I had a bottle of wine, a sleepless night, and a long talk with myself. 

He was this colossal asshole that I didn’t want to like. We were oil and gasoline. He got under my skin and was an itch I couldn’t scratch. It was electric and damaging. Then my Sir moved back from California.I pushed him aside. Living in a small town we ran into each other a lot. I remember being sick at work and he just dropped off cold meds and a bottle of vitamins. He knew the collar I wore wasn’t his, but occasionally that didn’t seem to matter. 
 I broke up my Sir and removed my collar. 
 Then I got sick. 
He’d had cancer before and I reached out to him. He was the colossal ass and reminded me of when he’d been sick and reached out to me. I was with my Sir at the time and told him I couldn’t handle him. It’s what I deserved. 

But then he walked up my stairs with chocolate anyways. He told me the harsh reality of cancer and offered to go to the hospital with me. The next months are a fog. Friends coming up the stairs. Food and family and vomit. I’d leave the door open and crawl in the bed. He would crawl in the bed next to me in the middle of the night and try not to wake me. He’d make me get up and go eat breakfast. He would “one more bite” me until I’d get tears in my eyes. Then a few days later he’d do it all over again. I was bald and boobless, I was really angry and irritable. I was focused on chemo and dying. But I saw how he came over on Christmas to make sure my kids were taken care of. He wasn’t my 2 am phone call, though. I reserved that for my former Sir. I didn’t think anyone would ever want to be my 2 am, because frankly I’m really heavy.  And honestly, I was preoccupied with dying and processing my new body. I didn’t appreciate the things he did. I was so focused on vomit coming out of my nose and my legs not working that I didn’t notice him not blink about my bald head or thousands of nosebleeds. 

My chemo ended and I looked up from my fog. I hadn’t had time to process my break up, nor acknowledge any new feelings that either of us had. 
Then my former Sir moved back and he told me no, not again would he be pushed aside. I realized that under this asshole was just a guy who liked kids and animals and ammo. I pushed him aside anyways. 
Boo died. My former Sir and I fought more than ever before. I moved and finally decided for myself that my former Sir and I are not good together.
Mourning my brother and my Sir was too much. Everything tumbled together until I looked up and my cancer birthday was here. 

I contacted the colossal asshole to tell him I moved. I probably should have let it be. I probably should have let him think I was the horrible person he accused me of being. I probably should have done a lot of things differently. 

I felt new. I was trying new things. Slowly, ever so slowly things began to fall into place. I stopped hoping my Former Sir would just magically think I was good enough. It took forever for me to be completely done with my Former Sir. I kept telling him that I didn’t move because of him, but I did. I ran from Foley and from Fet. I’m okay with that. Maybe one day in the future Chad and I will be friends again but honestly it’s okay if we aren’t. 
New car (that needs a bath really bad), new house, new job. I weaned myself off my meds (maybe not the best idea ever). My hair is curly. Things just feel different. But I was still processing….well, everything. I wanted Chad to say that I mattered, that he missed me, than I was enough. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted to be so amazing that not having me in his life created a void that was so big he could drown in it. To receive that kind of response, I’d have had to be … amazing. I’m not. 
I am not sure how things got away from me so quickly. One day this guy was someone from my past that hated me, and the next we are in bed and eating breakfast. Again and again. I kept thinking that he was just lonely and killing time. I’ve learned enough about relationships and myself to know he doesn’t actually want to be with me. I’m damaged goods. The men in my life made sure of that. I should have never called him. I’d just set a flamethrower to my life and I was angry and afraid. I was not in the place for a new relationship. If I’m being completely honest, I wanted things that didn’t have memories of Chad. Hell, I even went to a party and had a great experience with Greg simply because I could.

He’s relationship guy and I forgot that. 
 It shouldn’t have shocked me but in true fashion he’d stepped in, though. This time I wasn’t sick and I could see the man that likes children and animals. I saw the man that love and respects his mother. I saw the hard worker and the man who goes days without sleep to watch his son’s football game. 

I licked him. I nuzzled.  I bit him and learned how he takes his coffee. I began to watch his sugar intake and worry about his health. I said Daddy. 

I end up at the hospital with his family during his step father’s death.  I fell into the girlfriend role and I freaked out that I liked it so much. I introduced his mother to one of my girls. I caught myself thinking what it would be like to cook Thanksgiving in a kitchen bigger than my living room. 

We had great conversations, phenomenal sex, and we fought like the world was ending. Then it happened…
He anticipated history repeating itself. He told me he knows Chad will show up out of the blue again, like before. I’m the cunt that will take him back. 
Now he’s gone. 
It’s probably for the best. I was a horrible wife. Oh God, my poor husband. I was the worst sub ever, always questioning things. Shit, shit girlfriend. Dear God, my poor Sir. So this guy comes along and I can magically make him happy? As if moving my life, changed who I was? 

Oh Kitten, what a fool you are. The villain in the story doesn’t get to cry. My husband told me that once. He’s right. 
So I had a bottle of wine and one last fight with him and lit my flamethrower. 
He’s better off without me. 
Yep. 

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