Two dates left. That’s all I have left – two dates, and then I will have to go back to life as it once was.
Except I’m not ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. Life before now seems like a boring dream I couldn’t wake up from; a pale shadow compared to the full, colourful life I’m leading now. Of course, the Weekend Club was always supposed to end. Sean and I agreed on ten dates in the beginning. Now we’re down to eight, per our new agreement, and I’m struggling to wrap my mind around the fact that soon, it will all be over.
Will I be the same person I was before? Or has the Weekend Club changed me so irrevocably that I can never go back?
It feels like I can’t go back. For one thing, there’s the reality that I have now slept with five more people. It’s so bizarre to think about, after being married and monogamous for so long. And honestly, I can’t believe that I’ve had six dates over the past few months. Six dates, six men, and more than a few seriously hot hook-ups.
It’s changed me forever. I’m more confident. More adventurous. More experimental. I know my worth now. And I’ve tasted what real power feels like.
For now, however, I’m trying to heal my relationship with Sean. We’ve been connecting better, ever since we decided to only do two more dates. We still haven’t had sex, but there have been some intimate moments where we lay together on our bed, just touching each other.
Now, I’m lying next to him in bed, my head on his chest, as I scroll through the men who have matched with me in the last couple of days. It’s not that a lot of them aren’t appealing, but I want to make sure that I use my next couple of dates wisely. These have to be the best two dates of them all. The ones that show me things about myself I never even suspected.
"I’m going to take a shower," Sean tells me, and he drops a kiss on the top of my head and leaves me in the bed to keep looking through the men on the Weekend Club. There must be someone, right? I scroll through another couple of matches, then let out a frustrated sigh. Nobody is making me sit up straight and think that I have found a perfect match...
And then, I see him.
I stop dead in my tracks. This isn’t one of my friends’ husbands or something, nothing as salacious as that. No, this is a face and a name that I know all too well, one that I’ve been doing my best to forget about all these years – one that I swore to myself I was never going to see again, no matter what.
But here he is. Right there in front of me. Jason.
I know it’s him before I even check his name. Those deep brown eyes tell me everything I need to know – I can remember gazing deep into them whenever I got the chance, wondering if I would be enough to bring him back down to Earth; if I would be able to stop him on his adventure to ruin his life and everyone else’s around him. I thought that I could make a difference, I really did, and I stuck it out for a year with him, pleading with him to just slow down or stop – but it was never enough.
Jason. The one who got away. I never much believed in that idea before I met him. Or in soulmates. Meant to be. That kind of romance novel bs. After we met, I realised everything I had heard was true, and it scared me. Scared me, knowing I could love someone that much, and that I might never be able to save him.
He was a drinker, had been since the day that I met him back at university, and the two of us used to party like crazy together. When you’re that age, it’s hard to figure out what’s right and what’s wrong, what’s healthy and what’s going too far. It wasn’t until I hit a wall that I figured he had overstepped a million times before.
He didn’t know when to stop. He always told me he was so stressed with his courses – he was studying to be a lawyer – and that he just wanted to blow off some steam. And of course, I believed him. I thought he would calm down over the summer, once he didn’t have to worry about exams or anything. But it only got worse.
Soon, he was drinking most nights, and at first, it seemed like fun. We were spending all our time together, and he was sweeping me off to fancy clubs and bars where we could have special dates. But the booze was always there. His hand on the small of my back, steering me back to my room, the two of us tipsily wrapping ourselves up in one another. His kiss. God, his kiss...
Maybe because he was my first sexual experience that was more than a one-night stand, but there was something about him that lit me on fire in a way nobody else has since. I love Sean, of course I do, and our sex life is usually very good, but sometimes… sometimes, I miss that fiery, dysfunctional passion that comes from a relationship where both parties know it’s going to fail soon.
We didn’t have to hold back, because we knew that we wouldn’t be around each other forever. There was never any talk of this lasting for the rest of our lives. We knew that it would slip through our fingers soon, and the sex… the sex was incredible. I never wanted it to end. The way he fucked me, like I was the most precious thing he’d ever found in his life, is burned in my memory.
And here he is. Right in front of me. The man I’ve been doing my best not to think about for all these years. It’s not about love, not really, it’s about sex, passion – that feeling of being wanted more than anyone else. It’s been a while since I’ve been desired like that, and I like the idea of indulging in a little of my past. I never know what Jason is about to do, whether it’s good or bad, and the thrill of that – though it hardly fits with my current life – is exactly what I’ve been searching for in the Weekend Club.
That’s when it hits me. It seems so obvious now, I’m surprised it took me so long to realise. With the Weekend Club, I’ve been trying to recreate the way that Jason used to make me feel.
With shaking fingers, I swipe right on him. My heart pounds as I stare at the screen and wait for him to pop up as a match – but he doesn’t. Oh. I thought that he would have already swiped on me. It hurts more than I want to admit that he hasn’t. But maybe he just hasn’t seen me yet.
I go about the next couple of days as best I can, trying not to think about the sight of Jason’s face gazing up at me from that app. He probably wants to forget about the time of his life that he spent with me, and I can hardly blame him – after all, it wasn’t exactly good for either of us. He was spiralling down a hole to substance abuse, and there I was, in the middle of it with him, too young to know how to help him.
It’s for the best that he doesn’t want to see me, I tell myself. For the best. It’s tempting to dive back into that relationship just to see if the passion and the intensity is still there, but there’s no way anything good could come of it. Anyway, he’s probably grown up by now and left behind the crazy version of himself. The last thing I want is to bring that back up for him.
Two days later, I take Donnie out to the park, holding his chubby little hand as we head for the swings. I’m trying my best to put Jason to the back of my mind. To remind myself I have everything I need: my loving husband, my safe and healthy child, and all the excitement the Weekend Club has given me.
Except, for the first time, the Weekend Club no longer feels like enough. I haven’t swiped right on a single man since I saw Jason. None of them hold any appeal, next to him.
I wonder if the Weekend Club is like an addiction: the more you do something, the more you need each time. Each date, I’ve pushed myself further and further, getting more extreme and intense. And now, faced with Jason, I know there’s nothing that could be more intense than him. And I can’t go back to something less extreme; something that will give me less of a high.
"Swings?" I ask Donnie, distractedly, and he nods happily. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to get away from work – and, let’s be honest, the Weekend Club – for long enough to take him down to the park, and he’s very excited.
I hitch him up into the swing and start to push. Soon he’s flying through the air, kicking his little feet up as he goes. I smile as I watch him. He’s been in good spirits this past week. The incident at the hospital hasn’t traumatised him like I feared it would. He seems to have brushed it off. Kids are so resilient like that. I certainly haven’t brushed it off. The anxiety it caused still sits in my chest, threatening to overtake me whenever he’s out of my sight.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I step away to let Donnie swing himself. It’s probably Sean just asking me to pick something up from the shops on my way back…
But instead, it's Jason. Of course. Dropping in at the worst possible moment. He always had a knack for that, making it so that he was the centre of attention no matter what else was going on in the world around him.
He’s swiped on me. We’ve matched. And, as I stare down at his handsome face, I wonder just what in the hell I’m doing.
I put my phone back into my pocket and turn my attention back to Donnie – I'm meant to be here for him, after all, and I’m not going to let anything get in the way of that. But all the way home, that notification is buzzing at the back of my mind – a reminder, constant, that having Jason back in my life is at my fingertips.
I go through the rest of my day as normally as I can, but there is a throbbing inside of me, something that’s telling me I need to see Jason. Just to get it out of my system. The only way I’m going to be able to know for sure that I have moved on from him is if I see him again, right? Just to make sure that I am completely and utterly over him...
Finally, I send him a text.
Long time no see.
He replies within about thirty seconds. I see you at least once a week in my dreams.
And that’s how I know it’s back on.
