“What have you done?” I ask blandly.
“I... I... fuck.” He pulls on his hair. “Why do I give a fuck about her, Madi?” he whisper-yells at me. “Why the fuck do I care? I’ve had little fuck buddies before, but I don’t tap more than once, and if I do, they’re with chicks who know the rules. And even if they do get attached? I have no problem breaking their itty bitty, little tender fucking hearts. I laugh at them, Madi!” He pauses, his chest rising and falling, his eyes furious and his jaw tense. He pulls at his hair frantically again.
I reach up and grab it, bringing his hand down. “What. Have. You. Done?” I murmur again, searching his eyes for any clues.
His shoulders go slack. He reaches out to his door handle, twists it, and shoves it open. “I fucked up.”
I let out a long, annoyed breath, my eyes staying on the naked body of some slut that’s spread-eagle on Nate’s satin red sheets. Without turning to face him, I launch my elbow back and clock him square in the jaw.
“Ouch!” He steps back, rubbing his jaw and quickly shutting the door.
“No!” I scream, a little crazily if I think deeply about it. “Why the fuck do you care if that slut hears?”
“Madi!” Nate shakes me, his hands wrapping around my upper arms. “Shh!”
“Fuck you!” I hiss, reaching for the door again, ready to pull the bitch’s hair straight out. I’m acting a little on the insane side, but he had one thing to do—not break my best friend’s heart—and he did it. This would undoubtedly shatter her. They may not be exclusive, but sometimes you don’t need to say the words “we’re together.” Sometimes, you know deep down what the fuck you’re doing is wrong, and by the way Nate is acting and how he came in here, asking stupid fucking questions... that tells me he felt like shit while he was doing it. Hence, cheating. He cheated on her. He knew what he was doing was wrong, label or no label, so fuck him.
“Madi, we weren’t together, but I can’t do this with her!”
“Do what?” I yell again, my hands going in the air like a crazy person.
“I can’t do commitment! I’ve never been able to!”
“Why?”
“Shit!” He pulls at his hair again, his muscles tensing with the action. “I can’t do this with you right now.”
“Well...,” I murmur. “You have until I wake up in the morning to tell Tillie, or I will, and I’m not playing around. Nate, I may care about you like I do a brother, but blood or no blood, I would still act the same. Tillie is my best fucking friend, and she likes you—only God knows why—so fix this shit.”
Then I turn toward my door and storm back into my room, a little on edge and a lot annoyed. Flopping down onto my bed, I stretch wide and count the squares on my ceiling. I can’t fucking believe it. We’ve been home for approximately three hours, and he has managed to sink himself into someone else. What the hell is his problem? Are all men like this? Should I be checking on Bishop?
With that thought, my stomach churns with unspoken emotions. Nope, not going there. Bending over my bed, I pull out the leather book and sit back against my headboard, flipping open the page and looking over the double infinity sign again.
“Who are you, Katsia?” I whisper. I need last names or something. Who is this person and her mysterious husband? With so many questions hanging in my balance, I flick to the next page and start reading.
6.
Plot holes
Pregnancy went very slowly. Almost like a train that was about to crash, but in slow motion and you were the only passenger on board—with your pregnant belly. You knew it was coming, but you just hoped it was a different outcome. My husband always said how excited he was about us having another son. He said it was another soldier for his plan and that his right-hand man, Mathew, was also expecting a child. Around the same time as me too, they said. I was feeling very unnerved, not because I was pregnant at a later age, but because he was adamant it was a boy. Like he already knew I was bearing his son, the next boy in line.
What made him so sure I was carrying a boy? And why did that scare me? Why did I feel like there was always something missing when it came to what I knew, like something was always being held back from me? Stepping into the little nursery I had designed, I folded the little rug and placed it into the wicker drawer.
“Ma’am, I don’t mean to interrupt, but the meeting is about to begin and I need to escort you to the Landing.”
Nodding, I straightened my dress out, my hand running over my swollen belly. “I’m ready.” I was not ready, and I had no idea what was in store for me, but I knew I had four months before I gave birth to my baby. I had to find out as much as I could before those four months were up, because I knew, deep down, that just like the calm before the storm, something was going to blow up, and I was adamant that I, or my child, would be in the vicinity when it happened.
I jolt from my sleep, attempting to keep my eyes peeled open but failing miserably. Closing the book, I push it under my bed and shut my eyes, promising myself that I will continue it tomorrow. Though the book is thick, I’m so engrossed in the story that I know it won’t
