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“You don't have to tell me.”

“I can't stop seeing it.”

Her arm comes around my shoulders.

I let it.

That hurts too, because Bitter held me last night. He held my hand while he was inside me, and less than twenty-four hours later those same hands were gripping a coffin while he fucked someone else.

“He promised me.”

Mercy is quiet.

“He actually promised me. I asked him because I knew what I could handle and what I couldn't. I told him if he was sleeping with me, he wasn't sleeping with anybody else.”

My voice cracks.

“He said no other women.”

Mercy’s jaw tightens.

“He said it.”

“I believe you.”

“I wasn't stupid.”

The words come out before I know I need them.

Mercy turns toward me. “No.”

“I didn't assume.”

“No.”

“I didn't decide coffee meant commitment or that fixing my car made him my boyfriend. I asked him.”

“I know.”

“I made him say it.”

“And he said it.”

I nod.

Then the worst thought comes back.

“He warned me, though.”

Mercy’s expression changes. “He did.”

I laugh bitterly. “He told me he didn't do relationships. He told me club came first. He told me he was bad at more. He told me he would probably fuck it up.”

“Sweet.”

“And I thought I was special.”

“No.”