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twenty
casey
I knew it. I did. I knew things happened too quickly, went too far, and way too soon. I’m stupid. I feel so stupid. I was Gavin O’Leary’s fool. I let down my guard and I knew better. I did! As soon as I turn the corner, I take off running.
I run because somewhere in the back of my head I’m disappointed that Gavin didn’t come after me—that he let me walk away. That’s further proof that he was playing a game. I know that logically, but I’d be lying if I said that it doesn’t hurt like crazy. I’m an idiot. An idiot who has no car and half her belongings at a lying, fucking, asshole’s house. I take out my cellphone and use my app to call Uber. Not original, but in times of crisis, it’s at the very least…effective.
I’m probably going to get fired and then be blacklisted on the Hollywood scene. I’ll probably have to go back cutting hair on the strip, or maybe worse. That’s all Gavin’s fault too. I’m standing outside when the Uber driver pulls up, I get in, and as soon as my door closes, the guy takes off. I can see Gavin coming outside as we pull away. I recline back in the seat, hoping he doesn’t see me. I only need enough time to get to his place and get my stuff before he follows me.
I nervously look out the back window the entire ride to Gavin’s. I don’t see his old pickup anywhere so I’m counting that as a win. I pay the driver and walk off without much more than a thank you. I make a beeline for the bedroom, picking my satchel up off the floor, and putting it on the bed. I don’t take the time to fold my clothes, I throw them inside the bag as best I can. I go for the items I like the most, knowing there’s no way I’ll get everything to fit in there. That too is Gavin’s fault.
I get all the clothes in that I can, then I go to the bathroom and get my blow dryer and other items. I stop at the bathroom door, my eyes going wide when I see Gavin standing by the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks like the idiot he is. Does he really think I owe him any explanation? He doesn’t and I don’t respond. Instead, I go to the bed and throw the things I gathered from the bathroom in my bag. The thing is way too full to zip and I don’t bother. I walk to the dresser to find my keys and immediately take off the key to Gavin’s house that he gave me. “I asked you a question, Casey,” he says, his voice is quiet, but dark and full of warning.
Asshole.
I walk over to him. I dried my tears on the way over here, and I hate that the anger inside of me makes me want to cry again, but I try my best to hold those back. He doesn’t deserve my tears.
He doesn’t deserve anything from me.
“Here’s your key,” I tell him, holding out the key to his home. He stares at it, but doesn’t make a move to take it from me. “Whatever, asshole.” I mutter tossing the key on the floor. I pick up my bag—which is not easy. It’s damn heavy. Gavin stands across from me like the asshole he is. If he was a real man he’d offer to at least take the bag to my car for me. Then again, if he was a real man he wouldn’t be making a stupid bet on if he could get in my pants.
Damn if that thought doesn’t make tears sting my eyes again.
“That’s it then?” he asks once I have my back turned to him.
“That’s it,” I answer, unnecessarily.
“You can walk away from what we have that easily?”
“You don’t get to make me the bad guy here, asshole!” I growl at him, turning around despite knowing I shouldn’t. The first rule when dealing with idiots is do not engage.
“Asshole, another colorful nickname to add to all the others you’ve given me,” he says and I truly can’t believe him. Is this nothing but a joke to him? He’s crushed my heart and he wants to talk about stupid crap like this?
“This one fits better than any of the others!” I growl and before I can question my sanity or think better of it, I take my bag and hurl it at him. It’s damn heavy and I can’t throw it far, but there’s enough weight to it, it should at least have thrown him off balance. Instead he catches it like he was expecting it. My favorite blow dryer in the world bounces out of the opened top and crashes onto the floor. The diffuser attached to it breaks off and skids a good ten feet away, it’s probably useless now. I paid two hundred bucks for that thing to help me get my curls under control. It will never work again. That’s his fault too! “I hate you!” I scream like a child, but I’m tired, I’m hurt, and I’m too upset to worry about being the bigger person here.
