Chapter 30

Kendra

Sundays were supposed to be my favorite day of the week. For a lot of people, this wasn’t always the case because they had work on Mondays, which was rough after coming off their two free days. But for me, it was different. My schedule often changed from week to week. I didn’t always have Saturdays off, and I didn’t always work on Monday. My shifts moved around pretty consistently, depending on what I needed to do at the store. But one thing that always remained consistent was that I had Sunday off. As such, Sunday had come to be my favorite day of the week. Bar none.

My Sundays usually followed a pretty consistent pattern. I always slept in. Always. That was a rule more than anything, and I never broke it. I followed this up with brunch, then a stroll through the park, before settling myself down to either a movie or a book. Sometimes, I would catch up with friends, and sometimes, I would spend the day in isolation. It was totally up to me, and that was what made the day so great.

Unfortunately, the Sunday after Grant ended things for good, and after I had sold that mold to Loren, just wasn’t living up to the high expectations I had set for it. Not even close.

It started with the fact that I couldn’t sleep. It had been that way since Friday, carrying through to my Saturday and well into Sunday. The fact that I was up before ten in the morning should have been an indication to me that the day wasn’t going to be so hot. This was followed by the realization that the cafe I always went to for brunch had closed down. My weekend got even crappier the moment that I stepped in dog poo when I was sulking on my walk home.

But really, I was in such a bad mood because of Grant and my love life in general. Now that he had all but announced that he was done with me, I had begun to realize that I was very much alone. To make matters worse, I had zero romantic prospects on the horizon. It was a cold and depressing thought, and one that I was sure was going to destroy the rest of my Sunday if I didn’t do something about it.

So, to try and counter this problem, I gave Liz a call, sure that she would cheer me up.

“Seriously, how do you work in a candy store and lose weight?” Liz asked as we sat down to lunch. “It makes no sense.”

She was off to a flying start. When I called her, I specifically instructed her that I needed cheering up. She was more than willing to help. She recommended her favorite restaurant for lunch and wasted no time lifting my spirits.

“Also,” she continued. “I love your hair. New style?”

“Just a bun,” I pointed out, still managing to smile over the way she was beaming and fawning over me.

“Well, it’s divine. Divine!” She threw her hands in the air in excitement. “Ah yes,” she began as the waiter came over, mistaking her hands in the air for a demand for service. “I’ll have the sweetest, fattiest thing you have on the menu. And she will, too. And a bottle of red. Thank you very much.” The waiter nodded and scurried away, scribbling all the while.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I said.

“What? The wine or the food? Because I think both, if utilized correctly, are fabulous ideas.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said, sighing to myself as I did.

“Okay, that’s it. What’s wrong? Spill it. All of it.”

“What?” I asked, looking away. “Nothing. I just wasn’t feeling great, but I do now. Thanks so much. You’ve really helped.” I knew what was going to happen. Liz was going to try and get me to talk about what was bothering me. A useful strategy to be sure, but it wasn’t something I felt like doing right now.

“Bullshit. There is something bothering you. I know there is. I can feel it. I can sense it. And if you don’t tell me I’ll, I don’t know. I’ll have to embarrass you until you relent.”

“Embarrass me? What are you talking about?”

“Talking about things is the best way to heal. I’m only trying to help. I want you to keep that in mind over the next few moments, okay? That is, until you agree to start talking.” As she spoke she began to look around the restaurant, her eyes dancing from one person to another as if she were looking for something.

I knew what she was doing. She was about to engage in something outrageous in the hopes that it would get me to spill the beans. Often, it worked just like that, as Liz had no shame whatsoever. But that day, I didn’t care. She could go on making a fool of herself all she liked. There was no way I was talking.

“Excuse me, sir,” Liz spoke across the restaurant to an older male sitting at a nearby table. He was in his seventies at least and looked rather uptight, as did his wife “What is that you are eating?”

“Prawn cutlets,” the man responded pleasantly, taking one off his plate and biting into it.

“How are they?” Liz asked, standing up now and walking toward the man. I braced myself as she did, not sure what she was going to do.

“Delicious,” the man responded, crumbs dropping down his chin and onto his lap.

“Really?” Liz asked. As she did, she reached down and plucked a cutlet off the man’s plate. And then, before he had a chance to respond in any way, she popped it into her mouth. But she wasn’t done yet. “Blech,” she said, opening her mouth and letting the cutlet drop from it and back onto the plate. “Not for me at all.”

I watched, mouth hanging agape as she wandered back toward me and the table, leaving the man and his uptight looking wife behind. They both stared at her back, their mouths also hanging open in surprise. I hoped that was it for Liz and that she had given up. But I should have known better.

As she fell into her seat, she noticed a young mother with what must have been her baby son at the table right by ours.

“What an adorable baby!” she exclaimed to the young mother. “How old is he?”

“He’s two,” the mother beamed, evidently happy that her child was receiving such praise.

“Can he count?” she asked, pleasantly. I cringed, wanting to look away but unable to. What was she going to do?

“Up to five,” the mother said, proudly.

“Oh, so she can count this—”

Liz never finished what she was about to do because I didn’t let her. As she raised her hand, I leaped forward and grabbed it, before shoving it back down.

“It really is a beautiful baby,” I said hurriedly to the mother before pulling Liz’s attention back to me. I couldn’t be certain, but I was pretty sure that Liz was about to give that baby the finger.

“So, you’ll talk?” Liz asked casually, as if she hadn’t just embarrassed herself and me.

“Fine, fine I’ll talk,” I said, shaking my head at myself and the thought that I could have ever beaten Liz.

“Okay, spill it. What has you down?”

“It’s Grant,” I said with a sigh. “He’s the reason I’m feeling like this.”

“Explain,” she said simply as she leaned forward, her elbows on the table and her chin resting in her hands.

So I explained. Everything. I started with the chocolate-flavored dildo in the restaurant and what he had made me do. I then went into detail about the night at the club, the dinner we had, the blowjob I had given him in the car. This transitioned to the sex we had, the butt plug he had made me wear, and the sex we had in his apartment. From there, I detailed the trip we had taken to Atlantic City, the blowjob I gave him, followed by the head and sex he gave me, and of course the pussy mold. I then culminated the story by explaining Michael, Loren, his reaction to the whole thing, and how he told me that he couldn’t see me again. Ever.

As I spoke, Liz listened. She really was the perfect audience. She gasped at the right times, sighed when it was appropriate, and even gave me a high five when I described how I had all but tricked Grant into going down on me.

It was amazing how therapeutic it was to unburden myself to Liz. As I spoke, I could feel the tension releasing itself from my shoulders and back. I could feel a lot of what had me so wound up before, washing away and dissipating. By the time I was finished with the story, our meal had come and gone, our bottle of wine was finished, and I was actually feeling a lot better.

“So,” I said when the story had come to an end. “What do you think? Am I a hopeless case?”

“Not hopeless. No. And first of all. Great story. Really, well done.” She offered me a small clap before continuing. “But I automatically can see what the problem is. You want to hear it?”

“Of course,” I said, wondering what words of wisdom she was about to lay at my feet.

“You’re depressed.”

“Oh, okay?”

“No, no, hear me out. Everything you told me led me to one simple conclusion. You don’t know how great you are. All of it was you trying to please Grant when really, it should have been the other way around. Girl, you need to love yourself if you want someone else to love you, too. You feel me?”

“I guess so,” I began, kind of seeing her point. True, my self-confidence wasn’t exactly at its highest, but oddly enough, Grant had actually helped it improve. He hadn’t destroyed it. Or at least, I thought he had.

“And, when it’s all said and done, there are always plenty more fish in the sea. Regardless of how big his dick is.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at that one. Liz always had a way of getting a laugh out of me, regardless of how inappropriate it may have been. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course, I am! Now, it’s a Sunday, so there is only one thing we can do.”

“What’s that?”

“Keep this high going. Come on, let’s go to a bar and throw a few more back. On me.”

With no real choice, and feeling a little tipsy already, I nodded and allowed myself to be led from the restaurant and toward whatever bar Liz had chosen for us. All the while though, I thought on what she had said, about there being plenty more fish in the sea. It was an expression that I had always disliked because as good as it sounded, it wasn’t one hundred percent accurate.

Sure, there were plenty more fish in the sea. I didn’t deny that. But that wasn’t really the point. I didn’t want more fish. I wanted Grant, and Grant only. And coming to that realization made me decide that I didn’t care what Grant had said. I didn’t care if he thought that it would be best if he never saw me again. I was going to get him back, one way or the other.