Page 76 of It Kills Me

“Fuck. Off.” I got to my feet and knocked over the chair with the force of my movements.

Both of my parents flinched like it was the end, like I would pull a gun on them and shoot them or something absurd.

“Fucking ridiculous.” I stormed off and left the table, leaving the packet behind.

I hadn’t seen Scarlett in almost a week. I was busy with a bunch of bullshit. She was busy too. But I also thought it was smart if we avoided each other for a short while to convince Dante that the relationship really had fallen apart.

I was on the couch in my sweats, still pissed off even though it’d been nearly eight hours since I’d met with my parents. A game was on the TV, but I didn’t give it much attention. I drank my scotch and enjoyed my cigar, utterly miserable with no solution in sight. There was no way I could prove I was innocent, never change my parents’ opinion of me, so I didn’t even try—and that just made everything worse.

My phone lit up with a text message from Scarlett. I just heard a helicopter fly by…

I’d normally grin, but I didn’t have it in me.

Hope it’s you.

Sorry to disappoint you, baby. She was the only light in my life right now, but she was also a source of darkness, because there was no option for this to be more than a fuck-a-thon.

When am I going to see you?

I don’t know.

What about now?

I’m busy right now.

Maybe it’s just because it’s through text, but I feel like you’re different.

She was right on the money, reading through the lines. It’s been a long day.

I’m here if you ever want to talk.

I’m not good at talking.

I disagree.

I rested my head against the chair and released a heavy sigh.

Hope you feel better, babe.

“Fuck…” She’d just called me babe…and I liked it.

Her messages stopped.

I sat there alone, smoke filling the room, the game still on the screen.

Her door was unlocked as always, so I let myself inside.

She was on the couch in a silk camisole with matching shorts, dark blue, a perfect color for that beautiful, tanned skin and dark hair. In her hand was a pint of gelato, which she ate straight out of the container. She stilled when I entered her apartment unannounced and quickly covered it with the lid like she was embarrassed she’d been caught.

I opened the drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a spoon before I sat with her on the couch. I popped the lid back open and dug my spoon inside, scooping the pistachio gelato into my mouth. “I haven’t had gelato in forever.”

She smiled as she leaned into me, pulling her knees to her chest as she hooked her arm through mine. “It’s my guilty pleasure.”

“Thought I was your guilty pleasure.” I got a scoop and held it to her mouth.

Her eyes turned playful before she parted her lips and took the gelato on her tongue.

Back and forth, we went, taking turns eating straight out of the carton, both of us eating our feelings.