Page 122 of Trailer Trash

I cry and cry until my rib cage stops shuddering and my tears dry up. I step back and cringe at his shirt. It’s wet and makeup found its way onto the fabric.

But I don’t care about his shirt either. I wander to the couch where I collapse. He sits beside me, and oddly, he turns on the television.

I glance over.

He smiles, cratering his dimples. “What? You need a friend tonight. We can watch TV. It’s better than being alone.”

I lean back into the cushion. He’s right.

He reclines too and tells me about his new life. We walk down memory lane sometimes, but don’t linger too long. He tells me about the girls he’s dated, and I trauma-dump about my pathetic romantic life with Killian.

I’m so devastated that words tumble from my mouth, unfiltered and honest.

“I thought I could date a rich guy. Isn’t that stupid? Could you imagine dating a rich girl that lives in a freaking mansion?”

He strokes his chin. “It would be dope. She could buy me things.”

I chuckle. “How do you think I got that Audi in the driveway?”

“He bought you a car?” he exclaims.

“Yep.”

“Give me his number. I’ll turn gay.”

We both laugh, but I shake my head.

“That’s what I’m talking about. It’s cool until things go bad, then rich people hold it over your head. He called me a whore tonight and claimed I care more about money than him. It made no sense.”

“That’s cooked,” Evan whispers.

“Yep. Killian was kinda right, though. I would never quit my job for a recovering addict.” I side-eye Evan and add, “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Good. And during dinner, I told him I’m short on tuition. He probably thought I was trying to get into his pockets.”

“How much do you need?”

“Tuition? Four-thousand.”

“How about you give me the car, and I’ll give you the four grand?”

I laugh, incredulous. “That car is worth more than that. I would sell it before giving it away.”

“Why don’t you sell it?”

I shrug. “It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned. I feel good when I drive it. I don’t know.”

But I do know.

Killian gave it to me. I’m attached to it.

“I see. Can I ask something crazy?”

I smirk. “Sure.”

“And you won’t get mad?”