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I wanted him to tell me he wasn’t cheating on me.
I’d spent the past two years of my life loving him. Despite his downfalls and all the cocky arrogance he possessed, he understood me in ways no one else did. He wasn’t always there when I wanted him, but he was there when I always needed him.
Well, except at the funeral. But, I understood that work came first sometimes.
When I pulled up to his house, I saw a car I didn’t recognize in the driveway. I felt my stomach drop to my knees, so I decided to call him one last time. This was his last chance to pick up the phone and explain to me what was going on. One final opportunity to explain himself and let me know he cared about me as much as I cared about him.
But when it rang once then went to his voicemail, I climbed out of my car and used my key to get into his house.
“Greyson?” I called out. “You here?”
I heard shuffling around in the bedroom before a door opened up, and Greyson stumbled out into the hallway in his boxers with disheveled hair. I had always loved the way he first looked thing in the morning. He was always disoriented before his coffee, but he always had the best sexual stamina in the morning also. I loved his coffee-tainted breath on my lips.
He was always the gentlest when he was first caffeinated and waking up.
“Stella?” he asked. “Hey there, sweetheart. Everything alright?”
“Are you aware you butt-dialed me a couple days ago?” I asked.
“Uh, really?” he asked. “I didn’t realize that.”
“Are you aware that I just called you?” I asked.
“Actually, no. I wasn’t. I was in the bathroom,” he said.
“Then, who shot me to voicemail?” I asked.
Just then, I heard more shuffling in his room. My mind was yelling at me, knowing full good and well what was going on, but my heart didn’t want to admit it. My pride wanted Greyson to say it, and my feet wanted to turn and walk out of the house.
Walk out before my worst nightmare officially proved true.
“Who’s in your room, Greyson?” I asked coolly.
“Stella, this isn’t what it looks like,” he said.
“I’m not looking at anything. Just my boyfriend of two years looking wonderful in his boxers. What am I hearing?” I asked.
I started down the hallway, and he stepped in front of me to stop me in my tracks. I tried to sidestep him, dodging his arms and body, and finally pushed past him before I threw his bedroom door open. The darkness of his room shrouded a figure moving underneath his sheets, so I reached over to turn on the light.
But, his hand caught me mid-air before I could.
“Stella, just listen,” he said into my ear.
“You are such a little fucker, Greyson,” I whispered.
I flipped the light on and saw exactly what I knew I would, and she was beautiful. Exotic tanned skin with long, curly brown hair. Her deep brown eyes twinkled with his bedroom lights as my eyes drifted over the dark hickeys on her neck and chest. The sheet fell from her breasts, full and perky and red with his teeth marks.
My vision tunneled as my heart shattered into pieces.
“You are such a sack of shit!” I yelled, throwing my fist into Greyson’s stomach.
“Stella, come on,” he said. “Let’s be reasonable.”
“Reasonable? Reasonable! My father just died, and you missed the fucking funeral, and you want me to be reasonable? You’re fucking around with some bimbo! Were you fucking her during my father’s funeral?”
“What? No! Stella, what the fuck.”
“So, you didn’t ditch my father’s funeral so you could get some pussy? You didn’t leave me high and dry when I needed you most so you could get your kicks since I wasn’t giving you any?” I yelled.
