I can fuckingtastethem.
Each one soaked in acid.
I swallow, burying the sickness behind a breath so no one else sees, hoping my face doesn’t crack.
Maybe I have no right to care.
Maybe I have no business feeling sick at all.
Andrew belonged to House of Vice first.
They had him first. Maybe they still do.
Maybe I got it all wrong.
Maybethisis who he is.
I’m trying to stay cool.
I’m playing indifferent.
I say I don’t care who he fucks,
and I can pretend I don’t if I don’t know the details.
I can lie to myself.
But this? This is slaughter?—
his past creeping up with blood on its boots,
dripping through the halls, proud of the mess.
I’m clenching my teeth so hard
to keep one fucking tear from slipping.
To keep my ass on the cushion
and pretend this isn’t getting to me.
Talia giggles into his neck.
“Don’t be mean, babe. She got attached.
“Just let her believe it was special.”
Andrew’s stare presses into me,
but I can’t face him yet.
Red Lips steps back,
her drink sloshing over the rim.
“Guess it’s true. Eat enough pussy,
“fuckboy starts actin’ like one.”
