willing. Others go barreling clean over it. No care for boundaries at all. Me, I know what ramifications my actions would have. Well, if anyone ever found out about them. But they won’t. I will never tell a soul my secret. It will just be mine.
There are times I am on my own and I let my mind dwell on it. It rolls around my head consuming my thoughts and I have to admit I like it. Does this make me a bad person? Perhaps. I am willing to feel guilt over my deception because my actions cause me so much pleasure. These moments are only brief. I can’t risk being found out. Too many people would be hurt.
So I live my life according to the rules of others while my secret festers its way through my body. It bleeds slowly out of my heart and into my veins. Each word of my secret pulsing through me as it gets closer to the surface. I imagine one day it will get so close to the surface it will spring forth from my lips and reveal the monster I really am. There would be a giggle and then a torrent of words. I envision people seeing the manic woman confessing her sins to the world and revealing the dark side that lurks beneath. It won’t be pretty. The twisted faces of those who realize they’ve been deceived, and then the torture when they see me for who I really am.
So I prolong this day as long as possible, living my life with as much normalcy as I can. No one will know the real me.
No one will know that I have been willingly ruined by Angel – at least not while I can keep my mouth shut.
One
I live in Astoria, Oregon. It’s a small town that boasts being the oldest American settlement established west of the Rocky Mountains. My favorite movie of all time, ‘The Goonies’, was filmed here when I was a child. But I’m an adult now, and have responsibilities and obligations.
My fiancé and I reside in a house on The North Slope. I bought it when I was just twenty-three with money I had inherited from my grandfather. When I was younger my family and I used to vacation here, and I fell in love with the place instantly. Having my own money allowed me to make the move from my home town of Washington DC. The Victorian home I purchased looks north towards the Columbia River and I wouldn’t trade the high winds and rain that blanket the slope for anywhere else in the world.
Carron was working as a doctor at the local hospital when I needed stitches for a laceration to my arm. There were a lot of renovations to do on the house, and with money starting to dwindle I had taken upon doing them myself. It was silly really, but a simple slip on the wet driveway allowed the broken window I was carrying to slip and slice deeply into my arm. I bandaged it quickly and drove myself to the Columbia Memorial Hospital.
The minute I laid eyes on him I knew he was a kind man. He had warm hazel eyes that twinkled behind his glasses. I knew he was a lot older than me by the whispers of grey hair that graced his sideburns. He fixed my arm, and I wondered if he might be able to fix the rest of me too.
For a while, I didn’t think I would ever be able to be with another man. Carron changed that. He pursued me relentlessly for six months until I said I would go out with him. At first I thought it would just be companionship. But he offered stability when all I had known was destruction and hopelessness. I gave myself to him in the only way I knew how – I slept with him. That was a year and a half ago.
Recently, Carron asked me to marry him. I said yes. Not because I’m in love with him – because I’m not. I do love him, though only as much as one can when they feel their soul is ultimately tied to another. It has always been this way since I was fifteen. I know my feelings will never change, so I have made the best of what I can. Life with Carron sometimes feels like a lie. Sometimes I feel like a rotten shit for keeping him around, especially when he looks at me with those eyes. Sad and soulful – willing me to give him more
There are times I am on my own and I let my mind dwell on it. It rolls around my head consuming my thoughts and I have to admit I like it. Does this make me a bad person? Perhaps. I am willing to feel guilt over my deception because my actions cause me so much pleasure. These moments are only brief. I can’t risk being found out. Too many people would be hurt.
So I live my life according to the rules of others while my secret festers its way through my body. It bleeds slowly out of my heart and into my veins. Each word of my secret pulsing through me as it gets closer to the surface. I imagine one day it will get so close to the surface it will spring forth from my lips and reveal the monster I really am. There would be a giggle and then a torrent of words. I envision people seeing the manic woman confessing her sins to the world and revealing the dark side that lurks beneath. It won’t be pretty. The twisted faces of those who realize they’ve been deceived, and then the torture when they see me for who I really am.
So I prolong this day as long as possible, living my life with as much normalcy as I can. No one will know the real me.
No one will know that I have been willingly ruined by Angel – at least not while I can keep my mouth shut.
One
I live in Astoria, Oregon. It’s a small town that boasts being the oldest American settlement established west of the Rocky Mountains. My favorite movie of all time, ‘The Goonies’, was filmed here when I was a child. But I’m an adult now, and have responsibilities and obligations.
My fiancé and I reside in a house on The North Slope. I bought it when I was just twenty-three with money I had inherited from my grandfather. When I was younger my family and I used to vacation here, and I fell in love with the place instantly. Having my own money allowed me to make the move from my home town of Washington DC. The Victorian home I purchased looks north towards the Columbia River and I wouldn’t trade the high winds and rain that blanket the slope for anywhere else in the world.
Carron was working as a doctor at the local hospital when I needed stitches for a laceration to my arm. There were a lot of renovations to do on the house, and with money starting to dwindle I had taken upon doing them myself. It was silly really, but a simple slip on the wet driveway allowed the broken window I was carrying to slip and slice deeply into my arm. I bandaged it quickly and drove myself to the Columbia Memorial Hospital.
The minute I laid eyes on him I knew he was a kind man. He had warm hazel eyes that twinkled behind his glasses. I knew he was a lot older than me by the whispers of grey hair that graced his sideburns. He fixed my arm, and I wondered if he might be able to fix the rest of me too.
For a while, I didn’t think I would ever be able to be with another man. Carron changed that. He pursued me relentlessly for six months until I said I would go out with him. At first I thought it would just be companionship. But he offered stability when all I had known was destruction and hopelessness. I gave myself to him in the only way I knew how – I slept with him. That was a year and a half ago.
Recently, Carron asked me to marry him. I said yes. Not because I’m in love with him – because I’m not. I do love him, though only as much as one can when they feel their soul is ultimately tied to another. It has always been this way since I was fifteen. I know my feelings will never change, so I have made the best of what I can. Life with Carron sometimes feels like a lie. Sometimes I feel like a rotten shit for keeping him around, especially when he looks at me with those eyes. Sad and soulful – willing me to give him more
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