A Mess of Reason by A. Wilding Wells Read Free Book Online

packet of mini-Chiclets. Side note: she loves these
because of that sexy gap between her two front teeth. Yeah, well,
she can hold three of these little suckers in there. How adorable
is she? I know I’ve told you already. Pretty much the most ever. I
cover the entire coconut cake with thousands of mini-Chiclets. It’s
her favorite cake next to a Hostess mash up—but that’s more of her
birthday cake. This is her greedy pig-out cake. Everyone should
have a version.
    I put the plastic bubble holding the blingy
ring right smack dab in the middle of the cake top. The ring, to be
clear, is a promise ring. As in, I promise to never fuck up so
badly again. I promise to love, worship, and cherish you for the
rest of my life—as your best friend. I promise to not ever cross
the line again…unless you want me to. Maybe I shouldn’t do that
one? Anyway, I intend to keep all the promises because I love the
shit out of her even if I can’t have her the way I want her—in the
deepest part of my heart.
    I decide to go in full-force entry. I’m not
knocking this time. I have every right to march right in and lay my
heart on the line with the fattest apology ever known to mankind.
Plus I’m scared shitless that she won’t let me in if I knock. So
basically it’s more of a bank robber move. I promise you (ring or
no ring), I will be stealing her heart back even if I have to use
the stretchy handcuffs.
    My arms are loaded down Santa-style. Opening
the front door without a shitload of commotion is practically
impossible, but I manage. She’s nowhere. I keep walking until I
find her, because wherever she is, that’s where the party’s gonna
happen.
    The bummer is, I find her face down on her
big fluffy bed. And yeah, you guessed it: she still has on her
wedding dress. Time for some mandatory fun.
    I climb onto the bed to lie right next to
her, my entire body pressed tightly against hers. Since she hates
me right now, she doesn’t move, not one inch. So I start scratching
her back gently. More of a pet than a scratch…sort of like a Hey
there, remember me? I love you so damn much it’s killing me kind of a pet.
    Still nothing. The vibe is clear: kind of a Hey there…go fuck yourself .
    I get off the bed and go into phase two of
Win Back my Girl. I realize maybe you’ll think this is over the
top, but she’s worth every ounce of thought that I’ve put into
this. I spread out a bohemian-looking scarf that I’d been saving up
for her birthday. On top of it I put candles—little scented ones
that hopefully stir her toward me. Then the mac-n-cheese and the
cake covered in mini-Chiclets. Two shots of tequila for each of us
lined up on a small wooden board (yes, I brought glasses), the
beer, and finally the syrupy card. Oh, and one spoon, because I
plan on feeding her. That’s just how we roll. Then I wait.
    Nothing. I know she knows it’s me and not an
ax murderer. But, she hates me this much.
    Phase three. I steal three mini-Chiclets off
the cake and go around to her side of the bed. I lie right next to
her again. I twist her head toward me so there’s not a chance she
can miss me. Her eyes are closed, of course. Why would she want to
look at me? I’m an asshole. I slide my finger in under her big
gorgeous top lip and proceed to place the Chiclets into the gap
between her teeth. Still nothing.
    Phase four. Tickle time.
    Backfire. She’s crying. Fuck. I’m sucking at
this.
    Phase five. I sit up against the headboard
and pull her into my lap. I just hold her, rocking her the tiniest
bit while I sing her favorite songs in a near whisper.
    Nothing. Well, I’m lying. Nothing but tears.
Lots and lots of tears.
    Phase six.
    “Tessie girl…hey baby. I’m so sorry I’ve
hurt you. I love you. You’re the only girl in my heart. You’ve
always been my girl. You always will be. I promise I won’t hurt you
ever again. You have to believe me. I need you not to hate me.
Please, love…stop hating me. It’s killing me. You’re