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“Come on, Rach, let’s take this to my bedroom.” He stands, pulling her to her feet. “The couch is all yours.” He gestures to the worn leather.
“Too bad I have to disinfect it with bleach before I’ll ever be able to touch it again.” My nostrils flare, anger building deep in my chest.
It takes everything in me not to chuck my purse at him when he pushesRach(even my inner monologue is sneering now) into his room with a soft chuckle.
“Asshole,” I mutter when the door slams shut.
Tears sting the back of my eyes.
I’m so fucking mad.
Why am I so mad?
Taking a deep breath, I toss my purse onto the coffee table as my eyes do a sweep of the room, taking in the mess. Empty beer bottles on the floor. Dirty plates on the table. A bright red bra that could fit five of my boobs in one cup draped over the chair. Seriously, how inconsiderate can you be?
Why do I feel like going in there and going crazy, murderous bitch on the both of them? Like a lifetime in prison would somehow be worth stabbing them both to death.
And since murder isn’t an option, no matter how much I wish it were, I’m going to have to do what I do best, ignore it.
Ignorehim.
I’ve perfected it over the years.
Burying the jealousy, the anger, and hurt I felt every time I would see Atlas with a new girl. It became second nature over the years, almost as natural as breathing, until I didn’t even realize it bothered me anymore.
Only now, there’s no hiding it.
And I know why.
Because of that kiss.
Because for a brief moment I let myself feel everything I had buried.
Because I let myself believe that he wasn’t exactly who he’s always been.
A player.
A womanizer.
A selfish asshole that takes what he wants with no regard for anyone else.
He didn’t kiss me because he wanted to.
He kissed me because hecould.
Because he thought it would be fun to toy with me.
Laughter filters from Atlas’s room, followed by a thud that oddly resembles the sound that resonated through the bathroom when Atlas drove me against the wall.
My stomach twists again, and for a moment I wonder if I’m going to be sick.
I look at the couch, at the disheveled cushions hanging on by a thread. And then to the floor where my blanket and pillow lay. My hands shake with anger. Without a thought, I snatch them up and stomp into the kitchen, shoving both my blanket and pillow into the trashcan, filling the otherwise empty bin. If we had a fireplace I would have made a scene of burning them, but alas, I have to settle for the anticlimactic trash stuffing. At this point, there’s no chance in hell I’ll ever be using either of them again.
I’ve just made it back into the living room when I hear them. Soft little moans that seem to get louder and louder by the second. Knowing I can’t sit here and listen to them have sex without going insane, I snatch up my purse and pick up the bra on the chair with the very tips of my fingers, before exiting the apartment, and slamming the door shut so hard behind me that the walls rattle.
Once I’ve made it outside, I toss the girl’s bra into a tree next to the sidewalk, high enough where I know she won’t be able to easily reach it, simply because I can. Childish move, absolutely. But damn did it feel good.
So good that as I stomp my way through the parking lot, I debate taking my key to Atlas’s jeep when I pass it. I’m sure that would really lift my spirits.
