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The same scene that plays over and over again.
“What did you do, Missy?”My voice grows louder, angrier, more venom flowing with every sharp, nervous word spit out. “What the fuck did you do?”
“It’s all your fault, you know,” she fires back. “If you had loved me right, none of this would’ve happened!”
“You did this out of spite for me?”
I move closer at the sound of sirens in the background. Determination thrums through me to get to her before they do, and I drop to my knees, prepared to plead if need be.
“Where is he?” I stress, tears biting at my eyes.
Her smile is wicked. “You’ll never know.” Those four words kill me yet satisfy her as she sings them out.
I’m coveredin sweat when I wake up. I jump out of bed and throw my soaking shirt off. Then, I go to the kitchen for water and decide I’m in need of fresh air.
Fifteen
Lauren
“Oh, come on,”I mutter during attempt number five of starting my car.
Can anything else go wrong this week?
My apartment catching on fire.
Check.
Ex back in town.
Check.
Having one of the hardest shifts in my career last night that emotionally drained me.
Check.
My car playing the game of not wanting to start.
Check.
The sun beams down on me. It’s the butt crack of dawn, which means it’ll be an inconvenience to wake anyone up and ask for a ride. I grab my bag from the passenger seat and start to rifle through it, searching for my phone. I hope it’s not too complicated for them to find a replacement for me at the last minute.
I unlock my screen at the same time I hear the sound of a door slamming. I look through the windshield to see Gage stepping off the porch, a coffee cup in his hand, and sweat trickling down his chest.
The TV was still on and Gage was gone when I woke up on the couch this morning. I don’t know how much longer he stayed after I fell asleep, but if it weren’t for him being there with me, I wouldn’t have slept at all last night. He was there for me as I broke down and cried in his arms, and the memories of when he’d done that in the past haunted me while I got ready for work.
I drop my phone back into my lap as he hops down the steps and meets me.
“Car trouble?” he asks.
I cringe as I attempt to start my car again, and it fails. I dramatically grip the steering wheel. “Yep.”
“You know what the problem is, don’t you?”
“If I did, I would already be gone.”
“It won’t start as a result of its ugliness. It’s decided that it’s finally time to go to car heaven.”
“Shove it,” I grumble. “It’s too early to hear you passing judgment on my car.”
