When the boys saved me several years ago from the vicious cycle I was living in with Tyson, I had an epiphany. It took me some time, but one day I woke up, and it was like I’d been whacked with a hedge slammer. I realized that I’d been living a non-productive, toxic life, with a boy who just wasn’t ever able to cope with becoming a man. I just didn’t understand why I stayed around so long. What did that say about me?

My mother did her best to leave me with lots of life lessons before she passed. She didn’t raise me to be a doormat, or a punching bag, or an idiot. Yet somehow, I allowed myself to become just that. All of that. What we didn’t really talk much about, and I’d guess that’s because I was so young when she became sick, was that relationships were complex. Men could build you up and tear you down all in one moment, or worse, slowly spread across little moments that occurred every single day. Until one day you looked up and you weren’t the person who you were once were. Who you were supposed to be.

After living in a wasteland with Tyson, I felt a strong need to make up for lost time. I had spent much of my youth with him. Being smothered by him. Lost in him. The problem with moving forward was that I didn’t know how to relate to other men. I knew the mechanics of sex, how to give pleasure, and how to receive it, because Tyson and I had plenty of it; but there were other things that I didn’t know. So I made some mistakes over the post Tyson years.

I flirted with the wrong people. Slept with a few really bad apples. And the little bit of confidence I had left started to wane. So I created my list of rules. Hoping that creating some structure around who and how I dated would help. And for a time the rules definitely helped me keep things comfortable and casual, until I fucked up and broke every single one in a Baltimore hotel room.

How was I supposed to work with someone who knew my body better than my gynecologist? How was I supposed to go on with business as usual when he said all those depraved things in my ear that night? I prayed that someone would come along to help me forget Camden’s touch, his body, his kiss, and how it felt when he was inside of me.

And then came a sliver of hope … Dallas.

I was driving my mother’s old Toyota Camry, a car that had seen better days, but that I didn’t want to let go of, for sentimental reasons, when I met him. The car wouldn’t start, and I was stuck in my worst nightmare—stalled on the Benjamin Franklin Bridge in the middle of rush hour.

I’d forgotten to renew my AAA membership, like an idiot, and I didn’t want to call one of the guys. They were my last resort, because I knew if I did that I’d never hear the end of it about my “shitty car.” They were dying for me to buy a new one.

It started to drizzle outside. Cars were whizzing by me. People drive a lot faster than you realize when you’re just standing still by the side of a road. It was clear that people had places to go. Everyone wanted to get home, and no one seemed to want the bother of stopping in the rain to help me. No one but Dallas.

He was driving a black Acura sedan, and as soon as we made eye contact, he slowly pulled his car to the side on the slender shoulder of the bridge.

“Car won’t start?” he asked after rolling down his window.

“I’m not sure what the problem is.”

“What year is this, a two thousand?”

“No a ninety-nine.”

“A car this old, it’s probably the starter. You may need a new one.”

He spoke with a slight twang. My guess was that he was from the southwest.

“Are you a mechanic?”

“No.” He grinned as if I paid him the highest compliment. “I just know cars.”

“Okay, so what do you suggest?”

“Well me giving you a jump may work temporarily. At least we can get you off the bridge. Then you’ll need to get it to a shop immediately. I know a good guy over by me who’ll give you a good price.”

“And where’s that?”

“South Philly.”

“You don’t sound like you’re from South Philly.” I snickered.

“I’m not.” He smiled. “I’m from the great state of Texas.”

“I figured as much.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your accent obviously.” I grinned then pointed. “And your boots. No men from South Philly wear cowboy boots.”

“Sure they do.” He smiled. “I bought these on South Street just last month.”

Relief settled in my bones. He was a good guy and not a dangerous stranger I’d have to gouge in the eyes later. Sometimes in my line of work, it was easy to forget that people were essentially good for the most part and not a whole bunch of degenerates.

“What’s your name?” he asked while lifting up the hood of my car.

“Jade.”

“Pretty name. I’m Dallas.”

I laughed for the obvious reason, “Not much creativity there.”

“Don’t be so sure. I’m from the Houston area not Dallas.”

“Kind of mean for your mom to name you that then.”

“My parents met in Dallas at some sort of rally. It’s a long, boring story.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it after we get my car off of this bridge then.”

His eyes bulged a bit. I think my forwardness surprised him. Hell, it surprised me too. I was used to men approaching me, but there was something about the way Dallas looked at me that made me want to make the first move. He was different than the overbearing creeps I usually met, and he was a nice looking guy to boot. Someone I didn’t mind getting back on the horse with and breaking the Camden mind trance I’d been under.

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know, darlin’.”

Dallas ended up being one of the nicest men I’d ever met. That’s part of the reason why we were doomed from the start. I didn’t realize how fucked up in the head I still was until I started dating him.

He opened doors for me, and I would stare at him in bewilderment. He’d call just to say good night, and I’d stare at the incoming call in annoyance. He bought me flowers for my birthday, which was nice, but I guess I’m not a flowers kind of girl. I didn’t even have a vase for them, so I stuck them in a bowl of water and left them on the kitchen counter.

After a date he’d come over to my place and would want to hold me or spoon me since we weren’t ready for sex yet, but I felt smothered. I just wanted him to leave, so I could spend the rest of the night watching game highlights.

I think our most significant difference though was that Dallas detested confrontation. If he thought we were about to disagree on something, he pulled back hard. He’d hang up the phone or if we were together, he’d find excuses to leave. Yet I was determined to make it work.

I think I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t broken. That I wasn’t some sort of broken spirit that could only be in unhealthy relationships or have meaningless one-night stands. I needed to prove to myself that I could be normal, and more importantly that I didn’t want Camden.