“You’re a fucking asshole to make me think I was going crazy,” I yell.
I crinkle another paper and shove it to him, harder this time. His body sways as he tries to catch his balance.
“And what’s even more sick is that you two tried to convince me there was nothing going on,” I yell again, out of breath. “I even apologized for my behavior when you were screwing someone behind my back this whole time.” I pause for a moment, looking over his dead, blank stare.
“And you let me,” I scream this time louder, which makes his eyes widen in disbelief.
I grab another paper, and another, and keep shoving them into his chest. My hands are shaky, but not once do I lose my grip on the papers. Tears rim my eyes, blurring my vision. I want to scream, to yell, but instead, I just keep shoving paper after paper into his chest. He stands there in silence, letting me do itrepeatedly. As if he knows there’s nothing he can say to fix what he did.
I finally stop, my chest heaving.
The emptiness in his eyes and the silence in his voice say everything.
Everything I need to know.
I blink back my tears as I back out of my driveway. I’m trying so hard to steady my breath. The vodka bottle sits on the floor in my passenger seat. Not the smartest idea right now.
I drive down the street, the city lights flickering toward me. I feel a little buzzed, but not the kind that leaves me struggling to focus. It’s more of a high, like an adrenaline high shooting through my veins. It’s making everything feel sharper. Like I’m on the edge of something. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just the eagerness to see my friends. Whatever it is, it’s making my heart beat a little faster. My hands grip the wheel tighter. I’m not drunk, not by a long shot. My eyes are alert. I’m focused on every car that passes me by. I’m good.
I roll into the parking lot. Turn my car off and hide the bottle underneath my seat. I slide out of my car, square my shoulders, and head for the bar.
I swing the door open and hand the guy my ID as I scan for my friends. He looks over it, then back at me and asks, “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” I say harshly.
“Okay, go ahead.”
I catch sight of Rya’s blonde hair swaying with her body as she laughs. They’re sitting at a high-top table; her back is facing me. Ezra is sitting across from Rya and their two friends are across from each other. I quicken my pace, my strides growing longer. I reach their table. Ezra’s eyes shoot up when he sees me. I reach out. Grab her hair, twist it around my fist, and yank her down. She goes flying off the chair like a limp Barbie doll.
“What the fuck?” she screams in a high-pitched voice. Her hands fly up and she wraps them around mine. Her eyes are wide in shock when she realizes it’s me.
I reach for the pitcher of beer sitting on the table and dump it on her face.
“Violet, what the fuck are you doing?” Ezra yells.
So many gasps fill the air around me. Ezra comes around me, grabbing my arms, trying to stop me.
“Don’t touch me, Ezra,” I say, my jaw clenched tight.
“Let her go. What has gotten into you?”
I look down at Rya; she’s choking back the beer. “Tell him, Rya,” I snap in her face. I look up at Ezra. “You’re going to want to hear this.”
His grip on my arm loosens up a bit. His squinted eyes look down at Rya.
“You crazy bitch. What the fuck are you doing?” Rya yells, still trying to catch her breath from choking on the beer.
“Tell him,” I yell louder, stopping the music in the bar.
To my surprise, no worker has stopped me. No bouncer has come to her rescue.
I wrap my hand tighter around her hair as she struggles to get up. I yank her hair down more and she flops down, struggling to stand with her stupid-ass Louis Vuitton shoes.
“Violet, let her go,” Ezra says, gripping me harder, reaching down, trying to loosen my grip on her hair.
“Tell him, Rya.” I shake her head. “Tell him how big of a slut you are.”
Ezra’s grip loosens on my hands. His body goes rigid as those words hit his ears. His gaze freezes over Rya.
