Dumping You

I stare at my flushed reflection in the mirror, entirely terrified by the sudden, fierce awakening of my own desires for a man who is entirely off-limits. I aggressively shake my head, physically forcing myself to break eye contact with my own reflection. My core is still throbbing with an undeniable, heavy heat just from the vivid thought of Desmond's large hands navigating past my completely exposed nipples and the thin strip of transparent lace hiding my clit. I quickly strip off the provocative, see-through lingerie that Nolan didn't even care enough to stick around and see, tossing it into the corner of the bathroom floor like a piece of dirty trash. I step into the shower stall and aggressively crank the water dial all the way to hot. As the scalding spray hits my naked skin, the wild, highly inappropriate arousal finally washes down the drain. But the moment the heat between my legs fades, it is violently replaced by a crushing, agonizing wave of pure grief.

Desmond had generously granted me the official day off. He must have known I was in absolutely no physical or mental shape to face a workday with this pounding hangover and the shattered reality of my life surrounding me. I spend the entire morning under the running water, sliding down the wet tiled wall until I am sitting on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. I cry like a child who has lost something that can never be replaced. I sob until my throat is raw and my chest physically aches. Honestly, I don't even fully understand why I am crying so hard. Maybe my tears are because I am deeply, furiously angry at myself for wasting so much precious time. The wedding was supposed to be a significant, sacred thing for Nolan and his family, especially his mother... so I was willingly prepared to wait. I stayed absolutely pure for a manipulative man who clearly didn't deserve a single ounce of my devotion. It turns out, it only mattered to him that I was pure—even if I had an incredibly hard time controlling the natural heat that so often attacked my own body.

I don't know exactly how long I stay sitting under that shower spray, letting the hot water freely mix with my bitter tears. Eventually, I manage to pull myself up and turn off the faucet. I dry off, wrap a towel around my body, and walk into the bedroom. The bed doesn't look nearly as comfortable as Desmond's massive mattress from last night. I lay down anyway, staring numbly at the ceiling. Time slips away from me. Maybe I fall asleep, I'm not entirely sure. Eventually, I notice the bright sunlight streaming through the window blinds and hear the birds singing excitedly outside. At least someone needs to be happy today.

Suddenly, my phone starts vibrating aggressively against the nightstand. I reach out and grab it. The screen lights up, heavily flooded with dozens of missed calls and an endless stream of frantic text messages. Inevitably, my stomach violently twists the moment I see the contact name flashing on the screen—*My love*. It makes me physically nauseous.

Opening my contacts, the very first thing I do is aggressively delete that pet name. My fingers tap the keyboard with rigid, absolute precision, changing Nolan's contact name to SLIMEBALL. It suits him much better.

But my brief moment of peace doesn't last long. Soon, a brand new message from SLIMEBALL pops up on my screen. When I open the chat, I see that he has been frantically calling and texting me for the entire night and morning, sending messages at desperately short intervals. *[Please pick up...]* is repeated at least twelve separate times. *[I love you...]* appears at least fifteen times. But the absolute record is, undoubtedly: *[I am sorry]*.

I scoff out loud in the empty room. I know he doesn't feel sorry. Not really. If Nolan is actually sorry about something, it's strictly because he got caught. There is absolutely no way that someone who claims to deeply love me would eagerly fuck someone else... let alone fuck my treacherous former best friend, Chloe. Speaking of Chloe, I see she has also left several frantic messages in my inbox, desperately trying to explain her betrayal. I am utterly disgusted by her sheer audacity, and I absolutely refuse to even bother looking at them.

My phone suddenly starts to ring loudly in my hand. I sit there, staring blankly at the screen, simply watching as the call persists until it naturally goes to voicemail and hangs up. Seconds later, a new message from Nolan pops up. *[Could we talk?]*

I take a deep, steadying breath. *Well, it's better this way,* I think to myself. *So we can officially end this miserable charade once and for all.*

My fingers are entirely rigid and steady as I type back my response. *[Meet me in the coffee shop at seven].*

Since there are still several long hours until our scheduled meeting, I toss my phone aside onto the mattress with completely dry eyes. Somehow, my chest feels entirely, coldly at peace. I no longer feel the slightest urge to cry. There are absolutely no more tears left to be shed for a man like him.

The coffee shop is relatively quiet when I arrive, maybe because it's approaching closing time. I intentionally chose this familiar, nearby place because there used to be a certain comfort in being here. Many times during college, Nolan and I would come here right after a highly difficult exam, or simply because we wanted to stay physically close to each other. Now that those hectic, romantic times are officially over, we have clearly drifted completely apart. Even though our relationship didn't start that way, I truly did love Nolan. In the very beginning, I accepted his proposal just to run away from my own internal feelings... to deny the wild desires that lived inside me—but I did eventually learn to deeply love him.

Now, as we sit rigidly facing each other, separated only by a small, scratched wooden table beside a vast window showcasing the busy, neon-lit streets of New York, I suddenly realize something. Perhaps, I didn't actually love him enough. After all, my chest is completely at peace right now. I originally expected the tears to fall the moment I saw his face. I should be crying right now, shouldn't I?

Yet, I feel absolutely nothing. Nothing except a bubbling, sharp anger rapidly rising in my throat.

Nolan looks entirely pitiful sitting across from me. He is hunched over, his shoulders slumped. His voice is meek, and I can clearly see the raw fear etched into his expression. His lips are curved downward in a sad pout, and his eyes are heavily rimmed red. He has clearly been crying.

"Rose..." Nolan starts, his voice trembling slightly. "Why have you been ignoring me like that...?"

I harshly cut off his pathetic display before he can even finish his sentence. I look him dead in the eyes, stating firmly and coldly, "You betrayed me, Nolan. You cheated on me with my best friend."

Nolan immediately squirms uncomfortably in his hard wooden chair. He frantically brings his hand up to rub the back of his neck, his eyes darting around the quiet cafe. "I can explain, it's not like that—"

"Let me guess," I interrupt, frowning deeply at him. I lean forward, sarcastically mocking his ridiculous, insulting logic. "You accidentally got naked, and she accidentally rides on you?"

I watch as he becomes evidently embarrassed, a flush of dark red creeping up his neck. "I know I made a mistake, Rose, but believe me... there's nothing between me and Chloe..."

"Except that you fucked her," I cut him off again, feeling the boiling hot anger spike aggressively in my veins. My jaw clenches tight.

Sweating now, Nolan nervously tries to justify his grotesque actions. He leans across the small table, his voice dripping with desperation. "It was only sex... I'm a man, Rose. I have desires, it's natural..."

I violently scoff at his words, crossing my arms tightly over my chest and averting my eyes for a second. I honestly cannot believe the absolute garbage coming out of his mouth.

"You're the one I love, you know that," he pleads pitifully.

"Oh?" I snap my eyes back to him, my glare suddenly turning sharp enough to physically cut his flesh. I practically spit my response right at him. "What I know is that I keep my virginity for you while you were cheating on me. Four years, Nolan!"

He flinches at the sheer volume of my voice, but he still has the unbelievable audacity to keep making excuses. "Dear, you know how important this is to my family... I love you so much, and I want us to have our first time when we're married—"

"That's bullshit." I point my index finger sharply right at his face, my voice hard as stone. "You don't make sense."

And then, he actually says it. He attempts the most horrendous, deeply offensive metaphor imaginable. "Look," he says, gesturing with his hands as if trying to explain a simple concept to a child. "It's like when you leave your favorite food to eat at the end…"

I see pure, blinding red. Outraged beyond measure, I loudly slam my open hand down onto the wooden table with a violent crack. The sudden, explosive sound instantly draws the shocked, wide-eyed stares of several nearby customers, but I don't give a single damn. "Did you really compare me to a damn food?" I demand, my chest heaving with fury.

"Rose, honey, don't be like this, that's not what I meant," he desperately begs, leaning forward in a panic to try and calm me down. "I just... want you to understand that I want to preserve you... I didn't want to ruin what's between us..."

He completely missed the foundational point. "So, because you can't keep your dick in your pants, you chose to cheat on me, rather than do what is entirely expected—like sleep with your girlfriend?" I shake my head in absolute disgust. "I respected you. I waited for you because I thought virginity was something important to you—"

"Virginity is something important to me, honey..." he interrupts weakly.

"Mine!" I practically yell. "My virginity is important to you. It should be ours! We should lose it together, on our honeymoon! That's exactly what I expected when you said that your family wants to wait!"

I can feel the heavy muscles in my shoulders tensing painfully. I am stressed, I am furious, and I am entirely exhausted.

"You're so precious to me, my rose, believe me...." he whispers.

That's enough. I am utterly and entirely done holding myself back. I absolutely cannot stand to hear his whiny, pathetic voice for another second. I am completely exhausted from pretending for a man who used my bodily purity as a convenient excuse to sleep around behind my back. I stand up abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. Nolan's eyes widen in sudden, sheer terror. He reaches out in a panic, attempting to grab my hand, but I forcefully pull my arm away before his skin can even brush against mine.

I look down at him. I know my eyes are freezing cold. He doesn't even recognize me in this moment. After all, just to please him for four long years, I pretended to be someone I'm not. For him, I aggressively held back my own sexual nature. Now, I will definitively do whatever my body desires.

I smile sweetly at his sudden terror and deliver my final blow. "You don't have to worry about that anymore, Nolan. From this moment on, there's not the slightest possibility of you touching me, now or in the future."

"Rose—" he gasps.

"And if you don't understand what I mean," I continue smoothly, my voice dripping with venom. "It's that I'm dumping your fucking ass."

Before he can even attempt to stand up and stop me, I immediately storm out of the coffee shop. Thank heavens, I quickly catch a yellow cab idling right by the curb. I jump inside and slam the door shut, giving the driver my apartment building address before Nolan can even stumble out onto the sidewalk to chase after me.

As the cab speeds through the bustling New York City streets, I lean back against the leather seat. I listen to the pop song playing softly on the cab's radio, highly enjoying the bitter irony of the lyrics singing about breakups. The ride leaves me feeling physically lighter, as if a massive, suffocating iron chain has finally been violently cut from around my neck. But a hot, rebellious anger still violently pumps through my veins. All I want is to definitively shed this heavy, toxic burden of purity. I want to be entirely free to act purely on my own desires.

Before I fully realize it, the cab pulls up to my building. I step out, walk through the lobby, and step straight into the elevator.

The number 12 flashes brightly on the digital display, and the metal doors finally slide open with a soft ding. Stepping off the elevator onto the twelfth floor, I stand entirely alone in the quiet, empty hall situated perfectly between my apartment and Desmond's. There are only two apartment doors on this floor. The hallway suddenly feels thick with anticipation. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs completely, and I swear I can still distinctly smell Desmond's intoxicating, heavy masculine scent lingering in the hallway air. That rich, woodsy cologne that I had felt deeply impregnated into the hot skin of his neck last night. Just vividly remembering the pulsing vein against my cheek sends an intense, electric shiver sprinting straight up my spine.

Can I really do whatever I want?

Muttering to myself in the dead silence of the hall, I reflect on the twisted irony of my life. "Hah, Nolan... For four years, you made me keep my virginity... Because you wanted to marry a virgin, you made me be pure... And yet, you cheated on me all this time?"

Staring intensely at Desmond's solid wooden door, a brand new, reckless resolve rapidly hardens in my eyes. I am completely done being the perfectly pure, untouched girl.

"Looks like your rose is starting to fall," I whisper into the quiet space.

Acting purely on raw, uninhibited instinct, my legs seem to take on a wild life of their own. Instead of turning toward the safe, familiar door of my own apartment, they carry me directly to Desmond's door. I don't hesitate for a single second. My hand raises on its own, and I firmly press my finger against the doorbell.

The chime rings out loudly. My heart pounds fiercely against my ribs. It doesn't take long at all before the lock clicks and the heavy door swings open.

Desmond stands there, looking down at me in deep confusion. He is breathtakingly gorgeous. His incredibly beautiful, highly masculine face is framed by damp, wet blond hair from a very recent shower. His heavy, intoxicating scent instantly envelops me, making the heat violently spark between my thighs once again.

"Rosalie?" he questions softly, his deep voice wrapping around my name.

Parting my lips, I stare straight into his striking green eyes, my mind completely made up. I say slowly and clearly, "Desmond, I want you to fuck me."