After (After 1)

“How do I do that?” I ask and she laughs.

“Let him have it. Unless he has a damned good excuse, which I am sure he is plotting right now, you let him have it the second he walks through that door. You deserve to be respected, and if he isn’t respecting you, then you need to either make him or kick him to the curb.”

“You make it sound so easy.” I laugh.

“Oh, it’s far from easy.” She laughs, then grows serious. “But it has to be done.”

The rest of our lunch is filled with stories of her college life and how she has had her fair share of terrible relationships. Her blond bob sways back and forth as she shakes her head during almost every story. I find myself laughing so hard I have to dab the corners of my eyes. The food is delicious and I am glad I came out to lunch with her instead of sulking alone in my office.

On the way back to my office, Trevor spots me from near the restrooms and comes over, smiling. “Hello, Tessa.”

“Hey, how are you?” I ask politely.

“I’m okay. It’s awfully cold out there,” he says and I nod. “You look lovely today,” he adds and looks away. I get the feeling he didn’t mean to say that aloud. I smile and thank him before he heads into the bathroom, obviously embarrassed.

By the time I leave, I have gotten literally no work done so I take the manuscript home with me in hopes of making up for my lack of motivation today.

When I arrive back at the apartment, Hardin’s car still isn’t in the lot. My anger returns, and I call him and cuss him out on his voicemail, which surprisingly makes me feel a little better. I make myself a quick dinner and get my things ready for tomorrow.

I can’t believe it’s only two days until the wedding. What if he doesn’t come back before then? He will. Won’t he? I look around the apartment. As charming as it is, it seems to have lost some of its glow in Hardin’s absence.

Somehow I manage to get a good amount of work done and am just putting everything away when the door opens. Hardin stumbles through the living room and into the bedroom without saying a word. I hear him toss his boots onto the floor and curse at himself, most likely for falling over. I go over what Kimberly said at lunch today and gather all my thoughts, pushing my anger to its head.

“Where the hell were you?” I yell as I enter the room. Hardin has his shirt off and is removing his pants.

“Good to see you, too,” he slurs.

“Are you drunk?” I gape.

“Maybe,” he answers, and tosses his pants onto the floor.

I huff and pick them up, throwing them at him. “We have a hamper for a reason.” I glare and he laughs.

He is laughing. Laughing at me.

“You have some nerve, Hardin! You stay out all night and most of the day today without even calling me, and then you stumble in here drunk and make fun of me?” I scream.

“Stop yelling. I have a killer headache,” he groans and lies on the bed.

“Do you think this is funny? Is this some sort of game to you? If you aren’t going to take our relationship seriously, then why did you ask me to move in with you?”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now. You’re overreacting; now, come over here and let me make you happy.” His eyes are bloodshot from the amount of alcohol he consumed. He holds his arms out for me with a stupid drunken grin on his perfect face.

“No, Hardin,” I say sternly. “I’m serious. You can’t just stay out all night and not even offer me an explanation.”

“Jesus. Would you chill the fuck out? You’re not my mother. Stop fighting with me and come here,” he repeats.

“Get out,” I snap.

“Excuse me?” He sits up. Now I have his attention.

“You heard me, get out. I will not be that girl who sits at home all night waiting on her boyfriend to come home. I expected you to at least come up with a good excuse—but you haven’t even tried! I’m not going to give in this time, Hardin. I always forgive you way too easily. Not this time. So either explain yourself or get the hell out.” I cross my arms, proud of myself for not giving in to him.

“In case you forgot, I am the one paying the bills here, so if anyone is going to leave, it will be you,” he says with a blank stare.

I glance down at his hands on his knees; his knuckles are yet again busted and covered in dried blood.

My mind is still trying to come up with a response when I ask, “Did you get in a fight again?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, Hardin! It does matter. Is that what you were doing all night? Fighting people? You didn’t even have to work, did you? Or is that your job, beating up people?”

“What? No, that’s not my job. You know what my job is. I did work, then I got distracted,” he says and swipes his hand over his face.

“By?”

“Nothing. Jesus,” he groans. “You are always on my case.”

“I’m always on your case? What did you expect to happen when you stumbled in here after being gone all night and day! I need answers, Hardin—I am sick of you not giving me them.” He ignores me and pulls a shirt over his head. “I was worried all day; you could have at least called me. I was a mess today while you were out drinking and doing God knows what. You are messing with my internship, and that is not okay.”

“Your internship? You mean the one that my father got you?” he says with his foul mouth.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Just saying.” He shrugs.

How is this the same person who just two nights go was whispering how much he loves me into my ear while he thought I was asleep?