Prince Charming

“I can’t believe you would pull a stunt like that back there!”

“Me? Look at yourself in the mirror ‘Evil Queen,’ because you’re not what people call ‘perfection.’”

He did not just say that? He doesn’t know the meaning of perfection if it was a sledge hammer that hit him across the face. “At least I know how to act around in public and not let jealousy take over my body.”

Ethan turns to face me and for the first time – the first time in a while actually – he was staring into my eyes. Isn’t that what every girl dreams for? Having that one, tall, blond man with bright blue eyes staring deeply into yours, just enough where it is considered romantic and ‘dreamy.’

This wasn’t one of those times. I recommend not going out “soul searching” for those blue eyes; they can be tainted behind the contact lens.

“I saw the way he flirted with you Linda!” he accused. “Robert has always been the guy on the sidelines, waiting to become the starting quarterback on Team Linda.”

“No sport references please, I hate them.” I was irritated at this point, not knowing what to do.

All this time, all these years spending the prime of my youth with this man—


He is not a man. A man knows the meaning of love, the meaning of compassion, the meaning of trust.

“We are not discussing this imagination of yours Ethan, he is just an old friend that invited us to the grand opening of his restaurant,” I yelled. “You have got to learn how to trust again; I’m not Emily!”

“Shut up! Shut up right there! How dare you bring her up! Emily was before we even started dating,” he said, raising his voice.

“Ethan, you know very well that because of her you will never trust someone again besides yourself. It’s because of her that you act this way! Your brother is also at fault! For this show you just made in there, for your trauma, for your attitude, for everything—”


A wave of shame and disappointment crashed upon my face like on the shore in the middle of Hurricane Sandy.

“Hail a taxi. I don’t drive hypocrites; or sluts for that matter.”

He shuts the door on the diver’s side, igniting the engine of a 1991 GMC Sonoma, sticks out his middle finger with one hand on the wheel, and was off.

“Go burn in hell! Tell your mother you’ll see her soon!”

Tears running down my faces, I was blinded by the city lights and pain and heart break, too distracted and torn to witness the shocked faces staring down at this broken girl making a scene in the middle of New York.

He is not my Prince Charming; he is not a man; he is a child.


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