Chapter 3: Chasing Beauty, Losing Self

It had been a year.

After we got married, Savannah finally seemed to settle down.

Now, she was about to hit her limit. And so was I.

I'm an honest guy, but looks matter to me.

I'm average, but I like beautiful women.

Just the thought of ending up with someone unattractive... Her acting all cutesy with me in public? I just couldn't.

I've always worked hard.

I knew I had no looks. No family background. Beautiful women? They'd never go for me.

Luckily, society cuts guys some slack.

As long as I'm good enough, plenty of women will see me as a catch.

I did okay on the SATs, but it wasn't enough. Competition's brutal. If you didn't go Ivy—or at least a top state school—you're nothing.

A master's degree wasn't enough, so I went for a PhD.

With my honest face and always doing what my advisor said, I graduated with honors and landed a spot at a top research lab.

I thought I'd finally made it.

But the first time I saw Savannah, I realized I was still far from enough.

I schmoozed with the bosses. Worked overtime. Edited their kids' college essays on weekends.

Finally, I made assistant director—still young, too.

That's when I finally felt like I had a shot with Savannah.

While I was pursuing her, people tried to set me up with other women.

I went on the dates.

Afterwards, I wanted Savannah even more.

Every time a blind date ended, I'd go find Savannah—just to remind myself what real beauty looked like.

One time, at two in the morning, she happened to need a designated driver. I went without a second thought.

Savannah asked me, "Do you really like me that much?"

As she asked, there was some ridiculously handsome guy, dead drunk, riding shotgun in her convertible.

I nodded. No hesitation.

Because I don't have a thing for unattractive women.

I said, "Savannah, I love you."

Everyone loves beauty.

My sudden confession made Savannah laugh out loud.

Her messy hair blew back in the wind, showing off those crazy-long lashes and eyes that didn't look real.

I suspected she'd had work done, but I didn't mind.

She held a menthol cigarette, her knuckles pale, ash shaking loose as she laughed.

"Dylan Brooks, you're the first person to make me laugh lately."

Yeah, even my name is that plain.

From that night on, she started to respond to me a little.

She went from never accepting my invites to sometimes saying yes when she was in a good mood.

Occasionally, she'd even humor me by eating the food I brought.

But in the end, we got together.

It wasn't some rom-com where she was moved by my persistence and changed her ways.

She just got tired of playing around, and her family was pressuring her to get married.

I had a good education, wasn't part of her social circle, had a respectable job, and I was the kind of guy who could settle down.

Everyone in Savannah's family liked me—except her.

I didn't care about the reason.

All I knew was, I'd never have to marry an unattractive woman, ever.

The day we made it official on Instagram, I felt vindicated.

I proved everyone who called me delusional wrong.

At the wedding, I looked at Savannah's face—like an artist's masterpiece. I felt feverish with excitement.

Her curves teased and tempted, barely hidden beneath her dress.

When the emcee told us to kiss, I couldn't help but pull her into my arms.

Savannah didn't seem to notice a thing.

After all, I'm an honest guy.

Her kiss was perfunctory—all technique, no feeling.

I didn't mind. I could find happiness on my own.

That night, I was almost bursting with joy.

My heart felt full—like a sponge soaking up spring rain.

I let out a satisfied sigh.

The only downside was, Savannah wasn't exactly attentive—she didn't care about my feelings at all.

After all, I was probably the ugliest guy she'd ever slept with.

Outside, the streetlights looked like fake stars—trying to make up for the real thing.

Looking at Savannah's sleeping face, I couldn't help but smile.

That high-bridged nose, that perfectly shaped, full mouth—damn, she was gorgeous.

Better looking than any celebrity.

Her only flaw was that she didn't like me.

Oh well, nobody's perfect.

As long as she didn't ruin her looks, I'd still love her.

We honest guys are just that loyal.

But is what I feel for Savannah really love?

What even is love?

Freud said, "Love comes from a longing for completeness."

Jung said, "Great souls are androgynous; what we call love at first sight is really loving another version of ourselves."

So maybe, back then, I fell for Savannah because I was chasing a sense of completeness.

Well, now I'm complete.