I admit I was nervous about the thought of dating guys with beer breath and greasy armpits. Nevertheless, I was too numb to care anymore. They weren’t attractive, and they certainly weren’t respectful, but they also weren’t married, so I tolerated them. Of course, they all broke me eventually, to which I had to search for yet another. But, thanks to them, I never had to worry about loneliness. That was the one thing they were good for. They always hung around. Even when I wasn’t home, they’d hang around . . . eating my food, putting their grungy flip-flops on my couch, putting their huge, filthy dogs on my bed, putting their used utensils back in the drawer . . . and I was okay with it because . . . because I was afraid to be alone . . . .
I was afraid to be alone.