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“You’re a spoiled rotten creature and your mother ought to be ashamed of how she’s raised you.”
He blinks, meows once, flits his tail.
I break off a piece of my bagel then shoot it paper-football-style in the direction of his food bowl, watching his head snap to the side before he jumps off the table to retrieve it.
“Brat,” I mutter.
I turn my attention back to Insta and see a picture that nearly shocks me. Devin and Swain are lip-locked. Under the photo reads “Best decision I ever made, stealing you away from misery. Happy monthiversary, bitch! 30 days and counting …”
At first I think the post is Devin’s, but no, it’s right under Swain’s profile photo. I sent a request to follow her not long after Devin and I met. She obviously approved it without me realizing, but when I quickly navigate to her profile, I see that this is the first time she’s posted in almost a year.
I go back to the picture.30 days and counting…?
So she and Devin hooked up before Dev broke up with me. I do the mental calculations. The last time we had sex was three weeks ago. I think? It was relatively subpar. I remember feeling like Devin was just going through the motions, and after, she went outside to the balcony and talked on the phone for five minutes or so while I grabbed a soda from the fridge. She was probably talking to Swain, telling her how awful the sex was. Swain probably told her to just dump me already.
God, I feel sick. Rage rises inside of me as I think back to how hateful she was when I got home from the killing last week. What a bitch.
A cheating, traitorous bitch. I know I had my faults but that’s no excuse to cheat.
My fingers hover over the keyboard on my phone. Furious, I type out four or five nasty comments, backspacing each one that comes across as either too mean or too psychotic. I want her to know that I’ve seen this, that I know she was unfaithful. But I don’t want to come off as unstable. I finally settle on something that will get my point across.
30 days, huh? Interesting, seeing as you just broke up with me last week. Call me crazy but cheating on your girlfriend then dumping them while playing the part of innocent victim is as toxic as it gets. And here I thought you told me to “fuck off a cliff and die” because you were hurting and trying to guilt trip me, while all along it turns out YOU were the guilty one…
I post the comment, my hands shaking from anger. And then my face grows hot from embarrassment because I realize I've commented on Swain's post, not Devin’s. Oh fucking well. I'm sure it will be deleted as soon as one of them sees my comment.
Regardless, all the guilt I felt when she ended things has vanished completely. And if I didn’t have trust issues before, I sure as hell have them now.
My phone rings seconds later and I answer, spitting awhatinto the receiver.
“Damn. Who shit in your cornflakes?”
“Devin did, if you must know.”
“Oh Jesus. What did she do now?” Rigger asks.
I grit back the string of curse words, knowing if I go into it now, it’ll just raise my blood pressure needlessly. She isn’t worth it. “I’ll tell you later. Do you have some news for me?”
“Sure do. Our little boner killing baby snatcher is halfway to L.A. Looks like he got an early start behind the wheel. Can you be ready to leave this afternoon?”
“Yeah. I’ve already lined up a sitter for Ritz and have most of my things packed and ready. What time do you want to leave?”
“I’ll be there in one hour.”
“See you then.”
My anger all but vanishes and I call Kathy, the vet tech at my animal hospital, to let her know I’m taking off this afternoon and that everything for Ritz is on the kitchen counter. She’s pet sat for me before and always comes by twice a day to feed my little man. He absolutely adores her, which means he doesn’t try to bite her when she pets him.
I finish packing my things, run by the Y to get my wigs, and Rigger and I are on the 10 by 12:30. Of course the first thing I do is check Insta to see if there are any notifications from a certain someone. When I try to go back to Swain’s post I see she’s blocked me. And so has Devin for that matter. I feel sick and my heart pounds angrily for a few minutes. I sit in the passenger seat stewing in my own juices before deciding that she isn’t worth it.
I then spend the first few hours of the trip taking care of my marketing tasks for Nilssen then happily put my phone out of sight.
“So what’s on the agenda when we get there?” I ask, referring to Ben and wondering how close Rigger will want to stay to him.
He picks up a yellow folder sitting on the seat between us and passes it my way. “Take a look at this guy. He’s my target up in Malibu.”
I open the folder and sort through some photos of an attractive man. He’s playing golf. He’s sitting at a bar, he’s getting in his car, looking over his shoulder like he sees someone he knows. Rigger briefs me on him.
“Name is Chris Kandler. Works for some trucking company as an inspector.”
