Nothing.
Still nothing.
Of course, because apparently humiliation is the theme of my fucking life lately.
Later that night, I'm vibrating with heartbreak and fury. The party’s already in full swing. Music pounding. Bodies everywhere. Smoke curling beneath flashing lights while drunk idiots dance on furniture like they lack survival instinct.
Normal warehouse behavior.
“Still pissed off?” Bianca asks, bumping her hip into mine.
“Yep! And he still hasn’t answered. This fucking sucks,” I say, and she pulls me into a hug.
“He seriously has a death wish. It will be okay,” she tells me, and I sniffle.
“I hate him,” I say, and she laughs.
“Mmhmm.”
“I’m serious.” And she snorts.
“You say that every three business days.”
And now, it’s my turn to laugh. She’s right. I either love him or hate him. There’s never any in between.
I collapse beside her on the couch, clutching vodka for emotional support.
But underneath the anger.
Something hurts worse.
Because Hayden promised.
Promised he wasn’t letting me go.
Promised I was his, and maybe I was stupid enough to believe him.
Hours pass and I’m no longer feeling the alcohol. All I feel is rage and something far more dangerous.
The party grows louder. Drunker. Wilder.
And somewhere around midnight… I see Tracy.
Laughing with friends near the loading docks.
Perfect makeup. Perfect little smirk.
My vision tunnels instantly.
Rage crawls hot and poisonous beneath my skin while every ugly emotion from the past week boils violently upward.
Hayden ignoring me.
Brayden hurting me.
My father controlling me.
And now this bitch standing here, smiling like she won something.
