He motioned toward my nightstand, letting me know that’s where he’d found it, as if anything laying there was community property or something. Then he laughed again. “I can’t believe you actually read this shit. It’s fucking hilarious. This dude just came like five times inside this chick, like right in a row. In what universe is that even believable?”
Oh my God, of course he’d found a sex scene of all things. “It’s fiction,” I argued defensively as I yanked my Kindle from his hand. “I like it a little bit unbelievable. That’s why I read it, you moron. To escape the real world. If I wanted believable, I’d just stop reading and return to my life.”
“Yeah, but she called his dick a meat shaft.”
“Oh my God.” I scowled. “You’re one of those annoying people who quibble over every little detail in a book, aren’t you?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I can’t believe you’re not. Did you read what he said to her when she opened her legs—”
“No,” I warned him when he reached for my Kindle to find the cheesy line he wanted to quote. “Don’t you dare ruin this story for me with logical bullshit. I like the emotions it brings out. That’s why I’m reading it.”
He blinked at me a moment before shaking his head and murmuring, “I find this so interesting to learn about you. I mean, really, how can you be so...you, and then read something that’s just so...not you?”
“I told you.” Gritting my teeth, I sent him a glare, trying to get him to leave it alone. “It’s an escape.”
His gaze softened before he quietly asked, “Are you not happy with your life?”
“I...” I fumbled a moment before giving a nervous laugh. “I don’t know what you mean. Of course I’m happy with my life.”
“Then what’re you trying to escape?”
“I don’t...” I shrugged, suddenly exposed and not sure how to answer. “I don’t know. I just get exhausted with always having to perform a certain way and dress a certain way and—”
Colton squinted his eyes. “What do mean a certain way? Don’t you just wear whatever you feel like wearing?”
“Umm...no.” I looked at him as if he were crazy. “No way could I leave my apartment without looking one hundred percent presentable.” When he just stared at me with utter confusion, I sighed. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”
He covered my hands with his. “Then make me understand.”
When I realized he wasn’t going to drop the issue, I growled, “You’re a white male.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “I knew that one. I just don’t get what the fuck it has to do with anything.”
Oh geez, I guessed I was going to have to be really blunt here. “Well, I’m not a white male. So I have to work twice as hard to get half of what you have. Society looks at me and sees a black woman. I don’t have the luxury of giving them another reason to look down on me and think even less of me. So I do not leave my home with a single hair out of place, without my clothes immaculately put together, without my makeup—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Colton shook his hands to stop me. “So you...this whole perfection regimen you put yourself through every day is just…it’s all for the haters?”
I frowned at that. When he said it that way, it sounded bad. “No,” I started. But I didn’t know how else to explain it. I blinked and shook my head, confused.
“Oh, baby doll,” he murmured sympathetically. “It’s not going to matter what you do or wear or say. We all get judged. Before I moved to Ellamore, I lived with my drunk, druggie whore of a mother. We Gamble kids ran wild with no parental guidance or discipline, no hygiene, or fucking new clothes, or good example to teach us right from wrong. I remember my kindergarten teacher calling me trailer park trash. And if we’d stayed in that town, that’s probably exactly what I would’ve ended up becoming. Because they made me believe that’s all I could ever be.”
“Oh, Colton.” I covered my mouth with my hands. That was awful. I just wanted to go into the past and slap his kindergarten teacher, and then maybe his mother too, right in the tits. Then I wanted to find kindergarten him and give him a huge hug and tell him he was special and wonderful and should never stray from being himself.
“But it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d been raised differently,” he went on. “If I’d been a wealthy boy with parents who spoiled me rotten and provided the world for me, someone would’ve called me an arrogant rich prick who thought he was better than everyone else. So you see, some idiot out there who knows shit about you is always going to judge you no matter how flawlessly you present yourself because that’s what they do. They judge. You shouldn’t live your life according to them. It won’t change them or their point of view. It’s just going to make you miserable and never feeling like you measure up, when really, the whole problem is them, not you.” Pulling me into his arms, he kissed my hair. “If you really want to stick it to them, dress and say and act the way you want and be content with yourself no matter what they think.”