Content Warnings: heavy swearing, implied intercourse, drinking
I am drying my hair with a towel, clumsily as I exit the shower, when I am struck by the luxurious draw of a greasy pepperoni pizza. It is open on the counter in all its steamy, melty glory. After savoring its presence for a moment longer, Charles places a paper plate into my hands and serves me a generous slice. "You know, this would go really well with a rum and Coke," I say as I bring the heavenly triangle to my lips.
"Haha, nice try, but we are sobering you up and talking this out, like big kids." He places a placid glass of water in front of me. As much as I turn my nose up at it, I end up downing the glass in seconds, and he is refilling it. "So, you want to tell me what brought on the tequila tirade?"
I work through my piece and notice he's not helping me eat this pizza, "I will when you help me eat this pizza." He shakes his head and opens his mouth, but I cut him off, "None of this dieting crap, okay? I'm in crisis."
"Okay," he says. When he has pizza on a plate in front of him, he looks at me expectantly. No, I need you to eat the slice first. I say with my eyes. He takes the cue and takes a generous bite, then replaces the slice, gesturing for me to talk.
I sigh. "I don't know. Shawn and I broke up last night." My head still feels fuzzy. I kind of regret drinking all that tequila. "He had cheated on me with another girl, and I called him out on it. So, we called it quits."
"We?" Charles asks, "How could this be a 'we' situation, Patri? He messed up, you called it quits, and rightfully so." He takes another bite of pizza.
I shrug and try to eat to avoid talking, but I get to the crust and have to get a new slice. In the silence, all I can say is, "I love him just the same."
Shawn is in the kitchen making himself a Hot Pocket, and I call out, "Hey, babe, can you grab me a glass of water?"
He doesn't respond to me, and I assume he's getting it, until he walks in and settles next to me on the couch with his Hot Pocket. "Babe, didn't you hear me?" I ask.
"Yeah, so what?" He's distracted by some kind of message on his phone. Normally, I wouldn't pry, but it's starting to peeve me.
I stand up and get the water myself. Calm down, this is nothing to get upset over. Why didn't he answer me, though? I settle down, and he's already got the show unpaused and has been watching it without me. "Shawn, what gives?"
"What?" he asks, not taking his eyes off our show.
I huff, "You know exactly what, I paused this show, so we could watch it together. You started it up without me." I don't feel like I should have to state the obvious.
"I can rewind it." He shrugs, but now he looks annoyed. No, not today, not this again. I take the remote from him and turn off the TV.
"Shawn, talk to me. What is with this attitude?" The anger radiating off of me is going to inevitably escalate this, but I'm more than annoyed now.
He takes the remote back, "What attitude? You're the one who's been griping at me. Are you on your week?"
This tips me over the edge, and I focus all my energy on placing my glass of water on the TV table and not using it to batter his brains. "No, Shawn, I'm not."
"I'd check on that before we do it later." Later? He still thinks we're having sex after this? "You girls can be fun, but, damn, your moods are stressful." He goes to turn the TV back on.
I've had enough, though, I grab the glass of water and head back to the kitchen. The TV switches on, and I can tell not a thought is going through that man's mind. I quickly pour out the glass and rinse it. Leaving on the counter for him to deal with later, I head to the front door, grabbing my jacket and purse.
It's not until he hears the sound of my jacket zipper that he turns around to look for me. "Yo, wait, where are you going?"
"Out. Home. I don't care," I say. Shifting my purse on my shoulder, I turn and undo the deadbolt.
Shawn makes his way over to me and grabs my shoulders. "Come on, we were so happy. What happened?" He tries to pull me into a hug, but I turn back around and face him head-on.
"Do you even care about me?" I ask.
His eyes widen, confused by the accusation, "How did you even jump to that?"
I scoff, "Us girls are 'fun, but stressful', am I right? All I wanted was a glass of water, Shawn."
"And I didn't get it. What's the deal? It's a stupid glass of water." He seems over this conversation already.
I shake my head, "For now. Now, it's just a glass of water. Later, it's going to be more than a glass of water, what then, Shawn?"
"I didn't think it was that important. How did it even come to this?" He looks like he is trying to trace his memory for the signs of me being the crazy one, and it ticks me off even more.
"Shawn, you just want me here to get laid. It doesn't feel like you actually want me around." It's laid out, and the evidence for me is so clear. How doesn't he see it? Frustrated, the words come out faster than I can filter, "If that's all you want, you have a right hand, use it."
His jaw drops. "What? Nah, baby, I need you, I do. Please, stay. I'll make it up to you." His tone turns sickly sweet, and he's trying to seduce me. He unzips my jacket, and, while I don't want to let him off the hook this easily, I know he didn't mean to hurt my feelings.
"Alright, well, I don't think he feels that way. Who is this girl anyway?" Charles is on his phone, and it doesn't take detective skills to know he's Instagram stalking Shawn. It does, however, to understand how exactly he found her Instagram in less than 10 minutes without her even being tagged in Shawn's post today. He flips the phone around, and it's a post of her story where Shawn is featured.
I shake my head, blinking, "How the-?" Then Charles frowns at the screen.
"This isn't even her main account," he comments.
Now I am floored, because with a couple more minutes of typing, he has found this girl's main and her Facebook. "Okay, hold up, how did you-" Is all I get out before I notice a small detail on her Facebook page. Her relationship status says 'engaged'. I'm ready for more tequila. "You don't think Shawn proposed to her, do you?"
Charles seems worried, and I think he's about to close everything, but then he begins sleuthing again. "Hah!" He announces triumphantly. "Looks like you weren't the only one screwed over." What does he mean by-
Then I see it, a public Facebook post from someone I presume is Chandler's mother. She just got engaged, and there's a tentative wedding date on the post. It's coming up. "That doesn't prove anything; they may have broken up recently, too." But Charles is one step ahead, he's found the ex's Facebook tagged, and he too has 'engaged' as his status. "People don't always update their status."
"True," Charles says, "but, I also see now, he doesn't have Instagram." At first, I don't really see why this matters, then it hits me.
"Why would she be so public about it on her Instagram? Let me see the post again." Charles pulls up the post, and then I see what Charles saw that identified her - and why it's not as public as it appears to me. The post is a workout post on a public account; Shawn is with her, and it says, 'gym buddies' in the picture. The manicure in the photo matches the one in the picture from Shawn's story this morning. "How the hell did you do this?"
Charles mimes locking his mouth, and I want to punch him in it, but then it hits me, "So, her fiancé? What does he think she's doing?"
"Let's find out." The mischievous grin on Charles's face is wicked, and I want to shy away from what he's about to do, but I am so goddamn curious. Forget about what Shawn did to me; Chandler's gossip is so much more interesting.
I am running from room to room trying to remember what is mine, and Shawn is a mannequin in the hallway. Except he isn't, if he were, it would be more helpful, instead he’s yelling, "You didn't want to do it with me. What was I supposed to think, Trish?"
Brushing past him a third time, I place the shirts into the bag. Then it occurs to me to check under the bed. I head back to the room we used to share, and Shawn follows this time, seeming to want to head me off. I don't know what else he's been hiding, but at this point, he might as well lay it all out in the light.
It seems I'm right, because as I am on my knees to get under my side of the bed, his hands grab my hips and yank me back, the look on his face is one of pure desperation. "There's nothing down there, Trish. You've taken everything. Go if that's really what you want to do."
My eyes narrow, and I am more certain than I was before that I will be looking under that damn bed. I'm thankfully already on the floor, and Shawn was never as fast as he thought he was. I dart under the bed and catch sight of the incriminating evidence, somehow more damning than the fucking hickey on his shoulder.
He tries to grab me again, but I already have a grip on the lingerie and an old t-shirt of mine as he drags me. As soon as it's safe, I start thrashing and screaming at him to get his hands off me. I hope the neighbors enjoy the show.
"So, are you going to tell me this is mine too?" I shriek as I throw the pink feathery silk at him. He seems taken aback as he stares at it, but then I realize that he's just remembering the sex. What started as an outburst is now full-on catatonic. I didn't say a word in his distraction at first, but it is taking him too long to pull out of mystery girl's imaginary breasts, and I have had it. I slap him across the face; a thousand words cued to assault him next, but the only thing that comes out is a muttered, "Fucking cheater..." The tears are more consistent now. Maybe it's from the confirmation that it wasn't a random bruise. Or maybe it's his inability to speak as he looks at another woman's clothes. Or just maybe, it's the realization that he made his bed and did it in ours.
I feel numb as I take the shirt to the duffel and walk out the door, wondering if there was ever a fix for this. For the year I spent loving and leaning on this man, who only saw me as a warm body. Deyana wraps her arm around me and guides me to her car. As she takes care of the rest, I stare blankly at the dash, doing exactly what Shawn accused me of doing in our relationship. Nothing.
Charles has scheduled all the arrangements; he told me I don't have to do anything other than enjoy the show, but I want to be in it at this point. I hope that after this, Shawn never gets laid. We are parked just one building down, but I can see Chandler's fiancé, soon to be ex, waving from the front of the building. This is my cue. I hop out of the car and, using my key, get us into the building. It would have been one thing if Shawn answered the door, but ever on my side, fate had Chandler answer the door.
She immediately drops to her knees in front of Matt, and a rambling flows from her lips that, "It's not what it looks like". While the scene is nice, this isn't the revenge I had in mind. I had already discussed the idea with Matt. He was apprehensive before, but seeing Chandler in the T-shirt and no-pants ensemble seems to have changed his mind. He believes the story we shared with him, and is now fully committed to messing with both of them as far as I had outlined. Maybe even further...
My reaction had been explosive, but his is a calm fury. It's scary, and I understand why Chandler's legs seem to have melted. "Where is he?" The tone of his voice is low, and it sends a shiver through me.
"Matt, he didn't know. Please, let's just talk. Don't hurt him." She is a blubbering mess on the floor, and I wonder how she ever thought she could get away with being the other woman.
Just at this moment, Shawn pokes his head around the corner from the bathroom. "Candy, what is it?" The nickname disgusts me, and I wonder if, instead of being the other woman, she was a poor excuse for a prostitute. Shawn comes out, and as soon as Matt knows he sees the both of us standing in the doorway, he follows the plan.
He looks my way, and then in a movement so sudden it seems aggressive, he grabs the back of my head, making my lips meet his. I can feel his anger in this kiss, and this rage doesn't ebb as he kisses me. Instead, it rises, his tongue invading my mouth, and it isn't as unpleasurable as it is unexpected. My eyes are closed, and I decide to pretend none of this happened. I am simply kissing Shawn... But Shawn's hands were never this strong and tender.
I think I hear a gasp in the midst of this, but I am getting lost in the moment and enjoying this feeling a bit too much to know who it belonged to. Then there's a moan. Oh, wait, that was me! I don't have time to process what's happening as Matt is forcefully pulled off of me. When I have my bearings, Shawn and Matt are grappling with each other shirtless. When did they have time to take off their shirts? Was Shawn wearing a shirt in the first place? I can't remember, but I don't really care. I look down and Chandler is on her hands and knees pleading the muscle sandwich in the hallway to separate.
I could watch this fight, but I am still winded from Matt's kiss. Stepping over the woman, I head to the kitchen to raid the fridge. I'm not surprised that it's mostly empty, but Miller Lite is not my beer of choice. I take it anyway, because why not? Then I see Shawn's keys and phone, realizing the golden opportunity before me. Unlocking his phone like I've done a couple of dozen times, I record a quick video of the proceedings in the hallway and send it to myself. An evil thought draws me to send it to his mother as well, and so I do. I, then, promptly delete my contact from his phone, and stuff it in the couch, where he will complain about it being lost for at least three hours before checking between the cushions.
I check back on the fight in the hallway, and somehow, Chandler is shirtless! What the hell did I miss?! She must have tried to pull them apart, because not only is she only in her white lace bra and a pair of Shawn's boxers, but she is trembling behind the mass of Matt's back, smacking him. There's blood on the floor, and while I hope it is Shawn's, they both have blood on them. It's hard to know exactly what I missed. I crack the beer with Shawn's keys and just stand for a moment to observe and appreciate the chaos.
As I guzzle the beer, Shawn calls out to me twice between blows - not that I was going to help him in the least. He then tries to flip things around on me, goading me by calling me the cheater. I simply laugh, because I'm not the one shirtless right now. Chandler isn't much of a fighter; if she were, she would be attacking me for finding humor in this fucked up situation. I've decided I've seen enough when the beer is through. Matt is winning this fight with ease - someone might actually need to call an ambulance soon if he can't hold back. And, as much as this should concern someone, I have decided that all Shawn-related emergencies will not be mine to solve.
I go downstairs and deposit Shawn's set of keys into his mailbox before meeting back up with Charles. I barely have a chance to settle into the passenger seat as he prods eagerly, "So, how did things turn out?"
My grin widens, "Boy, have I got a story for you." He starts the car, and we leave the chaos of exes in our trail, as I begin to regale him with the events of the meet-up.
ns216.73.217.19da2
and then Add to home screen.