How in the world did I let you rope me into this? I mean, seriously, what was I thinking? Why did I think this could even slightly be a good idea? I guess I just wanted to make you happy, and in the moment this was what would do that.

I fear I need to be a little selfish in this moment, though, because I am anything but happy.

Maybe it was a drunken whim? A stupid idea you were a little more serious about than anything else you blurted that night. ”I want to spice things up”, you had said. At first, I thought you were talking about the drinks we were having. Perhaps you wanted something stronger? Boy, was I wrong.

Apparently, to you, our bedroom life could’ve used something new. Or, I guess, someone new.

There was a glint in your eye when you suggested it, something that told me you were already set on the idea. I won’t say that it didn’t initially make me uncomfortable, but that’s why I told you that we’d talk about when we were sober. I thought you would’ve forgotten by morning. You didn’t

In fact, it seemed you thought more about it while you were passed out above the covers and still in your jeans.

You came to me with more details, facts, and ideas. And in the glistening morning, with my head still pounding and my stomach queasy, what you were saying did…excite me. Maybe that was your plan? Maybe you chose your words so perfectly to persuade me? Or maybe I was just into the idea.

Wrong!

In the days following, your idea became more thought out. Where it would happen, how it would happen, and who would be joining us. And only a week after the words first left your mouth, you and I talked to Zayn about his opinion. He’s the one you chose—the guy we agreed on. And that was that.

We had a date, a place, rules, and the third.

Looking back, I think I was forcing myself to be excited about this with you. Because, in this moment, I’m regretting everything.

It just feels so wrong.

I’m sitting on my heels as his hands skate over you. With you strewn across the mattress enjoying it. My blood is simmering and we’ve barely even gotten started. Shirts have been discarded, but luckily that’s all. There’s still time to turn back.

It’s not even that I’m feeling left out or anything that you warned me about before, it’s just rage. His hands are not supposed to be on you like that. You aren’t supposed to be reacting like that. This isn’t supposed to be happening.

“Wait, wait—stop,” The words come out rushed and too quiet, it doesn’t express the urgency inside of me. “Pineapple! Pineapple Pineapple!”

Our safe word. The one thing I never thought I’d have to use. The one thing you probably didn’t want me to use. But there is it. I’m pulling the plug. I can’t share you—I won’t. This ends now.

You and Zayn pull apart with a startle, rightfully so. Eyes wide, panting breaths, and full attention on my conflicted face.

“No more. I’m done. I don’t want to do this. Get off of my girl, Zayn.”