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Christina
My fingers twist around the crop top I just found sticking out from beneath his bed. The bright fabric feels cheap. Just touching it is making the urge to throw up twofold. I hate how familiar this feeling is. This is not my crop top. But this is my boyfriend’s bedroom. Soon to be ex-boyfriend’s bedroom. Which means that whoever this belongs to took off her shirt and left it behind.
I’m an idiot. Why do I keep falling for this?
Furious, I dig my nails into my palm as I storm through the grandiose manor. Everyone in Millbury lives like this. Large, overly ornate homes that showcase a ridiculous display of wealth.
It’s practically an unsaid rule. Just like the facts that 1. everything in the city is run by the Mafia, and 2. those who don’t want trouble shouldn’t ask questions...
Matt’s father runs Ricci and Co. Construction, which means this house was absolutely built using Mafia money. I’ve spent most of our six-month relationship trying not to judge.
There are lots of ways a person can become corrupt, their profession included. That doesn’t mean their entire family should suffer a mark of shame for their actions.
I should know.
Unfortunately, with Matt I was wrong; his father’s money sources aren’t the only things tainted with this family.
Blood will out, isn’t that the saying?
I storm back into the living room where I find him still parked in front of the TV, playing video games. I bet the fucker didn’t even notice I was missing!
“What the fuck is this?” I scream, throwing the shirt at the side of his face. An unfamiliar rage boils inside me and I want to lash out.
His attention is fixated on his player who dies on the screen. I don’t think he realizes what’s happening at first.
“Fuck, Christina. How many times have I told you not to interrupt my games,” he yells, slamming his headset to the ground.
Typical. Aren’t we getting too old for this bullshit?
His blue eyes narrow and his lips tick down as he takes in what I’ve thrown at him.
He blinks twice, grabbing the shirt and tossing it aside before looking up to glare at me.
Motherfucker doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.
I turn away, hiding my face from him and stride out the door. I’m done. I’m so done with this.
“Christina wait,” he shouts. “Fuck,” I hear him mutter beneath his breath as he runs to catch me.
I don’t stop to hear his excuses. I’ve dated enough liars to remember how it goes. I don’t know why I thought he would be different.
“Christina listen—” he grabs me by the arm and I whirl around, my dark hair whipping around me.
“What, Matt? What?” I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat. My emotions are catching up to me. The tears of betrayal sting the backs of my eyes with hot, bleary pain as my mind goes through a list of names.
How could this happen to me again? Was it one of my friends? A random hook up from one of the frat parties he likes to go to? Why?
But I already know the answer.
In high school, I was the awkward kid – the nerd. No one cared what I did, and if they did ask me out, it was likely as a joke. But that all changed when I started my freshman year at Millerton University. Somehow, turning 19 and starting college meant I went from a joke to desirable. Initially, the change almost gave me whiplash. But I thought this meant my life would be better. That finally I would get the romance everyone else seemed to have.
Unfortunately, all I’ve learned is that curves and confidence don’t guarantee fidelity and romance. It’s been a hard lesson to learn.
“It’s not what you think,” he says, taking a step towards me.
I take two steps back and shake my head. “No? What is it then? Because I can tell you what it looks like!” I yell.
