Dear diary,

           The first time I realized my marriage was going downhill was when I stood in the shower, touching myself and thinking of someone else. I know. It was wrong, but if you married Rodrigo, you would’ve done the same.

However, if I’m honest with myself, things went to shit even before that. The problem is, I have a bad habit of keeping everything bottled up—never wanting my emotions to burden anyone else, which is why a journal is so perfect. You can release everything onto sheets of paper, get it out, feel relief, tuck it away, and let the diary carry the weight of your thoughts.

So, I’ll start at the beginning—the night that shifted my life into chaos.

I remember the dark, small venue full of cigarette smoke. The scent of sweat, the jab of elbows, the sticky floor, the cry of someone shredding a guitar into submission, and the crowd parting just in time to see him swaying. Rodrigo was gorgeous, but not like most men. There he was, with long waves of ebony clinging to his skin as beads of moisture wicked away from his body. Blades of strobe light carved his chiseled cheekbones, highlighting lean muscles as his scrawny arms rocked to the beat.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and he reminded me of a Virginia Woolf quote I once read that says, I am in the mood to dissolve in the sky.

He looked higher than a satellite, and I wanted to be right up there with him if it meant being part of his orbit.

Still, I was too timid to walk over, so I leaned against the damp bar, the rough wood grain digging into my back, and observed him. As the song went on, I ordered a drink with my fake ID but couldn’t think of anything cool, so I went with a cocktail I once heard my mother order at a restaurant. The Apple Martini tasted like a lollipop drenched in rubbing alcohol, but it had booze, and that’s all that mattered. Liquid courage always worked at high school parties when I was too shy to talk to guys, so I hoped it would do the trick.

Except Rodrigo wasn’t a boy—he was a grown man, and I was about to learn the difference between teenage boys and men in their twenties.

“I’m disappointed,” I heard someone say, and when I glanced to my left, I had to crane my neck back to look at the beautiful face smiling down at me. “Everyone always goes for Rodrigo, although I have no fucking idea why. I was hoping you were different.”

“I... Um, uh.”

He smiled at my attempt to form a sentence, revealing a perfect set of teeth, shaming my crooked ones. “I’m Ben.”

“What?” I shouted over the music.

“Ben,” he pronounced into my ear, brushing my dark curls aside. “And you?”

“Carmela.”

“Well, Carmela, mind if I buy you a drink?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I shrugged like a silly nineteen-year-old pretending to be older.

I tried keeping it cool as his arm brushed mine, but the way my name rolled off his tongue like honey drizzling into tea had me dizzy. Swirls of ink climbed up his arms, disappearing into his shirt sleeves, and I wanted to push the material—take a peek, but his green eyes shifted and caught me staring. Heat bloomed across my cheeks, and he smiled before returning to the bartender to order two whiskeys. I tried not to gag. Whiskey has never been my favorite.

We clinked glasses, and its contents flew down the hatch, coating my throat in a hot strangle.

Ben sipped his drink.

“It’s not a shot,” he said. “Let’s get you another, but I need you to take your time with it.”

“But that defeats the purpose of getting shit-faced.”

He grinned and leaned into me, his words caressing my ear. “It’s because I don’t want you drunk when I kiss you later.”

“Oh?” I pressed my knees together.

“You’re adorable.”

Staring at his handsome face, I forgot all about the sexy, stringy creature on the dancefloor. But only for a moment because that sexy stringy creature shoved his way between us with an arm tossing over Ben’s perfect shoulders.

“Who’s your friend, Benny?”

An accent! He had an accent, and it zipped through my ears with an instant tickle. Sweat dripped from his forehead, prompting him to use the edge of his shirt as a towel, giving me a flash of his solid abdomen. His physique wasn’t bad for a bony guy, and the tight leather pants were even better.

“This is Carmela,” Ben replied but curled his arm around my waist. “And we’re about to find a quiet place.”

As we slipped past Rodrigo, I looked over my shoulder for one last glance at him. Everything about him screamed bad boy in the form of ink and sepia eyes undressing me. I wanted him to corrupt me—feed that rebellious craving a good girl like me had, but I was on a mission to experience a one-night stand, and Ben was too hot to pass up. He seemed like the type of man who’d make me forget my name afterward.

I thought it was what I needed.

We passed up scantily dressed groupies getting wooed by band members, and Ben nodded at them while his large hand splayed across my lower back, guiding us down a grimy corridor. A squeaky door hinge registered to my right, and he yanked me into a backstage room right as a wave of whiskey kicked in. The door clicked shut, sealing out the concert noise, and I spun, taking in the black walls with bright lights casting onto scattered music equipment as if someone had dumped it off in a hurry.

“Hey,” he said, so I faced him—his back against the door, a smile forming lines on his face.

“Hey.”

Feeling bold, I crashed my mouth against his, and he walked me backwards to a stack of crates, nestling me on top. His mouth never left mine as his hands explored the landscape of my curves—encouraging my ankles to lock around his waist. The bulge in his pants hardened, so I tightened my legs, bringing him closer. But then he pulled away.

“You are so sexy.” His hungry eyes roamed while biting down on his wet lips as he brushed a few curls out of my eyes.

Having him look at me as if I were a cupcake intensified the pulse in my chest to a violent drum. He was too beautiful, with all that ash blond hair contrasting his emerald eyes and framing his defined jaw. So, I dodged his gaze, running my fingers up his shirt to feel the ink hidden under there. With a tilt of my chin, he forced me to look at him, but his expression shifted, and he retracted.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, and he placed his large hand behind my neck, his eyes narrowing as if examining a lab rat.

“How old are you?”

“Why?”

“You look younger under these lights. You’re not in high school, are you?”

“Of course not! I’m twenty-one.”

He tilted his head, his eyes still narrowed. “Let me see your ID.”

“Hell no! If you don’t believe me, then I’ll just leave,” I barked and shoved his chest to hop down from the crates.

“Carmela, wait—”

“What for?”

“I'm not mad. Just be honest.”

“Fine!” I huffed, my back to him. “I’m nineteen.”

“A baby,” he gasped.

“I’m not a baby.” Whirling around, I shoved my hand down his pants to prove it. But I was so naive to many things.

Before that night, my sexual experiences came down to only two boys—the first during my Junior year of high school at a bonfire. We snuck off, fumbled our way through it, our kisses sloppy, and our movements confused. He lasted about five seconds before collapsing on top of me—exhausted. I looked up at the stars afterward, the sand digging into unfortunate places, thinking how overrated sex was. Movies made it seem like losing your virginity was some epic moment of bliss. Instead, it was painful, quick, and not at all what I’d fantasized.

Until my second encounter the following year.

The boy had a little more experience in the pleasure department. Yet, I didn’t feel that explosive orgasm my friends bragged about, but I felt the start of something, which was enough to understand sex could be fun with the right guy.

However, my plan to achieve a one-night stand was slipping away as Ben yanked my hand out—sending a ripple of consequences into the ether. A ripple careening me towards Rodrigo.

“Carmela, I’m twenty-five years old, and you are way too young for the kinds of things I’d do to you.”

“How would you know?” I folded my arms. “I’m not a virgin, if that's what you're worried about!"

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been down this road with younger girls, and they always get attached. You don’t want to attach yourself to me. Trust me.”

The objection was ready to tumble from my lips when he reached around and pulled the door open. Music and the buzz of conversations flooded the room, along with marijuana smoke. It was as if we’d been vacuumed into our own world—a safe bubble now ruined by letting everything else in.

Including Rodrigo.

“Are you done having a quiet moment?” he asked, his skinny frame taking up the threshold.

“Yeah, we are.” I gave a sideways glare to Ben.

“Cool...” Rodrigo shrugged. “Feel like getting out of here?”

“Depends.” I raised my chin, straightening my posture. “Where would we go?”

“An after-party. Sound good?”

“Yes.”

“Rodrigo,” Ben objected, slightly stepping in front of me. “She’s nineteen.”

“Yeah, so? You snooze you lose, amigo.” Rodrigo grabbed my hand, pulling me from the room. “How about we get out of here?”

“Let’s go.”

Holding up two fingers, he formed a peace sign at Ben and then whisked me down the corridor. He didn’t let go of my waist until we burst through the venue doors—my heart beating with adrenaline and bubbling from my mouth in a laugh.

The building pulsed with music while patrons puffed away on cigarettes, and the cacophony of city traffic filled the evening sky. I shivered and rubbed my shoulders, but neither of us had a jacket.

“This will warm you up!”

Rodrigo pulled me to him by the waist, his hands taking a firm squeeze of my ass before clamping his mouth on mine. His tongue invaded my mouth in a frenzy—a contrast to Ben's gentle strokes. It felt primal, possessive, and intimidating as he ground his hips into mine. The tiniest bit of fear crawled up my spine, igniting my flesh in goosebumps at the bulge forming in his leather pants. I’d gone there to cross a one-night stand off my bucket list but found myself nervous as his fingers slipped past my mini skirt and flirted with the edge of my panties. His hand glided forward with hesitation in the caress before spreading his fingers across the flesh of my hip. He stepped back, his eyes rolling over me as if appraising a piece of art.

“I think I’m going to take my time with you tonight.” His fingers coiled around the tendrils of curls cascading over my shoulder. “A beautiful thing like you deserves to be worshipped. Is that alright?”

And just like that, the fear dissolved.

My innocence too.

Because Rodrigo would show me a world of heartache.

A world I wasn’t prepared for.