Part Thirty-Three, Chapter Fifteen, Part Three: Cheryl's Pudendum Gets Some Action
We left off with Cheryl and Jonathon doing I don't even want to know in his
"It was fun. It was more than fun. It was like a festival in that tent. We fell asleep at six and woke up two hours later, exhausted, but awake, our bodies too out of whack to sleep any more."
Jonathon says that it's his day off and suggests they go to the beach. Stupid fucking idiot Cheryl "consented without knowing where exactly the beach might be," and jesus christ, she apparently doesn't understand what beaches are, but I guess this shouldn't be all that surprising seeing as she also doesn't understand what mountains or deserts are, either, but still, are you fucking kidding me. They drive to the coastal town of Brookings and Cheryl states,
"I half regretted agreeing to come and not only because my interest in Jonathon was waning, but because we'd been driving for three hours. It seemed odd to be so far from the PCT, as if I were betraying it in some way,"
and shut the fuck up, you've betrayed pretty much everyone in your life, why should this bother you. They get to the beach and oh, for fuck's sake, isn't this convenient for her dramatic bullshit-- she'd "been at this very beach before, with Paul," and shut your stupid fucking mouth, you liar. Anyway, sure, she's been at this very beach before with her ex-husband and there isn't a gif in existence to illustrate my exasperation/disgust/fury/murderous impulse so you're just going to have to visualize what my face looks like right now. It's beautiful, I'm sure.
Cheryl (ROBIN DESSER, DON'T THINK FOR A MINUTE THAT YOU'RE GOING TO COME AWAY FROM THIS UNSCATHED) says this big pile of a sentence fragment:
"Who I'd been when I'd been here with Paul and what I'd thought would happen and what did and who I was now and how everything had changed."
THAT IS NOT A FUCKING SENTENCE. IT DOES NOT MAKE SENSE AT ALL. I FUCKING HATE YOU SO MUCH. Go ahead, go back and try reading that "sentence" without your brain exploding in retaliation. No, really, Do it.
"Jonathon didn't ask what I was thinking about, though I'd gone quiet,"
and no shit, you stupid asshole, he does not care about you or any of your bullshit thoughts and he's made this perfectly clear. He just wants to get laid. So do you. Shut the fuck up already.
Jonathon suggests a spot on the beach and Cheryl decides to go off walking on her own because... I can't even finish this sort of sentence anymore. She goes off to collect "pretty rocks" along the beach and what the fuck is it with people collecting rocks on the beach. Anyway, she keeps walking until she's out of Jonathon's view and takes a moment to write Paul's name in the sand because, forget it, I can't deal with this fuckery. Let's allow Cheryl to have her stupid epiphany that makes no sense:
"I didn't want to hurt for him anymore, to wonder whether in leaving him I'd made a mistake, to torment myself with all the ways I'd wronged him. What if I forgave myself? I thought. What if I forgave myself even though I'd done something I shouldn't have? What if I was a liar and a cheat and there was no excuse for what I'd done other than because it was what I wanted and needed to do? What if I was sorry, but if I could go back in time I wouldn't do anything differently than I had done? What if I'd actually wanted to fuck every one of those men? What if heroin had taught me something? What if yes was the right answer instead of no? What if what made me do all those things everyone thought I shouldn't have done was what also had got me here? What if I was never redeemed? What if I already was?"
THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS WRONG WITH THAT PARAGRAPH THAT I CAN'T EVEN FUNCTION ANYMORE.
Oh my god, I think I'm having a stroke.
Forgive me for saying so, but fuck all of you for enjoying this blog so much. I want to walk away right now because doing this isn't healthy for me anymore.
Since you don't care, let's continue.
Cheryl makes her way back to Jonathon, asks if he wants her dumb rocks that she'd collected and Jonathon declines, instead opting to spread out a little pre-fuck picnic and oh, jesus, here we go.
Jonathon reaches over "with his finger full of honey," smears it all over Cheryl's maw and kisses it off, "biting [her] ever so gently at the end," and goddamnit. Then this almost-sentence happens:
"And so began a seaside honey fantasia."
I hate you so much.
Jonathon whips out a whole damn package of condoms and then the two of them have what I can only imagine is pretty much the worst sex ever because it involves honey and sand and my vagina hurts just from the thought of this. Cheryl refers to her ass as her "rump," and jesus christ, you'd think a big whore like Cheryl could come up with better terms, but then again, this is Cheryl and we shouldn't be surprised at this point. They have honey-sand sex right there on the beach and I throw up on my couch.
They drive three hours back to Ashland and neither one of them has anything to say to one another. They finally arrive at Cheryl's hostel and end their "twenty-two-hour date." Jonathon pretends to want to keep in touch and Cheryl gives him her friend Lisa's address and thank fucking god this is over.