I Married a Narcissist: Not All Abuse Is Physical

By Nyah Neely

When she discovers a mistress on her husband’s phone, Nyah Hamilton embarks on a tireless quest to understand where she went wrong but exposes, instead, a secret far more sinister than infidelity.

Fresh off the table of reconstructive surgery, the formerly obese Nyah is swept off her feet by the charming Tirk Hamilton. Insecure and inexperienced, Nyah is captivated by the suave older gentlemen.

Soon in the relationship, the seemingly perfect couple begin to unravel. Unable to pinpoint or even describe what’s troubling her, Nyah fumbles through the motions assuming the problem is her ineptness.

Marriage only exacerbates Tirk’s aggression and lewd conduct with women. Practicing her “forgive and forget” principles she was raised with, Nyah turns a blind eye until nude pictures of Tirk’s lover force her hand.

In the aftermath of discovery, Nyah is bound and determined to uncover the truth behind her husband’s erratic behavior. Even at the cost of her own sanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 23, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728323930

Nyah Neely

Nyah Neely was born and raised in the midwest. In 2017, she escaped a seven-year relationship from a Narcissist. It’s Nyah’s passion that her story will raise awareness to the horrific reality of Narcissistic Abuse. More importantly, Nyah wishes to inspire hope to the 48% who experience psychological aggression from their partners. Nyah is a Season 3 Biggest Loser Reject who lost 100lbs on her own. She’s a Seinfeld enthusiast, DIY seamstress, and graduated with honors from a private University. She’s currently loving life “after” with her second husband, Paul. He is not a Narcissist.

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© 2019 Nyah Neely. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  09/21/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2394-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2393-0 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

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Notes

Authors’s Bio

My name is not Nyah Neely.

I did marry a narcissist and the account that follows is all true.

As a woman of faith, I’ve censored as best I know how without compromising the integrity of my story. These were my real, raw, authentic expressions of grief at the time I was living them. These were the words the narcissist spoke to me.

My intent is not to offend or exact revenge but to take ownership of my mistakes. My motivation is awareness, empowerment, and hope. My story is far too common and someone else is enduring the same battle at this very moment. To you I say, it’s not too late. There is life after abuse.

I escaped my narcissist. You can too.

Prologue

My heart beat so frantically against my chest, I feared it would explode open.

I was living my own morbid Tell Tale Heart nightmare.

The beating. Oh, the ferocious, clamoring beating of a broken heart.

I couldn’t stop now, though. I had to keep looking. I had to know how long this had been going on and why!

I scrolled up to see message after message between him and Jessica. Just hours ago she sent a selfie in her car. Her breast was spilling out of her blouse, Hi cutie :) she had typed.

Oh my God, Loki… Oblivious of my presence, the kitten I’d tried to confide in just licked himself.

More selfies. More pictures of her boobs. Daddy likes what he sees was the caption next to my husband’s profile picture.

Shaking violently, my thumb kept scrolling.

How was your birthday, handsome? she messaged. His response was a knife in my back: Eh. Same old, same old.

I was heaving in utter disbelief. Nine days earlier, on Tirk’s birthday, we went to a hotel. We’d had the hottest sex of our married life.

Am I going to see you Friday? she wrote.

Oh my God!

I could barely hold the phone from my tremors. I couldn’t read all the messages through my wet eyes… there was no sign of a starting point in sight. He had never sent a picture to her, but she had sent one every day. Some were benign and void of nudity. Some were cutesie peekaboo boob shots. Others were fully nude, posing seductively on her bed, professional caliber boudoir photos: Wish you were here, Tirk. -Me too :) :) :) Don’t stop he encouraged.

Oh my GOD! I wailed.

I threw the phone on the sofa.

His gibberish text from earlier finally made sense. Mmmm hhhhmm J. J for Jessica. He thought he was talking to her.

Can’t.

Breathe.

Can’t…

BREATHE!

I put my head between my legs, willing my body to accept air into my lungs.

My surroundings were starting to drown in a fuzzy blackness. My ears rang and my chest spasmed like a fish out of water.

Was this a panic attack?

God in Heaven, I began to pray as I flailed my arms for something to grab hold of. Help me! I can’t breathe! There was nothing to stabilize my balance. What do I do?

I clutched my chest and began to pace the living room. If Tirk considered me uptight before, now, I was downright carnal.

I knew you were a douchebag! I fell on the sofa and caught my breath. "I KNEW it!!!!" I screamed maniacally.

The fog that had engulfed my vision slowly dissipated.

My body quivered with rage. Compulsive thoughts of revenge flooded my psyche and the deplorable nature of them frightened me.

I ran to the bedroom to escape the recesses of my own mind. I grabbed our anniversary picture from a dresser and flung it to the ground, Lies! Glass shattered all over the floor and the cat, who’d since hidden from me under our bed, jetted away.

I grabbed another picture and smashed it to oblivion. I cleaned up your vomit. You can clean up my mess when you wake up, you prick!

Throwing all his clothing to the ground, I shouted profanities that I never dared speak aloud– the ones I only reserved in the darkest corner of my conscience. I let them flow out of my mouth with poetic fluidity. They were so vulgar and wretched, I expected God to open up the floor and smite me into hell right then and there.

I went to my closet and removed all the clothing he had ever purchased for me. I hurled them on the kitchen floor. He can throw them away for all I care. I want to send him a message by leaving them in plain sight next to the trash –not that he’ll actually get the message seeing how he’s the densest man on earth!

Better yet, maybe you can give them to your precious J Boo, you bastard!

A thought then occurred to me.

I ran back to his phone and opened up their message thread. This is Tirk’s wife, I punched wildly with my finger.

Send.

I waited for a response and then realized I truly didn’t care.

He’s all yours, bitch. No exclamation point. No angry face emoji. He’s yours. Take him… May he bring you the same joy he’s brought me.

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Before

T he heavy, high-pitched creak of the door announced Dr. Blake’s entrance. She pulled the curtain over the window and without any formalities, began her examination.

Her fingers danced across the bandages on my nipples, Nice pink hue…

She unzipped the binder from my ribs to my hips and exposed my abdomen. As she peeled away the compression garment, I looked down to see my stomach for the first time.

I lost count of the stitches that lined the 24 inch M-shaped cut. It didn’t jar me in the least. I was too enamored with the fact that the two sagging stomachs I’d had my whole obese life were now gone. They were there this morning and now they weren’t. Eight hours of reconstruction replaced them with a smooth washboard. My eyes welled. I’d dreamed of this moment for so long. After 20 years of battling my weight, I had finally won. It was surreal: I had a flat stomach and perky new boobs. Though I was swaddled neck to knee in blood-stained gauze, I felt beautiful for the first time in my life.

Are you uncomfortable? she asked. No doubt she thought my tears were from pain.

I’m okay, I answered with the voice of a life-long chain smoker.

Her eye-contact moved back and forth between me and my mother as she spoke, I know you feel rough right now but at midnight the nurse is going to take you for a walk. We want to avoid blood clots at all costs and walking will also help prevent pneumonia.

I blinked, hoping that conveyed acknowledgement. Dr. B’s reciprocal smile indicated she was used to the stupor of her patients and took no offense.

Get some sleep. I’ll examine you again in the morning and then you can go home. She scribbled in my chart. I would encourage you to sip some Sprite. Eat a few crackers. If you think you can eat a meal that would be even better.

I swallowed down vomit.

She chuckled, "Eventually you will need to eat."

I never thought I’d live to see the day I’d not crave food, and the thought of it would repulse me. It was a different world, indeed.

Dr. Blake left and I could sense my mom was anxious to get home. If you need anything you can call me. She set my cell phone on the food tray in front of me. I moaned in frustration when I tried to reach for it but couldn’t lift my arms. It was as if an elephant lay on my torso.

Mom laughed without shame, Oh, honey… She put it next to my hand on the bed and then her tone turned serious. You push that call button if you need a nurse! Do you understand me?

I could only nod.

"Nyah Marie. Her eyes raised in a scolding way that made me regress back to childhood. I chuckled and then winced in pain, Yes, ma’am… I whispered. Please don’t make me laugh…"

What are you going to do if you need help? she quizzed me.

Push the button, I wheezed in submission.

The purse of her lips revealed her satisfaction with my response. That didn’t stop her from physically putting the button in my other hand for me. I chuckled instinctively and the pain caught me off guard. I swore in my head out of respect for her.

My phone vibrated next to me, but I’d lost consciousness before I could discover why. Blackness engulfed me like a warm blanket until I was rudely awoken by the nurse. Surely it wasn’t midnight already?

She moved the food tray with my uneaten crackers. Condensation pooled around the Styrofoam cup with my Sprite.

Pulling the blankets off my legs, she removed flotation looking devices from my calves. They automatically inflated and deflated every few seconds to thwart potential blood clots. The rhythmic cadence lulled me to sleep and the bursts of pressure felt like a massage. I’d grown accustomed to the sound and feeling. When she removed them I felt naked and cold.

Lifting my legs off the bed, she swung them over the edge. My torso remained unmoved and I moaned until she lifted me to a sitting position.

Easy does it, she coaxed.

With her assistance, I scooted off the bed and got to my feet. She held my morphine bag with one hand and held her other arm out as a spot, "I’m only supposed to help you if you absolutely need it…" she explained, maintaining a safe stance away from me.

If I need it, I repeated in my head. I was cut in half today! Of course I need help! I’m not the bionic woman, here. True, I ran a 5K last night but now I couldn’t even stand up straight.

I took several breaks as we walked along the corridor. I held to the wall railing like my life depended on it. Nurse tough-love told me I couldn’t –doctor’s orders. I choked down bile from the exertion multiple times.

Those few minutes seemed like hours and I could’ve cried with relief when we arrived back at my sanctuary.

Sarah hoisted my legs on the bed and eased me down to the pillow. Vomit rose in my mouth. Acquiring the strength to sit back up, locate my puke bucket and purge seemed too arduous a task, so I swallowed it.

She dampened a washcloth and wiped the dripping sweat off of my face. Everything was put back in its place and the melodious vibrations on my legs sent me into a sweet slumber.

Another vibration on the bed stirred my attention.

With effort, I flipped open the razor of my phone and saw a Facebook notification: Tirk Hamilton sent you a message

I had missed seven texts from him today. He’s the reason my phone had been vibrating all this time, I pieced together. We had just started talking last week. A mutual friend introduced us and our exchanges had only occurred through social media so far. I told him I’d be having a little procedure today and that I’d be unavailable for a while. That hadn’t seemed to foil his efforts or scare him off.

Impressed, I opened it and read, Hey Nyah. I prayed for you today :) Hope you’re doing well.

I smiled in spite of myself… Maybe there are nice guys out there after all.

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After

I retrieved the Christmas gifts I’d hidden in the linen closet. I angrily unwrapped them and discarded the paper all over the floor. Foul language spewed from my filthy mouth. I’d take them back to the store first thing in the morning. Such a waste, I cried. It was then I realized the cat was whining too.

Oh, God. Had I accidentally hurt him in the chaos?

I bent down to pick him up. I’m sorry… I tried to be calm. I’m so, so sorry.

His paws flailed, feeding off the panic from me, and he scratched my left eye in his fear. My vision went blurry.

"Wow! Seriously?" He sprang from my arms and found a place to hide.

I stormed into the spare bedroom purposefully flinging the lights on and making as much noise as I could. I’m not going to make things easy on you at all you dirt bag!

Buried deep in the closet was my luggage. I wrangled all three pieces of my lime green Nine West set.

What are you doing? he groaned.

I’m leaving you, asshole!

He had a funny smirk on his face, "You’re leaving, huh?"

Yes, Tirk. I’m leaving you. I saw the pictures of Jessica!

His smirk faded and was replaced with a look I’d come to memorize: The I’m-going-to-pout-and-mimic-real-human-emotion-so-you-think-I’m-sorry-but-it’s-all-an-act-and-I’ll-fake-it-just-long-enough-for-you-to-forgive-me-like-you-always-do-and-then-I’ll-go-right-back-to-doing-the-exact-same-shit-because-we-both-know-the-real-problem-is-my-sensitive-wife look. She’s the toxic one. She’s the one with the issues. She’s the one that demands so much of me… I do so much for her and it’s all just so unappreciated… I’m the real victim in all this. Excuse me while I go on Facebook and write a passive-aggressive status update about it… I hope all my honeys see it and comment on it. I could sure use a pick-me-up right now.

That smug, entitled, egotistical dick! I wanted to punch him in the face! If he had been coherent enough to argue back, I guarantee you I’d have ended up apologizing to him about this whole thing.

After seven years of getting that response from him, I finally figured it out. It took a full-fledged mistress to wake me up.

"How long has that been going on?" I asked.

Head hung, he shrugged his shoulders tragically.

"Well you can have her!"

I threw my luggage into the hallway.

When you find alternate living arrangements, call me. Oh! I had an after-thought. Make sure it’s cat-friendly.

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Before

T hinking of you, cutie , I read as another vibration came through on my phone.

Too distressed from my overwhelming need to urinate, I laid it at my side and pushed the button instead. Tirk would just have to wait!

A new nurse appeared in my doorway, Gotta go? she said, knowingly.

I may not make it… The effects from the oxygen tube had vanished and my voice was back to normal.

She began the painstaking process of moving my food tray, removing my calf massagers, hoisting my legs up, raising me up and helping me to my feet. She hadn’t aided or even met me yet but all the staff seemed to have this drill down to an exact science.

Walking across the hall to the toilet was much less grueling than the lap around the recovery wing last night. I dare say it was pleasant by comparison.

My compression garment conveniently had an open crotch, so I didn’t have to worry about disrobing. It was squatting onto the seat that took more time than I was prepared for. The pain was agonizing.

When I had finally seated myself, relief hit and I moaned from pleasure instead of pain. A new type of pressure began to radiate through my lower abdomen, though –pressure different from the elephant-on-my-chest pain I’d grown accustomed to from the surgery. I looked at the wad of toilet paper I used to wipe myself and my period was in full flow.

"Are you serious?" I vented out loud.

The nurse retrieved a pair of medical undies, put them around my ankles because I could not bend down to do it myself. She put a sanitary pad on the underwear for me and hoisted it up my legs and over my compression garment.

I’m sorry… I said. This whole situation was mortifying.

She laughed leading me back to my room, It’s what we do, Nyah. She sat me on the edge of the bed while she situated my IV back in its place. The exertion was too much to handle but this time I couldn’t force myself to swallow.

I’m going to be sick.

With just enough time to spare, she placed a bowl under my face. Vomit poured out of me like a faucet. It splattered hard against the pink plastic and splashed out on to me and her; to the floor and on to my bed. My stomach wouldn’t stop wrenching and the spasms made my eyes water. All I could do was grit through and pray that my insides wouldn’t rip open. She sat down next to me and rubbed my back.

I think I’m done… I panted.

She walked the overflowing bucket of my green rancid putrid to the sink. Where the heck did all that liquid even come from? I hadn’t eaten a bite since 10:00PM two nights earlier.

Narcotics can have that effect on people, she explained as she gently lowered me to my back. She padded my incisions with her fingers to make sure none of them had ruptured. You’ve got a lot of medicine coursing through your tiny little body. She put my legs on the bed and hooked my calves up. It’s just too much for some people… I bet you feel better though, she kind of chuckled.

I do, I admitted and smiled back.

She left the room and I thought, now I can add barfed all over you to the things I’m sorry I did to my nurse list. I was racking up quite the list of offenses.

Tiny little body. I’d never get used to hearing anyone refer to me as tiny.

My phone shook loudly on the food tray. It was from Tirk –Are you getting my messages, Nyah? I really hope you’re recovering well :) :) :) Drop me a line!

I giggled quietly. He’s persistent, isn’t he? Thanks, Tirk, I punched the numbers out one at a time. It’s been a rough morning! Your message made me smile.

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After

I rubbed my eyes hoping the blurriness would subside but it didn’t. If anything it was getting worse. And it hurt ! It felt like an eyelash was slicing my lid open from the inside. Every time I blinked the pain just intensified.

I shut the door so the demon cat who blinded me wouldn’t walk on any broken glass.

Assuming Tirk would run away with Jessica, laughing all the while at the idiot wife he was finally rid of, I packed all my valuables: my jewelry, my Fossil watch, the FitBit Surge. I packed my make-up, clothes, toiletries, shoes, and three weeks worth of clothes. I packed everything in anticipation of him robbing me blind by either selling my stuff or trashing it because that’s just the sort of thing he’d do.

I grabbed my laptop, my pillow, my cell phone, my camera… Everything but the kitchen sink was coming with me.

I put on my snow boots, tucking my pajamas in them, and threw on my winter coat. I would have to pack in stages.

Our detached garage door I had shut moments earlier was open again. I was shoving my car to the brim with luggage and Christmas presents that would never be gifted. Sobs would escape my mouth in random bursts and I’d picture her naked body looking up at me.

Hi handsome! :) Am I going to see you Friday? Her words kept flashing in my head.

Our entire marriage I’d had nightmares that Tirk was cheating on me. Sometimes I’d tell him about it the next morning and he’d simultaneously comfort me like he was truly sorry, and then berate me for being irrationally jealous… Turns out my intuition had been warning me all along.

I couldn’t stop picturing his words, Wow. I never get sick of looking at you. Mornings, Afternoons, Evenings, Whenever :)

Ugh. Those dumb smiley faces! Are you a 48 year-old grandpa or a 16 year-old girl! I can’t believe you did this to me!

I could believe it, though. I was shocked but I wasn’t surprised.

Wish you were here. -Me too :) :) :) You’re so beautiful.

Did they talk about me? What about her husband? Did they talk about him? Did they laugh together about how stupid their spouses were?

I rubbed my eyes. My God, I can’t see anything! I groped the surface of every spot I might have kept my glasses and eventually found them. I put them on and did a final run-through of the house to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

I went back to the second bedroom for one last dig. Tirk was a drunken zombie.

"Well, I’m out of here. I hope you and Jessica will be happy together. She’s got some nice tits, I’ll give you that. Sorry you were stuck with this for so long."

I flashed back to countless past arguments about other women’s dirty pictures I’d catch him looking at. He’d apologize never actually saying, I’m sorry but his words would cleverly suggest he might be sorry. He’d look up at me with cow eyes and give me the I chose YOU speech. Like a ninny, I’d melt and we’d have make-up sex… until I’d catch him doing it again.

If I had a dollar for every time I heard the I chose YOU speech…

Don’t forget to call me when you find your own place. That little monster is going with you! I looked at the kitten I had secretly grown to love.

I studied him for a reaction but I could only make out hazy shapes. Nearly blind in my right eye –a birth defect that wasn’t caught in time, my eye doctor once told me I’d always depend on my almost perfect left eye to compensate.

I didn’t have that crutch anymore. The cat got my good one and I was impaired in both eyes now. I had lost my husband and my vision in one night. Merry freakin’ Christmas.

He hung his head down. He probably didn’t hear me. He probably didn’t care. He was sick of the I chose YOU speech too…

Okay, well, it was real while it lasted. -It wasn’t. Have a nice life. I looked at him with disgust and I actually starting laughing. How could I have been so stupid for so long?

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Before

E very morning, without fail, Tirk woke me with a message through Facebook. Toward the end of the week I was finally able to throw him a courtesy response. He’d reply within seconds no matter what time of the day it might have been. That man must’ve slept with his phone. I felt I owed him an explanation for my delays. I reasoned as politely, and vaguely, as I could that I was not blowing him off but simply didn’t feel well. His replies were always gentlemanly and understanding: That’s okay, Nyah. I didn’t expect you to respond, actually. I’m just glad you’re okay. I’ve been worried about you. I wanted to send you some flowers, but I wasn’t sure if that’d be appropriate :)

I swooned, Flowers would’ve been really nice I typed back. And crazy romantic I mused pathetically.

Awww, man! I should’ve done it :) :) Next time I won’t slack, I promise ;)

Hopefully, there won’t BE a next time! I punched the letters out on my phone emphatically.

LOL… So… what exactly did you have done? he pressed.

I heaved a sigh. There’s no way I was about to tell him I had a tummy tuck and boob job. Why, you ask, Tirk? Oh, because I used to be morbidly obese and now my body is a saggy baggy mess of loose skin.

I don’t think so!

Just a little procedure, I responded mistily. I’m fine, but it’s rougher than I had anticipated. I’m going to take another nap now lol. By the way, my doctor says it’s an eight week recovery. Please don’t take it personally that I can’t meet up with you until after that.

I was half hoping the admission would deter his pursuit. He was significantly older than me and divorced with three kids –and a grandson! Plus, I didn’t find him all that attractive. As an ex-fatty I realized I probably wasn’t the best catch either and felt horrible for even thinking that… but I did. I’d also had a miserable experience with my ex, Jack, and I was fearful to get back in to the dating game again. Maybe if I scared Tirk off first, he’d give up and move on.

His response came through immediately: I’ll wait eight weeks for you, beautiful.

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After

T he street lights appeared to me in double and triple. I squinted like never before willing the true objects to materialize in my sight. I had been traveling these streets my whole life. Now, I was forced to navigate them by memory.

This is not good, I kept repeating to myself. Maybe I made a mistake. I should turn back now before I kill myself –or someone else. Oh, geez, I’m no better than my drunk-driving letch husband! Maybe I should put on my flashers, pull over, and call my parents to pick me up. I began to pant with anxiety, but managed to calm myself down again.

Traffic was light even though it was barely 10 o’clock. People were probably at home celebrating Christmas this December 19th evening –Happy, loving families; happy, loving spouses who don’t cheat on their mates. Maybe they’re cuddled up by the fire making memories and exchanging gifts.

I started to weep again. The tears made my vision blurrier and I wiped them away frantically.

Get mad! Stop crying, you fool. He’s not worth your tears. You were treating him to an all expense paid trip to Florida for your freakin’ anniversary and HE was getting naked pictures from her!

How’s your anniversary? -Eh. Same old. Same old.

I can just see the exchange now: Maybe THIS will cheer you up, handsome! Insert boobs and vagina picture.

You Son of a BITCH! I pounded my fists on the steering wheel.

It was working. I was mad. In fact, my face was bone dry as I pulled into my parents’ drive-way. Facing them would be the really hard part… I pulled out my phone. I couldn’t see to text so I called the house. Hey, I just wanted to let you know I’m here. I didn’t want you to panic when you heard someone coming in through the back door.

Oh, ok, my mom’s jovial voice came through and then grew sullen. Are you all right?

I’m coming in now.

Just like I had packed in stages I had to unpack in stages. I waited until all the luggage was outside of my car before I made the call. I couldn’t prolong it anymore… Mom turned on the porch light and I wheeled my luggage, my baggage to the door.

Hey, she smiled popping her body through the threshold. Confused by the suitcases she just stared as I hoisted them into the mud room.

Dad made his appearance, Hey! – He too was initially excited to see me, then frowned.

What’s up? she asked.

Well… I have some bad news, I began. Tirk’s been cheating on me. No sooner did I get the words out, sobs overcame me again.

NO! my dad gasped.

Mom absorbed me in her arms and I wilted into her chest. I sobbed. Wailed. I cried like I’d never cried before.

She just held me.

After moments with nothing but the sound of my tortured laments, Dad huddled in too. The only man in my life that had never failed me put his hand on my shoulder. I could hear him moan in pain and shock.

I’m sorry… It was all I could say.

They instantly came to my defense.

I’ve ruined Christmas… I just couldn’t stay there… I’m sorry.

Don’t you worry about that at all. You can stay here as long as you like, Mom soothed. "What happened?"

I explained through guttural sobs that Tirk came home slobbering drunk. When he passed out cold I called Grant in a frenzy, I thought he had alcohol poisoning, I heaved in explanation. My rational older brother advised me to check his cell phone for a designated driver who could provide specific information on Tirk’s inebriation. I found a mistress instead.

"He is an idiot! Dad yelled harshly. He cheated on YOU?"

My body just nodded in response.

He is a damn fool! A damn FOOL!

In all my 34 years I had never once heard my dad swear. Mom, well, she was quick to anger –an emotional response, especially when it concerned her loves ones. But Dad, while every bit a softy in his own right, was more controlled and private about it. He was always the voice of steadiness. A consummate mediator, he could deflate any situation. He was sage-like in that he’d answer questions with other questions in order to make a point. He was metaphorical and had an answer for everything by comparison. When I was a kid, he would always explain things to me using these tactics and I’d walk away understanding exactly what he meant even though he never told me what to think. And it was all executed with unostentatious skill and calmness.

This was a side of my dad I had never seen before and I couldn’t help but smile. I think I even laughed. Dad was cussing!

For me.

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Before

T he July heat was in full swing in Indiana and temperatures were in the upper 90s. I was bandaged neck to knee, though, and had no choice but to conceal it from him. I wore loose fitting khaki’s because I still couldn’t fit jeans over my compression garment. I paired it with a long-sleeved collared shirt. All the medical dressings added girth to my body and I was spilling out a bit. I had to unbutton further down my blouse than I typically do. Luckily, the white binder on my chest that was settling the breast implants behind my pectoral muscles could pass for a camisole if he happened to see it.

It was the best I could do under the circumstances. I would just have to accept the fact that Tirk wasn’t going to see me at my best.

I double and triple checked everything in my rear-view mirror, regardless. It’s now or never I thought, getting out of my car.

I walked in to the Starbucks tugging at my clothes a bit. I was scared people could see right through me and just know she’s had some work done, but I pressed on and went inside.

He was already waiting inside the door.

Hi Tirk, I smiled.

Hey you, he said pulling me in for a hug. His smile was nice and his countenance seemed a bit shy, even. It was adorable. I immediately thought that he was much better looking in person. I decided I was very much attracted to him.

You look great, he went on as we walked to the counter.

Oh, geez, I rolled my eyes. Thanks… I’m still not completely back to normal but I feel so much better.

You’d never know by looking that you’ve gone through such an ordeal, he smiled coyly.

Man, he was smooth.

I ordered a Venti Iced Non-Fat White Mocha with no whip cream. He looked over at me and smirked with amusement. I’ll have the exact same thing, he told the barista. That’s my favorite drink.

Something else we had in common, I smiled.

There was an air of confidence in everything he did. He was charming and sexy and I began to wish that I had let him in sooner. I was so preoccupied with getting over Ross and Jack that I just assumed Tirk would be a jerk too. Not only was he proving me wrong, I was really falling for him.

We talked for two hours sitting in the purple velvet chairs. It was easy and natural. There was no awkwardness. Everything felt comfortable, like we’d known each other for years. Yet, it was exciting and new all at the same time. I could’ve talked to him all night but my medication was starting to wear off and I began to get fidgety.

I wish I could stay and talk some more, Tirk, I finally confessed. But it’s time for me to take my medication and I’m starting to feel pretty lousy. I’m sorry… I had actually been suffering through it for a while now, but I was enjoying his company so much I didn’t want to say anything.

I can tell, he admitted. Your body language has changed a bit and the animation in your face has dulled. Then he chuckled, I work in the field so I know the signs.

I nodded politely. As a geriatric social services director he would be akin to medications and their side effects. Thanks for understanding.

You’re still amazingly beautiful, though.

I felt my cheeks rouge. Earlier, he had stopped talking for a noticeable period of time and when I asked him what was on his mind he said, "Nothing. You’re just so gorgeous. So gorgeous."

Yes, I dare say, I was smitten.

He took my hand, rubbed it for a moment, then stood me up.

My insides dropped to the floor.

He led me to the parking lot with his hand settled between my shoulder blades. I flinched for a second in anticipation of him feeling the binder, but he never wavered from that spot. We should do this again. He brushed a strand of hair off my face and gave me a wink.

Holy crap he was sexy, I’d like that.

You’re a vegetarian, right? Let me make you some pasta and garlic bread for dinner tomorrow.

He was handsome, chivalrous, and he had a good memory. That sounds wonderful. I hadn’t eaten a hearty meal since surgery. A huge bowl of pasta sounded like Heaven on earth.

I’m going to let you go now because you’re getting that glazed look again, he chuckled. I’ll text you my address and we’ll go from there.

I blushed.

He started to his car but turned back to face me. He held his head inches away from mine and the moment I had simultaneously dreaded but anticipated was here. First kisses always terrified me. I was hoping it would wait until I was feeling better, but he leaned in so close to me I could feel the whiskers from his goatee brush my chin. His demeanor was cool, a bit arrogant. He was not going to come in all the way and his expression proved to me that he would wait as long as it took for me to complete the move.

I took a breath and pressed my lips to his. It was a soft but passionate kiss. When I began to pull away, he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me in to him again. He let his fingers meander across my back and the top of my butt. His mouth began to explore mine. He was good. Most first kisses are a bit tentative but he knew what he was doing. In spite of his thin lips he knew how to use them. Chills quivered through me. Even my heavily bandaged nipples tingled. I was told there was a possibility of permanent numbness after surgery, so I was exceptionally pleased by these sensations.

I lost myself in the moment, allowing the very public display of making out. For the first time in a month I didn’t care about all my medical coverings or that we were in a parking lot in broad daylight at the corner of a busy intersection. I kissed him back, good and hard. And I liked it.

He pulled away and made eye-contact, See you tomorrow.

See you tomorrow, I repeated, trying to hide how out-of-breath I was.

He leaned in and kissed me once more, soft and quick. That same air of suave masculinity exuded from his face as he smiled back at me one last time. With that, he walked away and didn’t say another word.

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After

I settled into my baby brother, Carson’s, bedroom after much too long a period of trash talking Tirk with my parents. The three of us ganged up on him, yelling over the TV and, eventually, managed to find a demented way of laughing in spite of it. It was horrific and cathartic at the same time, somehow. My secret that I had been hiding for years was out: Tirk was a jackass! He wasn’t just a flirt, he was an adulterer; He didn’t just have a short fuse, he was abusive; He wasn’t just some guy who made bonehead mistakes with his money, he preyed on my resources. I wasn’t going to help him save face over it anymore.

I had been right about him all along. My intuition that I had blatantly ignored for the sake of harmony, was right. Embarrassment, shame, and rage flooded over me. How could I have been so naive and gullible to disregard the signs for so long? I was an idiot! I deserved my predicament because I willingly walked right into it!

Aggravated, I tried in vain to change my name on Facebook to Nyah Neely Hamilton.