Page 107 of Ghosted

“But I’m enjoying this.” His gaze drags over my face, too sharp, too pleased. “He got you all worked up, didn’t he? What’d he do? Glare too hard? Say something stupid in that tragic little voice? Make you feel special and then immediately fuck it up?”

Heat crawls up my neck, and Johnny’s expression turns delighted.

“Fuck,” he says. “Look at you. Jagger really did piss you off.”

“Get out.”

“I’m not even in yet.”

“Then stay out.”

He tilts his head. “Do you want me to?”

The answer should be easy. I know where the door is. I know my phone is in my bag. I know my neighbors are close enough to hear me if they feel like becoming useful for once in their lives. Johnny isn’t blocking me. He isn’t stepping inside. He’s just standing there, smiling because he can see the fight happening on my face.

“Bet you’re happy. You got everything you wanted, didn’t you? He chose you,” I say before I can stop myself.

That makes his smile pause for half a second.

Then it comes back worse. “Did he?”

“You fucking know he did. I asked him not to. To choose me, but he wouldn't. No, all he sees is whatever sick thing this is between you two.” My voice shakes, and I hate that too.

Johnny watches me with too much interest. The hallway feels smaller. My apartment feels too quiet behind me.

“And now you’re mad at him.”

“I’m mad at both of you.”

“Sure.” His eyes glitter. “But he’s the one who disappointed you.”

The words land exactly where he wants them to.

Fuck him for that.

I hate myself more because it works.

Jagger’s face flashes in my head. His hands on me. His mouth against mine. The way he closed his eyes when I asked him not to go because some part of him already knew he was going to hurt me.

I fucking begged him, and he still said no.

Johnny sees the hurt turn into something uglier.

“Well isn’t that just heartbreaking,” he murmurs.

“Don’t.”

“What?” His smile turns almost innocent, which is honestly insulting. “I’m just saying, if my brother wants to make everything about me, who are we to argue?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Aww you don't mean that.”

“No. I do. I really fucking do.”

“Fine,” He takes his hand off the door and holds both palms up, stepping back half a pace. “There. Door’s yours. Close it.”

I stare at him.