I move past her and grab the glass from the bedside table, draining it in a few gulps as I try to get a hold of myself.
Then I turn back to her.
“Tell me the lie.”
“There is no lie,” she whispers.
My chest tightens.
When had it ever done that before?
Never.
Fucking never.
I don’t do pain. I don’t let that disease, that weakness, invade my body.
So why the fuck is it happening now?
A crack echoes through the room.
She gasps and takes a step towards me before stopping short.
Ah, the glass.
I never set it down.
I lower my eyes to my hand and find blood spreading across my palm, slipping between my fingers before dripping onto the floor, where shards of glass now lie scattered at my feet.
I lift my head and look back at her.
“So,” I say, breaking the silence, “do you fuck him after you let me fuck you?”
She flinches, but keeps her head high.
“You have no right,” she says, “to disrespect me like that.”
Another tear rolls down her cheek.
“But do you?” I roar, all that hard won control finally snapping.
And thank fuck the music downstairs is loud.
“Do you fuck him? Is he taking what’s mine? Does he put his filthy fucking hands onmybody?!”
I take a step, then another. Until I’m standing right in front of her.
She says nothing.
“Better question,” I say with a bitter laugh. “Are you cheating on me, or are you cheating onhim?”
She just keeps looking at me.
Fuck that.
I cup her face in my hands.
“Answer me,” I grit out. “Are you fucking married, Piper? Is that what you just confessed?”
