I lean over and put the cigarette butt out in her fucking orchid and stand over her. My pretty Cinderella, mistaking me for a prince. My mother was right; I’m much more the Antichrist than a savior.
Reaching for my jeans, I jerk them on and locate my discarded tee and cut under her pile of clothes.
Cindy stirs, her tan legs wrapped up in her pink sheets. Emotion fills me. I care for her, always will. But I’m not the right man for her.
Her blue eyes blink open, and she watches me cautiously. She knows—deep inside she does—even if she doesn’t want to admit it. I sit next to her and light up a new cigarette.
“I’ve got to go.”
“What time is it?” She props herself up on her elbows, the sheet sliding to her waist. Her big tits, which are always my weakness, wake my cock up.
I ignore him—he makes bad decisions.
“Early. Go back to sleep.” Leaning over, I kiss her forehead. She flops back, her eyes instantly filling with tears.
“You’re leaving, already?”
“Yeah. Shit’s going on.” I inhale, looking around to make sure I’ve got everything. A loud buzzing reminds me to get my phone. She rolls over to grab it from the other nightstand.
“Here.” Tears slide down her cheeks.
“Come on, babe. Let’s not do this again.” I reach for her. She crawls into my lap, her naked body shaking as she silently cries into my chest.
“Cindy, you’re stronger than this,” I soothe her.
She looks up at me, her lips swollen, cheeks pale, eyes glazed. “Can you stay with me today? I need you to stay with me.” Her nails dig into my forearm.
I take a breath. She’s trying to manipulate me with those tears, and now she’s gonna turn ugly, mean, and aggressive. It’s our cycle and, frankly, exhausting. I have too much to deal with already to stay any longer.
“You know I can’t.” Removing her from my lap, I stand.
She stares up at me, her blue eyes full of pain and something else.
“What are you on?” I snap, grabbing her chin and peering at her pupils.
She jerks her chin away and backs up. “Just go, Ryder. You have no right to question anything I do.” She spits it out like there’s venom in her mouth. She’s right. I don’t, but I also don’t need a dramatic overdose on my conscience either.
“Jesus Christ, Cindy, this is getting fucking pathetic.” I walk into her bathroom. Again, my nostrils flare at that fucking potpourri that sits on her sink. I pick up the bowl and toss it into the trash basket, then swing open her medicine cabinet. Numerous bottles line the second rack.
“The fuck?” I grab a bottle. “Xanax, who’s selling these to you?”
“Get out, Ryder.” Cindy barges in. “These are mine. I have a prescription.” Her hands claw at mine and I look at her, really look at her. She’s not the girl I met years ago. Those curves I loved are gone. She’s too thin for her build, and her tits, which have always been my downfall, look like big balloons on a pole rather than on a woman.
“How long has this been going on? No doctor would prescribe this shit to you. You’re getting it on the street.” I reach for another bottle, easily pushing her hands aside.
“Percocet? Dr. Davis? Who’s giving you this?” I grab her thin arm to shake her. I can feel my pulse in my temple. I’m the fucking enforcer, and if one of our guys is selling to her…
“It’s private. All this is private.” She shuts the door to the medicine cabinet with her other hand, her breathing harsh, almost a pant, and looks up at me through the mirror.
“A fucking junkie?” Slinging her arm away, I toss the bottle in the trash can. She’ll get it, like a desperate rat fighting for a piece of food. Brushing past her stunned face, I head toward the door.
“You did this to me. This is all your fault, Ryder,” she shrieks, her voice becoming an echo, a merging of my mother’s angry, hateful words.
“Stop,” I roar, hesitating before I face her. “I’ll get you help. But this delusion you have that we’re together ends now.”
She blinks at me, the dark bags under her eyes more pronounced. “Over.” She jumps even though I didn’t yell, then shakes her head frantically.
“You…” She grabs her hair and glances around the room, her eyes wild. Bolting, she snatches her phone from the nightstand.
“You want over, I’ll give you over, you son of a bitch.” Her hands shake as she brings her phone up taking pictures of me, or maybe filming, whatever. I’m through. After pulling on my boots, I grab my keys.
“Just keep walking, Ryder. I’m sending this to your whore,” she yells.
Ignoring her, I make damn sure I have everything; I’m not coming back.