you lied to me this whole time, you knew you were leaving and you didn’t tell me. You just made up that stupid lie that you were thinking things over and had a decision to make? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Of course he was angry. And disconnecting. He had already told me days ago that he was going to start hardening his heart towards me to ready himself for me leaving. He saw it coming too, and he knew it.

“I wasn’t lying, I was telling the truth. I had to think things over and I came to a decision this morning.” “And you're leaving tomorrow morning? No that’s a fucking lie, that shit you had planned, YOU'RE NOT LEAVING. YOU CAN'T LEAVE. WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME. I LOVE YOU.”

Again the same argument, over and over again.

“Why? Why get into a relationship if you aren’t going to give effort? We were supposed to be equals and yet I feel like I am the only one giving effort. Why self prophecy that this isn't going to work out, and then not fight your own prophecy to make it work? Why not give such a simple effort to make me happy? I ask for such simple things Josh! I shouldn’t have to beg you to come to bed with me. I just want to be held by you, to cuddle, to be given affection. I do everything for you. EVERYTHING. I HAVE GIVEN YOU ALL OF ME. THERE IS NOTHING OF ME LEFT TO GIVE. MY WELL HAS RUN DRY JOSH. I AM AN EMPTY SHELL. You wanted the old Alysha back? Well guess what Josh, she isn’t here anymore. There is barely any of me left. What more do you want from me? My life?! I don’t even have one here! I’m sorry…”

I went to work in tears that night. Called my manager and told her I was leaving due to a domestic emergency, and also told her I might not work the entire night.

To which I then received a phone call from Josh, crying asking me to dip out on work so that we can spend one last night in each others arms before he never sees me again. And I idiotically said yes. And it is forever ingrained in my mind. The cries of the man I loved. The cries of the man I gave everything to. The pleas of the man who for one last night held me so tightly than he had ever held me before in the hopes it would keep in in Florida. The quiet crying pleas of the man I spent almost 2 years with, wailing in the night for me to not go, to not leave him. And my cries in return just never ending-ly saying I’m sorry. But I have to go. I didn’t even sleep that night. He just held me tighter and tighter and all I can think about is why he couldn't have done this every night? Why couldn't he put as much effort into trying to keep me here, now, why couldn't he do that every night and day? Why give me an excuse to call out of work only to try and keep me from leaving, why not make an excuse for me to call out of work to woo me into loving him again? Why wait for the last hours. The last minutes. The last seconds. And as I'm leaving and getting into the shuttle, he kisses me goodbye, puts on his sunglasses and says goodbye as if I was just leaving on a trip, because he doesn't want to look like such a fool in front of a total stranger…

I wish I could say it ended there at the shuttle...but it didn’t. Before the shuttle came, I was pleading to him that I was sorry, and that I didn’t want to do this but I had to. And somehow his pleas got me on my knees into begging that we could try long distance, see if that could work. Maybe he could come to California and start a new life with me. Somehow that where we left it off...and when I got to CA I was still under his control.

But as I finally got to be in my mother and father's embrace again, a little piece of my soul came back. A little flicker of a hint of a spark came from the ashes. And as I told my extremely summarized story to friends and family I felt that I had made the right choice. I felt like I was back where I needed to be. I had a future here, I had family and friends within an arm's reach, and not half a world away.

And the flicker became sparks, and the ashes began to glow bright, a flame beginning to burn out of the ashes.

I called him...still under his control but breaking free, finally. And ended it. It was too much of a fairy tale, that it would work like this. He was always the one telling me I need to stop living in a fantasy and live in reality. I guess I learned something from him. My dad walked in on our conversation...circulatory argument, really. About the same things over and over again.

“I love you Alysha, you are the greatest thing that ever happened to me. But you’re a bitch for leaving me like this. I'm surrounded by your belongings what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? Just throw it away?! I love you! I want to fight for us to make it work but you fucking abandoned us!”

My father told me he was a dick, and the short phone conversation he overheard from us was a textbook example of abuse from a significant other. I blocked him on every social platform imaginable. And waited patiently and anxiously for the one thing that tied me to them still to come in the mail…..my W2s.

The long and anxious wait ended...finally….and as I opened the letter with all of my documents I was filled with an overwhelming sense of emotion that confused me all to hell. This was it...it was really here...the last piece that was tying me to them and it was finally in my grasp. There is nothing else to bind myself to him anymore. Nothing else from Florida that can bring me pain or suffering or fear. It's over. It’s been over relation-ally for three months now. But legally...it's done.

I’m still processing the pain of it. The sheer torment I went through. I still don't know how I survived everything I went through. My memory is horrible right now with my brain trying to process the trauma, deleting things from memory due to how painful it is, that now I just am terrible at remembering almost everything. It will haunt me for an eternity. Until one day it won’t. And I hope that day is sooner than later...because this truly was hell to have gone through.

I don't trust myself anymore. I don't trust other people. I am terribly, terribly afraid of love. The last 3 relationships I have been in I have jumped into, with barely any time to get to know the person before making it “official.” Never again. Next time will take a long time. Deep established friendship first, before I can even consider beginning to feel again. I don’t know if I will ever love the same way again too...To give absolutely everything I have to the table. To give all of me to the point where there was none of me left...I loved him with all of my heart, soul, and being. And it ruined and broke me, knowing I broke that man, that I crushed his soul and shattered his heart...along with mine....

He called me a liar once for saying I was his ride or die, but I was leaving him. But what he did not realize is that I did die for him. I died every day...for four months...knowing I was going to end my life if I stayed there any longer….killing myself for a man who would never love me...the way I loved him…

#the activememoir #memoirofabrokenheart #brokenheartedlovestories

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