2
Some days, you were angry.
Some days you were pissed.
Other days, you were just really, really hurt.
Tori was all of that and more.
Angry at her boyfriend Stefan for being a two-no three-no, who really knew how many time-cheating bastard. So pissed she wanted to go cut his dick off with a rusty knife and then go take his credit cards and buy all those expensive designer purses and shoes she’d always wanted.
Just to be a bitch.
But the pain in her heart blocked her, because he’d hurt her so blatantly for so long, she still cared.
Dare she say loved him?
Maybe.
All the times when he would tell her loving things, be that boyfriend she wanted, she believed him. He would spoil her with shopping trips, but evidently, none of it was real to him.
And she believed the fairy tale.
Not the reality.
She stared at the designer bag that sat on the kitchen counter. The one he said was a real Louis Vuitton.
For a fake, it was pretty good. She never noticed the flaws. The brown leather bag had everything—the metal details, even a little padlock on the zipper. Except the stitching on the handles was the wrong color. Not the normal mustard color that Vuitton used, but a rusty brown. A Google search later, and she realized her bag had several hallmarks of being a fake.
She'd never bothered to check, just took it at face value.
Just like her relationship, evidently.
That was what hurt.
She knew better.
She did.
But she always believed him when he came back, promising he wouldn’t cheat again, and that it would be better. It would be. For a while. Then he would go back to his ways.
The last time, it was this purse. She’s always wanted a designer purse, like the rich girls at her high school had always carried. She thought they were so classy. She did everything to be like that.
So loved in the world. She did the hair. The nails. The makeup. Carried the purse.
She wanted that because they always had it easy, those pretty girls.
Didn’t matter how hard she tried, though. She always wound up in the middle of the drama and the craziness.
Like with boyfriends who lied and cheated.
Tori swiped the counter, sending the purse flying and the stuff inside spilling on the floor.
She hadn’t been carrying it very long, so she didn’t have a lot of stuff in it yet.
Fine by her.
She stared at the few items that were inside—makeup, a wallet that was just as fake as the purse, and a hairbrush.
