Part 1The Stable Lover

For three years, I was Damon’s girlfriend, and in his circle, I was famous for it. I was the perfect, ride-or-die girlfriend.

I never checked his phone. I never cared how many other women he flirted with. I never started a fight, no matter how late he came home.

Damon was proud of it. He’d brag to his friends about how much I loved him.

Until one day, he stumbled upon the old social media account I shared with my first love.

The me in those posts was possessive and jealous, a universe away from the emotionally stable woman I was now. In one video, my ex was laughing, a helpless look on his face.

“Why are you always so angry?” he teased.

My voice, full of righteous indignation, shot back, “I only get angry because I love you! If I didn’t, I wouldn’t give a damn.”

Damon froze.

* * *

When I ran into Damon at the bar, a beautiful girl in a crop top and shorts was perched on his lap. Her slender arms were wrapped around his neck, her glossy lips parted in a dazzling smile as she leaned in close.

A few of his married friends were already getting up to leave, making their apologies. “Sorry, Damon, man. The wife’s got me on lockdown. She’s already called three times. If I’m not home soon, I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Damon let the girl on his lap pluck the cigarette from his mouth and place it between her own lips. He scoffed. “You’re all pathetic. Getting whipped by a woman.”

His single friends hooted. “That’s our Damon! No matter what time he gets home, Callie never says a word. You gotta teach us your ways, man!”

The girl in his arms giggled, pressing herself against him. “Yeah, Damon. Aren't you afraid your girlfriend will see you with me and get mad?”

A flicker of pride crossed his face. “She’s crazy about me. She’d do anything I say. We’ve been together three years, and she’s never once started a fight.”

“Damn! That’s our guy!” The men around him laughed, their faces full of envy. “All these years, Damon’s been playing the field, and she’s never dared to say a thing. That’s a real man—”

His words died in his throat. He’d spotted me standing a few feet away, my expression blank.

Damon saw me too. There was no panic in his eyes, just a casual arrogance. He pushed the girl off his lap and beckoned me over with a lazy flick of his wrist. “What are you doing here?”

I hesitated for a beat before walking over. “I’m here with friends.”

The girl who’d been pushed away shot me a dirty look, then forced a tight smile. “Callie.”

Up close, I recognized her. The new secretary at Damon’s company. Mia, I think her name was. She’d gone to some no-name state school, but Damon had seen her resume photo and hired her on the spot. I guess it didn’t take him long to seal the deal.

I ignored her.

Damon was clearly drunk. His handsome eyes were watery, devastatingly beautiful under the hazy club lights. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him. “Didn’t even tell me you were coming out. Give me a kiss.” He leaned in.

I flinched away instinctively. I had no idea if he’d already kissed Mia. The thought of it was disgusting.

Damon’s expression soured, the smile vanishing from his lips. He was the one sitting, but his gaze was somehow condescending. “Callie, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

I turned my head slightly. “You’re drunk.”

“Are you saying you’re too good for me?” My rejection, especially in front of his friends, was a direct blow to his ego. His eyes went cold. He yanked Mia back onto his lap, his hand gripping the back of her head.

A triumphant look flashed across her face as she surrendered to his kiss.

Right there, in front of me, they shared a deep, messy kiss. When they finally broke apart, Mia was breathless, a thin, silvery thread of saliva connecting their lips for a moment. She shot me a smug, victorious smile.

Damon looked at me, his eyes full of challenge.

The rest of his friends went silent, their gazes fixed on me. They were all waiting for the explosion. No woman would tolerate her boyfriend doing that. Surely, this was my breaking point.

I just met his gaze and said calmly, “You’re drunk. I’m leaving.”

As I walked away, I heard one of his friends whisper in awe.

“Holy shit, her composure is insane. She’s not even mad!”

“That’s Damon for you. He’s got her trained. She’s too scared to piss him off and get dumped.”

“She’s just that in love. I heard she chased him for a whole year. Does whatever he says. She’s completely hooked.”

Damon let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “She’d never leave me. She doesn’t have the guts to get angry.”

The late winter air was sharp as a knife. It had started snowing at some point, fat flakes swirling in the air, turning red in the taillights of cars, then yellow under the streetlamps. I tightened my scarf and leaned against a brick wall, lighting a cigarette.

The menthol flavor mixed with the cold air, a sharp sting in my lungs. It was my first love’s favorite brand. I used to beg him for a puff, and he would always scold me. “Callie, are you crazy? If I ever catch you smoking, I’ll kill you!”

The day we broke up, I bought my first pack. I smoked it between fits of coughing.

After that, there was no one left to stop me.

I don’t smoke much anymore. But sometimes, when the feelings bubble up, I can’t help it.

Watching Damon kiss someone else didn’t make me angry.

Because I didn’t love him at all.