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What was I so afraid of? Why couldn’t I answer her when she asked me if what was happening between us was real? Of-fucking-course it was real, but I was an asshole because I couldn’t—I couldn’t what?
I have no excuse. I’m just an ass. and whenever something seems to be real, I run away.
The doorbell echoing throughout my apartment was more than enough motivation to get me off my bed.
She’s back!
Opening the door without checking on the monitor who it was, I stared in shock as Miranda walked into my apartment, wailing.
Fuck, I am too tired for this.
“It’s all over, Xander!” she cried as she tossed her handbag on my dining table. She walked further into my apartment, crying, and I tightened my hand around the doorknob.
What is she doing here?
“It hurts so much,” she gasped as she dropped herself on my couch. If anything is hurting, why is she dressed like that? She definitely did not look like whatever it was that was over. “What could I have done to deserve this?” She turned to face me, and I was impressed.
For someone that was going through a lot, she looked kept. Waterproof makeup worked wonders.
“All I ever did was love him, and now here we are. I think our marriage is over, Xander!” she cried, and I raised my eyebrows as I leaned against the dining table, keeping my distance from her.
Oh.
“I know you’re my ex-husband, but I have no one to talk to.” She sniffled, looking at me through her fake lashes.
You literally have a therapist and 50+ clubhouse friends; how do you not have anyone to talk to?
“We were fine at first.” She fanned her face, and I wondered what part of my expression showed her that I wanted to listen to her story.
I didn’t care if she was getting divorced, but she was annoying me, and I would love it if she could leave.
“He suddenly started working late, and I asked him if he was cheating, and he went on to accuse me of cheating on him with my personal trainer. What does he see me as?” She looked offended by his thinking, and I honestly would not put that past her.
She really wasn’t the angel I’d thought she was. She pretended to be, but all she really was a money-leeching, narcissistic, self-obsessed, self-absorbed, self-entitled doll. She’d changed so much.
“And from there on, we just kept on having stupid arguments about how much I’m spending at designer stores. I mean, I very well deserve a bag or three as his wife; it isn’t like he is appreciating me either.” She shrugged, and I gritted my teeth together. “He doesn’t appreciate me like you used to,” she whispered, slumping her shoulders, and I sighed as I looked away, dragging my hand down my face.
Again, I don’t know which part of my reaction told her I wanted her to touch me.
I frowned as I looked at her and she pushed her bottom lip out. Fuck, she’s annoying. I was not in the mood for this.
“Oh?”
Naomi.
Pushing Miranda away from me, I rushed to her, and her questioning gaze went from me to Miranda, who stood behind me, tapping her heel against my floor. Her eyes were puffy, and I could tell she had been crying.
I brought my fingers up to touch her face, but she softly pushed away my hands and smiled as she raised the keys in her hands. “I came to get my stuff that I left behind,” she whispered as she gave me the key.
She walked past me and Miranda, not sparing another glance at Miranda, who looked at her curiously. “Who is she?”
I ignored Miranda as I walked after Naomi and found her opening the same cabinet drawers I’d searched, looking for traces of her. I wanted to explain that whatever she saw wasn’t true, that Miranda meant nothing and that I wanted her.
Why did I feel the need to explain? I didn’t owe her one, but I wanted to give her one. I don’t want her to leave feeling confused and thinking I was only playing with her.
“Nao,” I whispered as I walked toward her, and her body stiffened as I stood behind her. I distanced myself from her. My heart sank, and I couldn’t believe what was happening between us right now. “Please look at me,” I begged, and she continued walking around my room, retrieving her stuff that I couldn’t find in my rush to find something of hers.
Are there secret compartments in my cupboards?
