I crouch at my bag and dig through it, looking for something big to hide myself in.
“I can’t believe how fat you’ve gotten in just a few months.”
I grit my teeth and push my crop top aside. It’s too cold for that anyway.
“Medication? You need a treadmill.”
I fist one of my last pairs of panties and slam it next to my balled-up socks.
“Are you sure you should be eating that? Or eating at all?”
“Whatare yougoing on about in that head, pink flesh?” Bastian asks with a lazy sigh.
Oh Jesus fucking ballsacks.
“No need to panic, I can’t read your mind,” he says, as if reading my mind. “But I can sense your fear, and…disdain.”
“It’s not your business,” I snap as I find my big black sweater that pairs nicely with my high-waisted blue jeans.
He tuts. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”
“I want the ring back.”
Tears burn behind my eyes and my hands shake.
Why aren’t I over this?
Why can’t I justforgethim?
Ablopof black hits the ground beside me and I school my features as I look up. Bastian towers over me as I crouch beside my bag, his brow furrowed.
“Stop.”
“Stop what,” I ask angrily.
“Feeling like…” He rolls his hands around as he gestures at me. “Like this.”
I shoot up, my fury finding a target. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel!”
His jaw flexes and he glares. “Someone should in this instance.”
“Oh,of course! I’m just a feeble little woman and my emotions are volatile! Please, some big strong man, come tell me how to feel!”
Bastian huffs. “You should feel—”
My phone blasts Tchaikovsky and Bastian snarls in the direction of it.
I shake my head, trying to clear the indignation from my mind. I grab my phone and answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi there, Ms. Kennedy?” an older man asks.
“Yes,” I say, holding the towel tighter at my chest.
“Had a cancelation. We can come early,” the man says.
“Uh, who are you?”
