I didn’t care.
Let the whole house rot.
Let me rot.
When I remembered the bottle stashed upstairs, a sick heat unfurled in my gut, like winning a prize at my own funeral.
“Ya know Nick, playing house has been fun and all, but I don’t like fucking hypocrites.”
“What are you talking about? Are you drunk already?”
“No, but I wish I was.” I could feel him on my heels, breathing down my neck, and the house felt like it was shrinking, the walls pressing closer and closer until I couldn’t breathe.
“My mom is coming over later, remember? And I don’t want us to be fighting.” He followed me up the stairs, and I hated the sound of his steps behind mine — steady, familiar, like we were something that could be saved.
“Newsflash, mama’s boy, couples fight.”
“Yeah, but typically, the other person knows why they are fighting.” His voice cracked higher, sharper, scraping across the raw nerves already exposed inside me.
I spun around so fast my vision blurred.
“You know, it’s funny how when you find me on a guy’s lap that I didn’t initiate, I’m called a slut and an embarrassment, but when I find a girl in your phone texting you that she’s horny, it’s all fine and dandy. So I guess I’m the only one who can’t be seen sneaking around, but it’s okay for you to fuck other people? Pretty sure that’s called a hypocrite.”
“That text message I received?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t already know why I was pissed. The phone was right there next to me.” I stabbed my finger toward the spot like it was a knife meant for his chest.
I wanted him to hurt.
I wanted to hurt myself worse.
“Melanie, I have no idea who that is or where that message came from. I swear.”
I scoffed so hard it scraped my throat raw, rolling my eyes with the kind of exaggerated drama that only half-covered the real ache splitting me apart. “You expect me to buy that shit?”
Nice try.
I pushed past him, wanting to bolt — anywhere, any direction — but he caught me and shoved me onto the bed. The impact rattled my bones.
For a heartbeat, fear flickered — real, ancient, deep in my gut.
“I may be a lot of things but I’m not a fucking liar.”
I glared up at him, daring him to break me completely.
“Really? Then why are you lying to the damn government? This—” I waved a hand between us, feeling the ugliness of it on my skin — “is a fucking lie, or did you forget?”
“No, it’s not,” he gritted out. His face hardened into something cold and ruthless.
I saw the killer in him, and goosebumps prickled up my arms like ice splinters. Still, I locked my jaw and sat up straighter, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
“Ya know, I’m not mad you are fucking other people just don’t get so mad if other guys want to fuck me. That Johnny guy was cute, and maybe he does have a big C?—”
“Don’t—” Nick’s voice cracked around the word, low and guttural, and it almost made me smile — a cruel, broken thing.
“Don’t what?” I asked sweetly, faking innocence as easily as breathing poison.
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” He ripped his phone out of his pocket and threw it onto the bed like it burned his hands.
