Maybe I cry in the backseat. I can’t confirm or deny.
Hopefully, the blood on my knees stains the tan leather of the backseat. Maybe I rub it in a little, I also can’t confirm or deny that either. I also, maybe consider sliding my fingers down my throat to throw up in their backseat, but decide against it.
Maybe I need to talk about my petty streak the next time in therapy.
My head is pounding and all I want to do is take a hot shower, cry some more, and re-watch an unrealistic romance show.
Instead, one of these assholes is digging through my clutch, taking out my house keys, and carrying me inside.
I’m placed on my kitchen counter, and I glare at the man in front of me.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” he asks.
I point to the cabinet on top of the fridge, and he grabs it. The other twin takes a paper towel and cleans off my palms and my banged up knees. I hiss when he does and he whispers a hushed sorry.
“What exactly are you sorry for?” I ask, glaring down at where he’s at on his knees.
“Everything. For lying, for not coming clean sooner.”
I use the back of my hand to wipe my face. I just don’t have it in me to hear his explanation right now.
Frida, my calico cat, comes sauntering into the kitchen and hisses at the two men.
“She hates men,” I say plainly.
Maybe I should be more like Frida and write men, sex, relationships, all of it off. It’s done nothing but hurt me.
For fuck’s sake, the entire point of Avalon was no strings attached, and yet somehow I managed to find two men who made a very complicated web of bullshit before me.
“I can bandage up my knees. I’d like for both of you to leave,” I say, not looking at either of them.
“Can we talk when you’re feeling better?” Ben asks, and I just stare at him, not giving him an answer.
I wince as I slide off the counter and usher them out of my house, Frida hot on my heels like she can’t wait for the testosterone to get the fuck out either.
I’m about to slam the door and hit them on the ass on the way out as Gavin places his good hand against the door. “For what it’s worth, neither of us went into this with the intention of lying or hurting you. We’re sorry. I hope you feel better tomorrow,” he says.
He doesn’t wait for me to reply, and I shut the door.
As soon as they’re gone, I take a very cathartic tear-filled shower and finally allow myself to throw up.
16
WE FUCKED UP
Oh,we fucked up.
We fucked up bad.
I knew it the moment the realization hit her. Kate’s a smart woman, and even as inebriated as she is, she pieced two and two together—literally.
Not only was she visibly angry, but the fact she hurt herself trying to get away from us has a lead weight sitting on my stomach.
It’s the exact reason Ben and I are sitting in her driveway. She’s a responsible grown ass woman, but a sense of duty and guilt has us sitting in her driveway making sure she’s alright.
Her house is larger than I expected it to be and sits on more land than typical for this neighborhood. The exterior is a cottage style house, with white shingle siding and wooden accents. Large trees frame the property and her silver Audi sits in her driveway, blocked in by our car.
“What do we do?” Ben asks, his knee bouncing as we stare at her house.
