Page 77 of Rev

“It’s what I was raised to be. A mother and a wife.”

“Kids?”

I shake my head. “That’s…”

“What you can’t talk about,” he finishes. “Right. Anyway. Back to the story. Overweight, let yourself go, not cleanin’ shit. Then what?”

“I could barely get out of bed. And my husband wasn’t touching me. He could barely look at me. I was…” I choke. “Lonely.” I swallow hard. “I wanted to be…wanted. I wanted my husband back. So I…I forced myself out of bed. I joined a CrossFit gym for women. Started getting into shape. Incidentally, that’s how I found a love of lifting—it was the only thing that helped my depression.”

“Feel you there,” he murmurs. “Lifting legit saved my life.”

I wipe my face, my arms barely able to fit between our bodies. He’s still on me, not quite crushing me, but not giving me room to move, as if I’d escape if he let me. “It got me out of my depression and I got into shape—better than ever. What it didn’t do was bring Darren back.” I suck in a breath—this is the hard part. “So I…I figured I’d try to get him back. You know, like…seducing him or…or whatever. I guess I more or less threw myself at him.”

Pain rips through me as memories assault me.

“I put on some lingerie. Came out of the bathroom, you know, that whole thing.”

Rev frowns. “Can’t say I do, not from experience.”

“Well, like in the movies, you know? The woman wants to seduce her man, so she puts on lingerie and comes out of the bathroom, leans against the door?”

He nods. “Right.”

“He just looked at me, totally blank, and went back to his phone.”

“You, in sexy underwear, wantin’ him, and he didn’t take the bait?”

“No, he did not.”

“He fuckin’ blind, or gay or some shit?”

“Neither.”

“You do a glow up since then?”

“A glow up?”

He shrugs. “Look a lot better. New hair, new tits, shit like that.”

“No. This was after I lost the weight I’d put on, but I’m no different now than I was at that moment, physically.”

“Then what the fuck was his problem?”

“I wish I knew.” I swallow again, force myself to breathe; I have to tell this, now, for myself. “I got on the bed. Started, um. Touching him. He let me. Just watched. I, um. I went down on him. Usually, it was just him fondling my boob, which meant he wanted sex. He’d roll on, do his thing, done. So, doing that—using my mouth…I guess I wasn’t good at it. Because he…when I was done, whenhewas done. He…he shoved me off of him.”

“Shoved you?”

“Yeah. Not, like, hard. I wouldn’t classify it as abuse. Just made it clear he was done with me.” I can’t help but whisper, because it’s too hard and hurts too much to bear saying too loudly. “He looked at me, disgusted, and he said…he said…” and here I drop my voice as I quote him. “‘God, Myka, you can’t even do that right. Just because you’re not fat anymore doesn’t mean Iwantyou.’ He held up his phone, showing me the text conversation he was having—with his girlfriend. ‘She likes to have sex. She’s good at it. She gives me blowjobs, and they’re actuallygood. Unlike you.’” I choke, but the tears come anyway. “Unlike me. That’s what he said. She was sexy and she liked having sex with him and she gave him good blowjobs, unlike me.”

“Jesusfuck,” Rev snarls. Pushes up. Levers off the bed and paces. “Motherfucker actuallysaidthat shit to you?”

“Yes.”

“And…” He stops at the foot of the bed and meets my eyes. “You do it any different than with me, just now? You, like, bite him or somethin’?”

Somehow, for some reason, I find this funny, and laugh so hard I snort. “No, Rev. I didn’t bite him. You’re…different. More, um…forceful in what you want and how you like it. He just…laid there, letting me do it. Barely made a sound the whole time. Wasn’t even looking at me. Actually, I think he was textingher.” I shrug. “So I assumed it was me. I’d done it wrong. I wasn’t sexy. I didn’t like sex. I was bad at sex.” I shake my head, blink back tears. “I’ve assumed that all this time. That was the last time I touched him, and that was more than a year ago, now.”

“Hold the fuck up.” He braces his hands on his hips. “When you met me, you hadn’t had sex in almost ayear?”