should a gaggle of whores bother me?"
I laugh, a sharp noise that fills the space. My head is pounding. I want to shake her—shake sense into her. "Because I'm with you. Don't you think I'd be pissed if you were to have a one night stand?"
"I'm a lady," she snaps. "I'd never do that to you."
That stings. It's true—despite my vast amount of shitty behavior, Mel would never do to me what I've been doing to her for almost a year.
"Maybe you should have," I say, tiredly. "Maybe it would have woken me up."
"If you know what you’re doing is hurtful, why do it?" she asks.
"It's who I am," I say. It's an easy, cop-out answer—the truth is too complex and it doesn't matter. Not anymore.
"I can't do this anymore," I say softly. Mel's gaze snaps up and narrows on me. "We can't. It's not healthy—not for me or you, Mel. You have to see that."
"Why? What's changed? This has been fine for both of us for a long time—why is suddenly not enough?"
I hesitate. The truth will piss her off, but anything less than the truth won't be enough. "You deserve a guy who can give you more than I can—someone who can be faithful and who wants to meet your parents and go to the damn country club. I don’t want that life. I never really did. And I deserve to be with someone who accepts me—all of me, all my faults—for what they are. Someone who understands why I am the way I am."
"Someone like Scout," she says, without inflection.
"Yeah. Someone like Scout."
Her eyes close, and a spasm of pain crosses her face. I look away—I can't help it. It's such an intimate look, so very private, that I feel like a voyeur watching her that exposed.
"Have you slept with her?" she asks, her voice tight. I can hear tears in her voice, and I want to make it right—except there isn't a way to make it right without hurting her.
I'm seriously messed up.
"No," I say, happy I can answer this honestly.
"She's always been special to you," Mel says, slightly wistful.
I nod—there isn't anything to really say. She looks back at the notebooks on her desk then up at me, a strained smile on her face. "Thank you. I think I'd like to be alone, if you don't mind."
I stand, awkwardly. "I'm sorry for hurting you, Mel."
Tears well in her eyes and she nods, tightly.
It's strangely calm—anticlimactic and free of drama. I hesitate, unsure, then give her a short nod and turn away. Leave her office and quietly close the door.
I hear her sob—a single short noise cut off abruptly. It's not a noise I like being responsible for. Feeling like a colossal ass, I leave.
I have a text waiting when I get back to the Viper.
Atti : Can you drop by the apartment today? Avery wants to rearrange the couches.
I roll my eyes, but type a quick yes. Turn the Viper in the direction of the apartment complex as I call Avery to let her know I'm on my way.
"Oh, dude," she says, exasperated, "you totally don't have to. Kelly was gonna get a couple guys to come help."
"Pretty sure Atti wouldn't be overly thrilled about a group of frat boys knowing you’re rearranging his furniture. Remember—y'all aren't supposed to be together," I say lazily.
"Kelly can be discreet," Avery sniffs. I laugh, not bothering to hide my disbelief, and she huffs. "Fine. I'll see you in a few minutes."
I hang up and dial Atticus.
"What's up, D?" he asks, sounding distracted.
"You need to talk to your girl about discretion." I say, clicking my turn signal and hitting main street. A few girls openly ogle me as I cruise by, but I ignore them. "Her brilliant plan was to have Kelly bring frat boys by."
Atti groans. "Shit. I'll talk to her. She forgets."
My temper spikes. Avery's forgetfulness could cost Atti more than he's willing to give, and it annoys me that she's not more careful. "You need to be careful, man. She needs to be. Y'all only have a month and a half before she graduates and you can shout it from the rooftops—but you’re the one who cares so much about you career.
I laugh, a sharp noise that fills the space. My head is pounding. I want to shake her—shake sense into her. "Because I'm with you. Don't you think I'd be pissed if you were to have a one night stand?"
"I'm a lady," she snaps. "I'd never do that to you."
That stings. It's true—despite my vast amount of shitty behavior, Mel would never do to me what I've been doing to her for almost a year.
"Maybe you should have," I say, tiredly. "Maybe it would have woken me up."
"If you know what you’re doing is hurtful, why do it?" she asks.
"It's who I am," I say. It's an easy, cop-out answer—the truth is too complex and it doesn't matter. Not anymore.
"I can't do this anymore," I say softly. Mel's gaze snaps up and narrows on me. "We can't. It's not healthy—not for me or you, Mel. You have to see that."
"Why? What's changed? This has been fine for both of us for a long time—why is suddenly not enough?"
I hesitate. The truth will piss her off, but anything less than the truth won't be enough. "You deserve a guy who can give you more than I can—someone who can be faithful and who wants to meet your parents and go to the damn country club. I don’t want that life. I never really did. And I deserve to be with someone who accepts me—all of me, all my faults—for what they are. Someone who understands why I am the way I am."
"Someone like Scout," she says, without inflection.
"Yeah. Someone like Scout."
Her eyes close, and a spasm of pain crosses her face. I look away—I can't help it. It's such an intimate look, so very private, that I feel like a voyeur watching her that exposed.
"Have you slept with her?" she asks, her voice tight. I can hear tears in her voice, and I want to make it right—except there isn't a way to make it right without hurting her.
I'm seriously messed up.
"No," I say, happy I can answer this honestly.
"She's always been special to you," Mel says, slightly wistful.
I nod—there isn't anything to really say. She looks back at the notebooks on her desk then up at me, a strained smile on her face. "Thank you. I think I'd like to be alone, if you don't mind."
I stand, awkwardly. "I'm sorry for hurting you, Mel."
Tears well in her eyes and she nods, tightly.
It's strangely calm—anticlimactic and free of drama. I hesitate, unsure, then give her a short nod and turn away. Leave her office and quietly close the door.
I hear her sob—a single short noise cut off abruptly. It's not a noise I like being responsible for. Feeling like a colossal ass, I leave.
I have a text waiting when I get back to the Viper.
Atti : Can you drop by the apartment today? Avery wants to rearrange the couches.
I roll my eyes, but type a quick yes. Turn the Viper in the direction of the apartment complex as I call Avery to let her know I'm on my way.
"Oh, dude," she says, exasperated, "you totally don't have to. Kelly was gonna get a couple guys to come help."
"Pretty sure Atti wouldn't be overly thrilled about a group of frat boys knowing you’re rearranging his furniture. Remember—y'all aren't supposed to be together," I say lazily.
"Kelly can be discreet," Avery sniffs. I laugh, not bothering to hide my disbelief, and she huffs. "Fine. I'll see you in a few minutes."
I hang up and dial Atticus.
"What's up, D?" he asks, sounding distracted.
"You need to talk to your girl about discretion." I say, clicking my turn signal and hitting main street. A few girls openly ogle me as I cruise by, but I ignore them. "Her brilliant plan was to have Kelly bring frat boys by."
Atti groans. "Shit. I'll talk to her. She forgets."
My temper spikes. Avery's forgetfulness could cost Atti more than he's willing to give, and it annoys me that she's not more careful. "You need to be careful, man. She needs to be. Y'all only have a month and a half before she graduates and you can shout it from the rooftops—but you’re the one who cares so much about you career.
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