I still love him.
I still want him.
Despite his damn words.
And, is what he told me true? It can’t be. I saw them together, and then the messages. He didn’t deny it when I asked, he told me he was going to fuck her. So why lie if it’s not true? It makes no sense. None at all.
“Blaze was angry that Marcus left with you,” Kat says, sitting next to me the following day. She came home very late, smelling like smoke and alcohol.
“You friends with Blaze now?” I ask.
She harrumphs. “If you mean, do I want to sleep with him, then the answer is yes.” She smirks. “But no, we haven’t.”
“You sound awfully sad about that fact,” I say, shaking my head.
“I don’t want to marry the man, I just want to sleep with him,” she says while standing. “Anyway, it’s you we should be talking about. Marcus left with you.”
“Not by my choice.”
“Do you want him?”
I shake my head. “Why are you asking me this?”
“It’s a simple question. Do you want him?”
“Yes. Yes, of course I want him, but I will not be one of those stupid girls who goes back to her cheating-ass boyfriend.”
“Fair enough.” She shrugs. “Though Blaze did say he would never have fucked around on you.” Then Kat walks off, leaving me hanging on her words.
Heading to my room, I get dressed, then drive out to see Blaze at the clubhouse. Because I know on the weekend that’s where he will be, and so will she. Surprisingly, I am let in without anyone stopping me.
I spot blonde bitch straight away. She’s dressed today—still slutty—sitting at a table with everyone else as they eat.
“Oh God, not you again. Thought we got rid of you.”
“Tell me, are you always such a cunt?”
Snickers are heard around the table as her eyes narrow in on me. “Do you want me to hit you, bitch?”
“You tried that already. Pretty sure I won.” I give her a wide smirk.
“Rochelle,” Blaze growls from the end of the table. “You come in here and threaten my people? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I ignore him completely and look at blonde bitch. “Did you really fuck him? Or, were you being a messy bitch?”
“Misha,” Blaze says.
Oh, so that’s her name.
“I may have.” The bitch flicks her hair, and it does nothing but irritate the fuck out of me.
“You may have? Or you did?”
“Misha,” Blaze says again, becoming annoyed.
I hear footsteps behind me, and a hand touches my hip. I know who it is without turning.
“Misha,” Marcus says behind me.
Misha’s eyes narrow in on me. “No, I didn’t sleep with him. Not that I didn’t try, though.” Blonde bitch winks at Marcus.
“Pack your shit, Misha, and leave,” Blaze says.
Misha’s head whips around to Blaze. “You can’t be serious… over her?” She points to me.
“Over you being a bitch. Now pack your shit.”
“No,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I could make you leave. You covered in a black bag might look good on you,” Marcus says.
Blonde bitch’s eyes grow worried, and she stands, letting the chair fall back on the floor and shouldering me as she walks past. Turning to leave, I don’t even bother saying goodbye to anyone. I walk quickly, and as I go to get into my car, before I can open the door, Marcus reaches for me and turns me around to face him.
“Was there anyone else?” I ask.
“No, only you.”
“What was the message about then? Remember, I read it on your phone.”
“Misha always sent me messages. If you had looked properly, you would have seen I never replied to any of them.”
“Have you ever slept with her?” I ask.
“Once. That was long before I met you.”
“Why can’t you have kids, Marcus?”
His hand lifts, and I watch as his muscles strain in his shirt. He looks everywhere but at me. “Will you come to my house?” he asks. “We can talk there.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” I reply while opening my car door and sliding in. He leans on the window and looks down at me.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow, Marcus. You aren’t the center of my universe anymore.”
“Fair enough.” Marcus steps back, giving me room to move. “Tomorrow, pretty girl.”
I give him a simple nod and drive off.
It’s late, raining, and I’m soaked as I knock on his door. I simply couldn’t wait until tomorrow. I want answers now. I need them. At first, I don’t think he’s home, but his truck is here.
“Marcus,” I yell, my hand banging on his door.
A light flicks on, and through the window in the door I watch as he comes down the stairs with no shirt, and only a pair of gray tracksuit pants hanging from his hips.
My body starts shivering when he comes to the door. He doesn’t invite me inside, he just stares at me like he can’t believe I’m here.