“You’re lucky his parents didn’t press charges.”
“They’re lucky I didn’t aim for his face,” I shot back. “That douche deserved worse than getting the wind knocked out of him.”
“You always looked out for me,” she said, straightening out her leg so she could nudge me with her toes.
“Watch it,” I warned. “I’ve got wet paint here.”
“Are we having a paint fight?” Rebel asked in wonder.
“No!” Me and Lil yelled at the same time, making the girls giggle.
* * *
Thankfully, Kara had gone home with Molly and Reb, because I really didn’t want Mack to see me sweaty, dusty, and covered in light green paint. What I’d thought would only take a couple of hours had turned into a massive project and I was exhausted.
After showering off the funk and cleaning dried paint out from under and around my nails, I sat down on the couch with a cup of instant noodles and a beer. I didn’t plan on moving again unless there was an emergency of natural disaster-like proportions.
When someone knocked on my door a couple hours later, I groaned in frustration. I didn’t have work or any family events for once. Why couldn’t everyone just leave me alone for a single night?
“Just a minute,” I yelled when they knocked again.
I wasn’t wearing a bra, so I threw a hoodie on over my tank-top as I walked toward the door. When I looked through the peephole, I froze. What the hell was Copper doing at my apartment?
“What are you doing here?” I asked flatly as I opened the door.
“Come on,” he replied, giving me a small smile. “Don’t be like that.”
“Seriously,” I said, standing my ground as he moved as if to come inside. “Why are you here?”
“I thought maybe I’d left a couple t-shirts here,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“You didn’t.”
“Are you sure? I thought I might’ve left ’em in the laundry.”
“I’ve washed all the laundry,” I replied. “No t-shirts.”
“Did you check under the bed?” he asked, smiling.
“No,” I said honestly. “But you didn’t leave anything here.”
“Could you check?” he asked, leaning against the door frame. “I don’t have a lot of clothes to spare, ya know?”
“Fine,” I muttered, stepping back so he could come inside. “Stay here and I’ll double check.”
I left him in the living room and jogged up the stairs, eager for him to leave. It was so strange. I’d missed him so bad when he left that I’d felt physically ill. I’d laid in bed wondering what I’d do if he came back and said it was all a mistake and he loved me and wanted to work things out. I’d even planned what I’d say to him, how I’d make him understand how badly he’d hurt me, and then force him to jump through hoops for a second chance.
But now that he was standing downstairs, smiling and asking me to check my room for shirts that we both knew weren’t here… I felt nothing. No sadness or regret. No anticipation. No butterflies. Nothing. I just wanted him to leave again so I could get back to watching Dirty Dancing for the thousandth time and dozing on the couch.
“They’re not here,” I said as I made my way back down the stairs.
“You got a new TV,” he said, looking around the living room.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I did. Your shirts aren’t here.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” he asked teasingly.
“Well,” I tossed my hands in the air. “Yeah.”
“Ouch.”
“There’s no reason for you to be here,” I said, not unkindly.
“I’ve missed you—”
“I’m going to stop you before you say something and embarrass us both,” I muttered, cutting him off. “There really isn’t any reason for you to be here, okay?”
“You’re a real robot, huh?” he asked. The words were light, but I recognized the look on his face. He was far from calm. “Don’t even give a shit that the guy you said you loved came to see you.”
“You left,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. I really wished I would have gotten fully dressed before letting him in.
“I wonder why,” he snapped.
“It doesn’t even matter,” I said. “It’s in the past. Okay? No hard feelings.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” he shot back, making the hair on my neck stand straight up. “No hard feelings,” he scoffed. “You were fuckin’ begging me to stay, and now all of a sudden, you don’t even want to be around me?”
I wanted to point out that this, what he was doing right this moment, was the reason I didn’t want to be around him. Time apart had given me some clarity, and the things I’d used to find attractive about him weren’t appealing anymore. Maybe he was insanely sweet once in a while, but it didn’t outweigh the way he spoke to me when he was angry. It didn’t excuse the way he looked at me or flew off the handle. I didn’t say anything, though. I just stood there, hoping that if I didn’t engage, he’d stop.