“So get”—I swing the mallet at him—“out. Of. My. House!”
Knox shrieks when I lunge at him.
“You screwed over my sister, and you cheated on me! You’re a waste of space, and I hate your mom!” I scream as Fidget and I chase Knox around my house.
Fidget snaps at his heels, nipping at his calves.
“Winnie,Winnie, please!”
Fidget barks and jumps, knocking into him.
He stumbles, and Fidget sinks her teeth into his leg, and he goes down.
Hands up, he cowers on the floor as Fidget and I stand over him. “Winnie,” Knox begs, “please, you don’t understand. I’m only acting this way because I love you. You know, boys pull the pigtails of girls they like.”
“You called me a slug. You remember that? In high school. You and all your shitty little brain-dead hockeybuddies—you all laughed when I went up to you in the hallway and tried to hug you,” I holler at him. “Said you were just getting your dick wet. So no, you don’t love me.”
“I was corrupted by toxic hockey culture!” he screams when I bring the mallet down, stopping just short of his nose. “Winnie, I made a mistake,” he says, gasping. “I’m sorry I stole your stuff, but I just needed to be near you. I need you. I love you.”
“Fuck you.”
“You’re a goddess, a queen.” He sniffles. “My life would have been so much better with you in it. I see that now. You know about money and investing and stuff. I don’t,” he admits. “All my money is gone. Because of the gold diggers in my life, but you’re not a gold digger.”
“Stop trying to pit me against my sister,” I warn. “I know she’s not a gold digger. She didn’t get a penny out of being in a relationship with you.”
“No, no,” Knox gasps. “Not her. My mom made me give her money for her sisters and fancy vacations, and then my—”
“Mistress?” I cut in, hefting the mallet threateningly. “Don’t blame her either. You dumped her in my house, remember? I know the whole thing. I know how you treated her.”
“No, not her. There’s another—” His eyes shift nervously.
“How many women are you sleeping with?” I scream at him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he whines, “because I just want to be with you.”
“Translation: You want me to financially support you while you manwhore around.”
“I’m living on credit cards,” he pleads. “I thought Brinley’s parents had money, but they are just burning up her granny’s inheritance. I’m broke. I have to rent.”
“That is not my problem.”
“But I can give you children,” he offers.
“I can go to the bar and hook up with a guy and get a child that way if I want to. Your balls are not special.”
“I’m going to come back tomorrow,” he says, slowly sitting up, “when you’re feeling better, and we can talk about it. You and I both know we belong together.”
“No, we do not.”
“Winnie—”
“You’re not staying in my city. You need to get the hell out.”
“But I work here!”
“How much credit card debt do you have?”
“Like eight hundred thousand dollars.”
