Today I’ve floated in a quasi-state of semi-panic.
I said too much. I am too much. I revealed far too much.
I am so bad at this real normal human dating bullshit. And what the fuck am I doing again??? He’s married.
And this could end so very badly for me. There is something out there in this relationship with him that’s bigger than me: a family, a kid, a wife.
The priority will always be them, not me, but ohmygod, he’s so fucking lovely. Stupidly tall and delicious, funny and self-deprecating, sweet and simmering.
He’s promised to “darken my doorway again,” but this week is bad for the both of us. He’s processing things, but “not one thing I shared is negative,” he assured me. There’s just no time between children and work and Father’s Day on Sunday. Poof, the follow-up face-to-face time I need to settle the fuck down isn’t possible and I am vibrating with regret and fear.
I don’t know why he would bother with me. I’m complicated. My secret double life has cost me a man or two in the past already; I wouldn’t be surprised if after a few days Elliot decides he doesn’t want anything to do with it, either. With me.
I don’t know what came over me, but if I could un-ring that bell I would. I don’t like feeling this shallow of breath, this crawling of skin. I prefer to have had shown not one of my cards except the Joker between my legs and definitely not the Queen of Hearts.
It was too soon. Maybe it will always be too soon. I don’t like that I am such an acquired taste and wish instead that I could be gobbled up by anyone I wanted, but no, instead I am whiskey in his coffee.