Chapter 1: Naomi
“I think maybe we should just call it quits and head home.” Words that dagger into my bare and exposed soul. Once the clothes come off, I can no longer hide what is beneath.
Standing naked in a shabby Scarborough hotel room, one of those seedy establishments that let people book them by the hour. Her words make me aware of my body, how vulnerable I feel standing there in a pile of my own panties and bra while she sits back on the bed in her self-assured finery of lace. The woman is fifteen years my senior, and even from across the room I can smell is a smoker. Sunk so low that a one-night stand who is the exact opposite of what I’d like to date, and she has the nerve to tell me when I am at my most vulnerable that I’m not her type.
How dare she do this to me! Do me the decency, turn off the damn lamp, and get it over with. Instead, she scopes my shivering frame, assessing what’s on offer, and rejects it. I am more than my weight! But to her, I am a waste of time.
“I wish you told me sooner. I don’t do girls like you.”
The blame. It’s my fault, somehow, not like I chose to be this way. I glower, but it isn’t the first time this has happened. Nor the second. A long string of dates, each ending the same way, with me rummaging around the room for fallen clothes and unused condoms. A narrative repeated a dozen times that when the apology left my mouth, it doesn’t register.
“I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
There’d be no notches on my bed tonight. Another strike. Best of luck next time, Naomi. What a crappy way to end my work week.
