Fuck This
I
t’s been two days since Levy’s been gone and I still haven’t heard from him.
No calls.
No texts.
Not even a sign that he’s bothered to look at his phone. I’m furious—and at the same time, worried sick. Where the fuck is he? And who the hell is he with?
I can’t decide which hurts more—the fact that most of his shit is gone or not knowing whose bed he might be in right now. Both feel like knives twisting just as deep in my heart. He doesn’t owe me a report of his every move—but this? This is different. And so unlike him.
I lay stretched across the bed, scrolling through videos I’m not even watching. The glow from the screen painting my exposed skin in soft blue light, the sound muffled by the weight pressing down on my chest. Every second of silence feeling heavier than the last.
Then suddenly an unknown number flashes across the screen.
My fingers still. My pulse hammering in my throat as I stare, debating whether to answer or let it go to voicemail. Just briefly, I’m scared of who might be on the other end.
But something in me caves.
I swipe to answer, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
There’s a pause. Then I hear it—a voice I’d recognize anywhere.
“Babe, it’s me. It’s me—Levy.”
For a split second, relief hits me like air after drowning—then rage follows. My voice cracks under the weight of both.
“Are you fucking serious right now? Two days, Levy. Twofuckingdays and I haven’t heard anything from you. You’re lucky I don’t mess with the police, because I was this close to reporting you missing. Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through? I’ve been calling, texting, thinking something happened to you—wondering if you were fucking dead. And you couldn’t give meonecall? One text?”
He exhales slowly, his tone maddeningly calm. “Relax, beautiful. I’m fine. I’m in Vegas with the guys and some friends. It was a last-minute thing—we decided to go for the weekend. My phone died, and I just got a chance to charge it.”
I sit up, blood rushing hot in my ears.
“You’re in Vegas? Are you kidding me, Levy? Who else are you with? You disappear—pack up your shit, leave me withno explanation—and now you’re telling me you’re in Las Vegas, fucking around like it’s not a big deal? It’s beentwo days!You couldn’t borrow someone’s phone to let me know you’re alive?”
“I didn’t think it was that serious,” he snaps, defensive now. “It’s just a trip, Jaine. The guys wanted to go, and I didn’t want to miss out. I figured you’d understand once I told you—it’s the weekend and Blair said she’d be fine for the weekend. I’m not trying to ignore you.”
“Understand? I don’t care that’s it’s the weekend.” My voice comes out sharp, raw. “Do you even hear yourself? You vanished, Levy. You vanished without any explanation—you left here going crazy, thinking the worst. Wondering if you’re with someone else, or if you’re even alive. And you call me two days later like it’snothing?How am I supposed to justunderstandthat?”
There’s a pause—I can almost hear the irritation in his breath before he finally speaks.
“You’re overthinking again,” he says flatly. “Why do you always have to make it about girls? I told you, I’m with some friends. That’s it.”
My laugh cuts through the line—sharp, bitter. “Don’t you dare fucking gaslight me, Levy. I saw the bitches on your phone. Don’t tell me I’m overthinking when the proof is sitting right there in your hand. You think I’m that naïve? You think I don’t know what’s going on?”
His voice shifts, low and hard. “So now I can’t even have female friends without you accusing me of something? Damn, Jainey. I can’t breathe without you turning it into a problem.”
“Friends?” I spit the word like it burns my tongue, pacing the room in quick, sharp steps. My voice rises, shaking with fury. “Friendsdon’t send the kind of messages I saw. Friends don’t slide into your messages with hearts and late-nightwhere you attexts.And if it’s all so innocent, why the hell didn’t you say anything? Why did you run off to Vegas andleave me here like I don’t matter to hang out with thosefriends?”
“I didn’t run off,” he snaps, frustration seeping through. “I told you—it was a last minute thing. I didn’t have time to explain—”
“Didn’t have time to explain? That’s bullshit and you know it!” The word rips out of me, cracking under the weight of my rage. Tears sting my eyes as I whip around, pacing faster, every word firing like a bullet.
“You had time to pack your clothes. Time to book your little trip. But you didn’t have thirty goddamn seconds to send me a text? To say,Hey babe, I’m going out of town?And don’t you dare tell me it was about not having time, Levy. It was about you not wanting to.”
I stop in the middle of the room, chest heaving, gripping the phone so hard my fingers are on fire.
