Ok I didnt know I was going to write again today. This is getting to be a lot maybe I know huh Journal but something just happened and I can’t sit on it.
I’m at the Channel 5 building. Back hallway area and they gave me a little dressing room. Everything smells like hairspray and coffee and hot lights even when the lights aren’t on yet. Lexi from Marketing had arranged today and told me to meet a woman named Dana who keeps calling me “sweetheart” even though she’s like two feet shorter than me and keeps craning her neck to look up. She gave me a badge and told me to wait so here I am. I’m glad I brought this notebook.
I don’t even know what this is for exactly. Lexi said ‘visibiluty’. Like what am I a lamp?
Anyway. I had to sit down because my chest started feeling funny not sharp not bad. Familiar but I hadnt expected it, not today at least. Full. Heavy. Warm. Like pressure behind my ribs that’s spreading out instead of in. My boobs ache too, like they’re too awake. Like my body is leaning forward even though I’m standing still.
I knew what this feeling was. I was feeling him. And what he needs
Not like a voice. Not like words. Just that pull. That tug right under my sternum, like something tightening and then letting go. A familiar feeling. A private one. One that’s not supposed to be happening today because we’re being good and giving space and journaling like responsible adults. But he was doing it. Maybe in a bathroom at the office. Maybe with his phone in his hand. But definitely to me.
He promised himself he wouldn’t. I know that. I know he was gonna try to keep his hands off himself.
And still.
This is probably just chemistry or whatever. Hormones. Feedback loops. It’s hard for him. I keep telling myself that.
But oh there it was. That little rush, like a spark jumped the gap. My body reacted before I even knew why. Nipples tight, my breath catching, that slow, pleased heat curling low in my stomach. Bliss. The girls would have felt it too.
How fast I knew what it was!
Part of me wanted to be mad. Like really mad. Like - see? SEE?? you said you’d be “strong” for one day and you couldnt even do that.
But another part of me - louder, kinda smug probably - just went: of course.
Of course he thought of me. Of course he couldnt help it. They never can. Not when it’s me. Not anymore.
Men.
So I sat there on this little vinyl couch with my badge sliding off my chest and this ache blooming through me and I kept thinking how funny it is that I ever thought Jay was different from the others. All the men online who message me like I’m a miracle or a mommy or a thing they want to kneel in front of. I kinda roll my eyes at that and used to think: ‘Jay’s different. He sees me, not just what I do to him.’
But maybe that was me being too generous.
Men just like to think they’re special and different right up until their bodies prove theyre not. Theyre all weak.
That thought shouldnt have felt good.
It did.
There was this flash - mean and shiny and hot - where I thought: he’s the weakest of them all. How did he ever think he could be my equal? How did I let him think that? Hes probably still in some bathroom with his pants down and his penis in his hand and a picture of me on his phone.
And right after that came the other thought, softer but deeper: is that why you need him so close?
I didnt get the chance to answer that question.
Someone just knocked on the door and said theyre ready for me. Photos first, then a sit-down. I caught my reflection in the mirror as I stood up - dress smooth, waist sharp, skin glowing like I’d planned it instead of like my body did it on its own.
I adjusted the neckline. Fluffed my hair. Checked my lip gloss.
If my body is hungry for attention this bad, fine. I’ll give it something to eat...
—M
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