I had nightmares over the years. Of waking up and being alone. Loneliness is something really terrible. Having no one there to talk to, no one there to love you. No one to care for you. The only thing worse than being alone is being alone after having someone you thought would never do such a thing. The pain of their abandonment, their betrayal. It made you wish that you never even knew them to begin with. Every time I thought of trying to move on, let someone get close to me, I would remember that morning after I gave Bruce my virginity.

Of being in my empty house all by myself.

I woke up this morning not all different than I usually did. Alone, and covered by a giant pile of blankets and a stack of 3 pillows, one folded up onto itself.

Being naked was a change, since I usually did at least wear a nightie. Also, being in a house that wasn't immediately familiar was a big difference from my usual routine.

It took a moment to realize that I was in Bruce's mansion. Alone. Without Bruce.

My heart immediately started to pound through my chest. He wouldn't have...

Any exhaustion I had quickly was tossed away, adrenaline rushing through me. I was alone again. The next night after having Bruce. I hated that my mind immediately made the worst of assumptions, but that's exactly where it went.

I tried to calm myself down. I was in his home. He had things to do. He was a busy man, and I tended to sleep heavily which is why it was so easy for him to get up without me.

Still, my feet were once again heavy as I walked around, listening for any sign of life in the place. There didn't seem to be any, really. I looked out the window. It was overlooking the backyard, and he wasn't there either. Tepidly, I stepped out of the room, and started to look for him, feeling as though this was just another rerun in my life.

Not in the pool. Not in his kitchen. Not in a bathroom, or a living room or a closet. Just me and my naked body all alone in his massive place. I breathed steadily. It was his place. He would come back. I set out to return to the bedroom, wondering what exactly I was meant to do. On the way, though, I saw something on the foyer table. The National Secret. A tabloid. I mostly ignored them, always considering them to be full of lies that any real journalist would hate themselves for publishing.

This particular brand of lies, though, was about Bruce.

It showed him walking hand and hand with some plastic looking blonde woman, who seemed she had more money than sense. She was about my age, but clearly already had a bunch of cosmetic surgeries already done in her pursuit of perfection. My head told me to ignore it. Sure, Bruce would pick up these things, try to get a hold of the rumors that were being tossed around about him.

There was enough intrigue in me that I picked it up and flipped to the article. It claimed that he was romantically involved with Sally Brunswick, daughter of the owner of the Norfolk Knights. It stated Bruce was looking to secure his importance to the team, and likely use his relationship to claim salary increases in the future, since the last thing Old Man Brunswick would want to do is make his daughter cry by letting his boytoy run off to another team.

I didn't buy it. On top of my normal skepticism of tabloids, Bruce's ambition was that he wanted to claim his riches legitimately. He wouldn't seek to get it by sleeping with some woman he didn't even like. I mean, she definitely didn't seem like his type.

Leaving the paper be, I finished my journey toward the bedroom. I figured I should get dressed, as tempting as being naked for him when he returned was. I was stopped again by a symphony of chimes. Phone notification sounds.

Obviously Bruce didn't take his whole collection of cell phones with him. Instead I glanced over at one of them that was sitting on his dresser. I froze, thinking to myself. Would it be wrong for me to look? Did I trust him that little?

The pain stung me, the doubt on Bruce returning to me. He did talk about a Sally the day before. Tabloids didn't usually make up stories whole cloth. There was usually a single event and they tended to blow them up out of proportion. It wasn't like they photoshopped him holding the woman's hands either.

Doubt was powerful enough in me to overpower by morality. I walked over, and picked up the phone, hit the button, and saw the text message.

"Waiting for you, Brucey-Wucey. Brunch. Eating these sausages, making me think of you. Letting you know, I've decided not to wear panties today. I also want your opinion on my new mini-skirt..."

The shivers returned to my spine. This wasn't a text message of a casual relationship. This was a message from a lover. Lovers who are very much active with one another. I unlocked the phone, seeing that it wasn't password protected, and dug through. His contact list was filled with names like Diane, Elizabeth, Jennifer, Nancy, and Colleen. Feminine names. Sure, there were a few names like Bill, Jeffrey, and Tyrone, but there were a whole lot of women.

Of course. Of course, he was an attractive, charming man. He was a superstar. He had to be having women throw themselves at him left, right, and center. Was I really foolish enough to believe that he spent the last six years not being intimate with anyone?

Was I foolish enough to believe that he spent four years with a girl who wouldn't put out? It all came rushing down at me, and the tears were forming in my eyes. Why was I so naive, so stupid? He was a straight up poon hound, not caring the least about the women he slept with, only his own gratification.

Me? I was there. I walked right up to his doorstep. He knew just how to push my buttons, get me to spread my legs, make him think he actually loved me. I walked right into his trap.

I didn't want to be there anymore. I should have never taken this assignment. I gathered my clothes and redressed myself, wearing a wrinkly mess of my outfit. I darted down the stairs. I had to get out of here now. Every second I was here was another second that I risked him coming back, another second where I would be reminded of my incredible folly.

Filthy. I felt filthy. Unprotected sex with a manslut. I graduated near the top of my class, I had straight As and Bs all throughout my school years, but never have I felt more stupid than I did right then and there. The shower that I so desperately desired though, would have to wait. Down the stairs, and to the front door, I bolted through, not caring that I couldn't lock the door behind me.

Not even five steps out the door, there was a series of flashes, the glare temporarily blinding me. I stumbled a bit, and as the brightness faded, I saw a man running away from me, camera in hand.

Paparazzi. Looking for the next part of their story on Bruce. I cringed, knowing I was going to show up one one of them, calling me a foul seductress who lured Bruce away from his goal of bedding the team owner's daughter.

If they could see his phone, they would see he probably already did that.

There was a part of me that wanted to back in and take one of those phones. Sell it to the highest bidder. Not give a damn about the damage I would potentially do to Bruce's reputation, live off the proceeds for the rest of my life.

No, that wasn't me. As thrilling as the allure of vengeance was, I just wanted to go back to pretending he never existed. Go back to being asexual. It wasn't a happy place, but the pain I felt there was nothing compared to the pain I felt then.

I climbed into my car and turned on the ignition. My last period was a week and some change ago. Why was I such a damn fool?