My embarrassment transforms into searing anger, resulting in liquid pooling in my mouth faster than it did between my legs. I walk toward the devil and his wife in one swift movement and notice something else in his dead eyes—glee.
This fucker is…happy.
He’s so thankful I didn’t ruin his cover with the woman he plans to spend his life with. I can see it in the slight dip of his brows and the uptick of his barely-there lip. He truly thinks I’ll walk away and pretend this never happened.
Unlucky for him, he tried the wrong woman.
I propel the lava from my mouth, saliva mixed with disdain and hatred. When it hits him right between his eyes, I swear I hear a sizzle.
“Oh my god! Cole!” The Wife’s incredulous, high-pitched voice makes my ears bleed. “We should press charges.”
I turn my attention to her. “Madam, your husband here has been fucking me, a fully-licensed pediatrician, for over a year now.”
Her eyes widen, and she looks at the man, who is growing redder by the moment. Lovely of him to match the colors; he’ll fit right in when he gets to hell.
I dig inside my purse for his apartment key and throw it at his face. The metal hits Cole squarely in the left eye, a guttural groan erupting as his hands fly to his face.
“That was the key he gave me last week, lady. Enjoy married life with that piece of shit,” I say with a tight-lipped smile.
On my way out, I slam his bedroom door.
Only then do I drop the bravado and feel my tears form.
Humiliation and anger grip my heart with superhuman strength. The only thing stronger is the urge to light Cole’s dick on fire. My knuckles lose color as I release some aggression onto my steering wheel once I’m parked in my driveway.
How could I have missed this? How could I have been so oblivious?
The memories of all our good times in this car—from planning our first couple’s vacation to stealing kisses at stoplights—make tonight even worse. With each thought, my anger builds, and the tears fall until my vision is as blurred as a window during a thunderstorm.
“Good thing tomorrow’s the fucking weekend.” My bitter words echo through my apartment as I saunter toward my bar cart, unscrew the cap off my favorite tequila, and take a hefty gulp. The earthy liquid goes down smooth, the warmth calming my nerves. An image of the last time I used tequila to get over being cheated on flashes through my mind. I shove the memory away, take another swig, and turn on my breakup playlist.
“Man Down” by Rihanna booms through the speakers, and I sing loudly. Tequila is the best dance partner I’ve ever had. My hips sway out of tempo as I imagine telling my parents I attempted first-degree murder,but couldn’t go through with it, thanks to the whole doctor thing. Mrs. Adegbite might be harsh at first, but after I explain the circumstances, she’ll privately pray God allows the judge to release me. The hard part will be ensuring Mr. Adegbite doesn’t finish the job and end up in jail with me.
After I polish off the rest of the tequila bottle and three soju shots, Beyoncé’s “Best Thing I Never Had” coats me in the truth: Cole lostme.Iam the prize, and he lied, cheated, and strung me along. I can’t believe he made me the other woman. He will live his life regretfully while I move on, because I’m funny, intelligent, and wicked sexy. I hope his wife leaves him. Not to mention, I’m becoming one of the most sought-after developmental-behavioral pediatricians in the country!
A little too much, my mind interjects.
“I’m becoming one of the best in the northeast!” I hiccup. I repeat the affirmations until I see new texts in my group chat with the girls.
Anjie: How’s it going? I’m sure he loved the gift.
Sewa: Don’t forget to gist us! We love the news! And we love this for you. Cupid’s Bow coming in clutch!
I attempt to respond to them, but the end of Sewa’s message reminds me of tonight’s other villain. That stupid pink-and-purple astrology dating app that matched me with the blue-eyed devil himself. Soulmates, my ass! I haven’t been in this much pain since I was in college. I avoided love to prevent this shit, and in eighteen months,Cupid’s Bowruined everything. Cole is to be blamed, but the people who sent him my way also deserve some smoke.
With glassy eyes, I struggle to navigate the bright app. “Stupid colors, stupid app, stupid cherub.”
I stick out the tip of my tongue as I navigate to the complaints page on theCupid’s Bowwebsite, and I try my hardest not to wobble off my sofa. After what feels like half an hour, my mind clears up enough for me to unleash my anger.
The big black letters stand out against the colorful app’s complaints page. The first page reads:
What is the nature of your complaint?
“Fuck!” I scream when a drop-down menu with even more words appears. Instead of giving up—wouldn’ttheylike that?—I take the time to scroll through the list of possible culprits.
App design…
I mean, yes, I have complaints, but they’re not pressing.No.
