"I'm tired," she whispers to the air. She sinks to the ground her misery filling the air with heart-wrenching sobs of a conflicted soul. Her boyfriend, of one month, telling her he won't propose. But please know that he loves her and can't live without her. However, he'll never chase after her. It's not worth the effort. Then suddenly her exes, both, asking her back. But only because they know she's with someone else and happy-ish. "What the hell?" She cries and crawls on the floor around to the other side, looking for tissues. "What the hell?"
When the phyical display of emotions finish, her mind considers insane possibilities. She could choose the past, but which one? The one she has the longest history with? Or the most recent with the most incredible sex ever? Both were abusive but familiar, so similar. There's a safety in the predictable. She could be financially secure again? But live with the constant need to be checked for STD's? The fear of the law breaking down the door? Or she could be in orgasm heaven and completely treated like a china doll goddess until she broke a rule? Her dark hair falls forward in vehement shaking. Or stay with the current that claims a future together. But whose trust issues seem to run deeper than hers? Or do they? Overall, it's so natural. Maybe it's just her and he's responding to her skittish vibes? Can she trust his "Let's go slow, baby...I'll wait for you as long as it takes...we can build a future together?" Ah, but his abrupt and painfully recent schizophrenic statement of "Baby, I can never marry you, but..."
"No!" she looks into the wall mirror. It indifferently reflecting swollen glassy eyes, blotchy skin, and a red runny nose. It makes her laugh. If they all saw her now, the choice would be easy. They would flee. No sign of a beautiful temptress here!
Her cell phone vibrates, more pleading texts from Brandon. Most of them saying, "Sugar-love, you owe it to us to try again. I'm sorry that I fell off the wagon. I'm sorry about Sheila ... Cindy... Karyn... Tanya... blah, blah, blah." Slowly she stands, walking over hateful love letters from her Latin lover, Raul. Those essentially accuse her of everything she caught him at. The biggest lie of all being that he's divorced. She found the papers, incomplete and unfiled. He's still married. That was the day her lust died. No more multiple o's for her. She sighs heavily. He still insists that she is his, "Mi Reyna." He swears that he will find it in his heart to forgive his Reyna for all her sins.
The land-line rings. Caller ID states that it's Josh. The answering machine kicks on. Her heart wars within her. Answer it? His deep voice comes on, "Baby, I'm sorry..."
She hisses, "Don't any of those bastards ever use my name?" She stalks out the bedroom door, grabs her keys. Be forwarned, the decision's made. She was going to f--- the first guy that actually uses her name...the whole night.