When Ray said that he'd been with Stella since he was a kid who pissed himself in a bank, that's what he meant, except he'd left out the parts about how every once in a while, he and Stella would have a giant fight about something stupid -- her engagement ring, his tattoo, her new business suit, his scruffy beard -- and he would leave their little apartment and go to the gym and hit the bag until he felt less like hitting a person. Except for how sometimes he wouldn't make it to the gym, he'd just go to a bar and get so drunk he wouldn't notice if the person underneath him was a girl or a guy, he'd just shove his dick against them until he came, slither down until his mouth was on something wet and musky, and whether it was a dick or a pussy, he didn't care, as long as it was someone, something, grabbing his hair and pulling on it and scratching up his back and biting his mouth with stinging kisses. None of it really counted as cheating, because it wasn't like Stella even cared, and that was always the problem, wasn't it? Stella never cared as much as Ray did, so there was this weird void where all of Stella's caring was supposed to be, was supposed to bump up against Ray's caring so Ray's caring didn't feel so all the fuck alone all the goddamned time.