Trashley: Forty
White Italian Leather Shoes
I texted Cecelia after reading the e-mail she sent me recounting her experience with Ashley over the year in which Ashley and I had dated. Until then, I didn’t know her side of the story, and Ashley and her family tried hard to keep it that way. When Cecelia reached out to me the previous summer, she told me Ashley didn’t go to MIT, wasn’t a physicist, and said her family would lie for her. And sho’ nuf, they did. Everything Cecelia had said was true. At the time, Ashley and her mom had told me to block Cecelia and then called her a liar and a gold digger. Now I realized they were the liars and gold diggers. And I was the gold mine.
Ashley’s entire family had encouraged her affair with me, all the while gaslighting Cecelia into thinking Ashley was with them in Bakersfield when she was living with me in Los Angeles.
I thought back to the party we went to in Bakersfield for Stacey’s co-worker and how ridiculous she sounded when she introduced Ashley and me to people with “MIT-MTV-MIT-MTV.”
Dumbass.
I tried to go to sleep but couldn’t. Not when I wanted to crack myself open like a pinata and pour all my contents out to Cecelia. For the next few hours, I bombarded her with texts.
