Addicted (Amelia Betts) by Amelia Betts
Loneliness—real “drag your soul through the mud, with your heart trailing behind like a tin can tied to a pickup truck, capital L” loneliness—is waking up the morning after the best sex of your life and realizing that the man responsible for that incredible, mind-blowing sex is no longer in your line of sight. Or anywhere in the near vicinity, for that matter.
And you suddenly remember why you’ve avoided any kind of relationship for the past three years—because of the hurt, the physical pain that comes from the void left behind when the guy leaves. You remember why you would have been better off with plan A, which was to stay far, far away from the male species for the rest of eternity; to keep your distance and enjoy the thrill of the secret crush; to stock your fridge with all your favorite foods and find creative ways of devouring them, one by one, until it’s time to restock again.
But the sad fact of it is, you went with plan B. And now your heart is the tin can on the back of the truck, and that truck is speeding along a desolate dirt road with mile markers bearing snarky reminders of all the wrong turns you’ve made.
Mile One: Aah, one-night stands. Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em, eh?
Mile Two: Well, I guess you did live without them until now…
Mile Three: I mean, did you really think a guy who looked like him was coming back for seconds?
Mile Four: But then again, you’ve never had much willpower, have you, Mischa?
Mile Five: I guess when someone is so far out of your league, it’s in your best interest to jump on it…
Mile Six: On the other hand, rejection is a bitch.
And so on and so forth. For miles and miles.
And still somehow you’re expected to get out of bed and move on with your day, even though your soul and your heart are being dragged, at breakneck speed, by this unstoppable force that feels like it will go on forever.
Some of us just weren’t cut out for random flings. In fact, I knew by now that I wasn’t cut out for any of it. I was fragile, like a baby who hasn’t stayed long enough in the womb. My heart was prone to breaking at the drop of a hat, and I’d already learned about the crushing regret that came along with putting myself out there, the advanced level mess-with-the-bull-and-you-get-the-horns kind of loneliness that spoiled my days for an entire year after my freshman-year boyfriend dumped me and never looked back.
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