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I slam it open and walk directly to his bed, throwing the covers aside.
Fuck. It’s true. He’s there.
Thud.
I jerk towards the sound, somewhere downstairs, and I calm my breathing, trying to stay as still as possible so I can hear.
“Fuck!” David yells, and then I hear a cabinet slam. Then another.
Good thing I wasn’t sleeping.
I head towards the kitchen, anger quickening my pace, and I prepare myself for a fucking battle royale.
“Good morning, asshole.”
He turns around to meet me and stumbles back on his heels.
Fuck, he’s drunk. This is going to make it so much worse.
“Asshole? What’d I do?” He slurs his words and places his hands on the kitchen island in front of him, steadying himself.
“What didn’t you do? That’d be a more fitting question.” I shoot back.
He smirks at me, and he eyes me up and down. Any other time, and that look would have me reeling, panting in anticipation for his touch.
But my fury is dulling any sensitivity I have towards him. I’m on fire, but it’s not in his favor.
“What the fuck are you doing? Or did you not think at all?”
“No, I thought. I thought about drinking, partying…you know, the shit you don’t allow me to do.” He glares at me, and his large body sways back and forth.
“And why don’t I allow you to do that?” I scoff.
“Because you’re in love with me and want me all to yourself?”
Um…what? I wasn’t expecting that. I almost lose my balance, having not shielded myself properly for that sort of attack.
“In love with you? Is that what you think?” I ask, not hiding my shock.
“Oh, just admit it. You want this. For as long as we both shall live. Love.” He’s mocking me, and I can’t make out if it’s him being playful or spiteful.
“I can’t even begin to explain how ridiculous you sound right now. But you really fucked up this time.”
“Me? I fucked up? Hah!” He closes the distance between us, and the smell of whiskey and cigarettes stings my nostrils. It’s so overwhelming that I can almost taste it.
The frustrating part is my pussy begins to throb as I watch his muscles twitch while he looks at me with those drunken sex eyes.
Damn it. Why can’t I ever get a grip on my body when I’m around him?
He continues, “This is all pretend, love. It’s bullshit. You concocted this whole thing, and then you fucking fell for it. You care too damn much about this…this engagement!”
I stare at him, thinking over what he just said to me. He’s wrong. I didn’t believe in this…in us.
Did I?
I replay every moment we’ve had together in my head, looking for the nuanced feelings I might not have noticed before.
Shit, is he right?
