“I know who I am.”
“No, you don’t.” He pushes off the door and starts moving toward me. I back up until I hit the wall. “You’re Mary Sullivan. You work at a bank. You live in a shitty apartment and take the bus everywhere because you can’t afford anything better. You take care of your crazy grandmother because nobody else will.”
Each word is a knife, cutting deeper than the last.
“You’re the girl who says sorry when other people bump into her. The girl who takes whatever scraps she can get and says thank you for them. The girl who—”
“Stop.”
“—who faked every orgasm because she was too afraid to tell me what she wanted.”
The words leave my head spinning. My vision goes white at the edges.
“How did you—?”
“Please, Mary. You think I’m stupid? Six years of the same three-second performance and you thought I didn’t notice?” He’s tooclose now. I can see the stubble on his jaw, the red in his eyes. “But I let you pretend. Because it was easier. Because you were easy.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t think clearly. Can’t do anything but stand there while he tears me apart with surgical precision.
“And now you think you’re what? Better than me? Because some boyfriend dressed you up and bought you expensive jewelry?” His eyes drop to the Cartier watch on my wrist. “You think that makes you special?”
“You don’t deserve me.” The words come out broken, hardly a whisper.
He stares at me for a heartbeat. Then he barks a laugh.
“I don’t deserve you? Mary,nobodywants you but me. Nobody. “
I don’t mean to do it. My body does it for me. I shove him. Two hands to his chest. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to surprise.
He stumbles, then catches himself, eyes going wide like a dog who just realized the rabbit has teeth.
“Get out.” My voice is stronger now, fed by a rage I’ve never let myself feel. “Get out of my apartment. Now.”
“No.”
“GET OUT!”
The scream rips out of my throat, raw and primal. Evan flinches back, genuinely surprised.
“Jesus, Mary, calm down—”
“I said GET OUT!” I’m shaking now, fury and terror and six years of suppressed rage pouring out all at once. “I never want to see you again! You cheated on me! You lied to me! You made me feel like I was nothing, and I let you, but I’m done! I’m DONE!”
“You’re done?” His voice drops, dangerous. “You don’t get to be done. You don’t get to decide when this is over.”
He lunges forward, hands reaching for my arms.
I try to dodge, but there’s nowhere to go. His fingers close around my biceps, grip tight enough to leave marks.
“Let go—”
“Not until you listen—”
“LET GO OF ME!”
I’m fighting now, really fighting, clawing at his hands and trying to twist away. But he’s stronger, bigger, and he’s not letting go.
“Stop making a scene,” he hisses. “God, you’re embarrassing. Acting like you’ve got options. Acting like I didn’t make you.”
