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I’m about to apologize profusely for interrupting when the man shucks his suit jacket, tossing it to the side, and rips his tie off.
He still hasn’t turned around, but I know the way this body moves. I’ve seen those very same hands rip his and my clothes off as he desperately tried to get to bare skin.
Like seeing a trainwreck in real time, I stand frozen, watching as he removes his shirt next.
I know that back. The wide shoulders, the tapered waist, the dimples on either of his spine just above his waistline. I know this body, it’s bent over me dozens of times.
His head turns to the side when the sound of the door closing doesn’t immediately follow, and I recognize the lock of hair that flops on his cheek.
I recognize the hands on the other girl's waist.
I recognize the green eyes that give me a dead look.
“Rogue?” I question, my voice small and disbelieving.
There’s got to be another explanation for this. This isn’t happening, not now.
Before he can say anything, Lyra’s –Lyra’s– head pops out to the side.
The déjà vu is powerful, my brain merging together memories of the first time I found him like this with her with these fresh images of a new betrayal.
She digs her nails in his shirtless back, like she’s in the throes of passion. My gaze is fixed on her hands. How dare she touch him like I touch him?
How dare he let her?
“You mind? Close the bloody door will you?” She sneers.
I’m going to be sick to my stomach. It feels like a tornado, a tsunami and an earthquake hit all at once. There’s alarms, and screaming, and cries, and death, and blood ringing in my ears and yet I’m pretty sure that outside of my head, the world is quiet.
He still hasn’t said anything and neither have I.
Somehow, even with the evidence plainly displayed in front of my eyes, I’m still foolish and naive enough to believe there’s a chance it’s all a misunderstanding. There’s no way he’s doing this to me when I told him I loved him less than a week ago.
When he’s begged me to repeat it every day, every hour since.
There’s no way he got up and out of my bed this morning just to fuck her at an event he also invited me to. Even at his meanest,he’s never been this cruel.
“Rogue?” I repeat, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. My words are hardly audible. If I speak any louder, he’ll hear the heartbreak in my tone.
I barely recognize him. He looks like when we first met and those subsequent weeks when he harassed me. He’s detached and unreachable. What little humanity was left in his eyes leaves his gaze as his jaw sets.
I know he’s going to strike a blow.
“You heard her.” He says. “Close the door.”
This isn’t happening.
“Rogue, stop.” I beg.
“What don’t you understand?” He asks, still not facing me. I realize Lyra is sitting on a counter, her legs on either side of him. Other than her hands on his waist, they’re not touching.
“What you’re doing!” I cry. “Why are you here with her?”
“She’s it for me.” He delivers coldly, matter-of-factly. “She’s always been it for me. You were just a means to an end, a way to make her jealous so I could get her back.”
Pain battles with seething anger for dominance inside me.
He’s abused my kindness and patience too many times before. I warned him last time that he didn’t have any more chances.
