Page 41 of Unleashed

Nearby, Hadley mutters, “Oh, my God.” I then hear her whispering to someone.

As soon as I disentangle my hand from Birdy’s, she cries as I give her to Val. Val looks at me but tells Birdy, “It’s okay, honey.” I don’t think she’s only telling Birdy that. I wish I believed her, though.

While Birdy screams louder, I head for a bathroom in the house. Since it’s hard for me to see through the fucking tears, I go for the closest one, which is in a downstairs guest room near the patio doors. I’ve been here enough times to know the basement layout.

I take the hallway on the other side of the massive stone fireplace and slip into the Little House on the Prairie bedroom where Hadley claimed I was hers. But she only meant I was hers to show off. Simone can’t even spare me that much.

I know Shasta and Brandon are in this house somewhere fucking. I’m not stupid. Storming into the room, I try slamming the door, but it catches on the schmancy plush carpet. Going into the bathroom, I lean against the wall, facing the large mirror over the sink. I watch my chest heaving, and my fists squeeze harder against my sides. Not only did all those assholes out there enjoy my misery, but now my shame is glaring back at me.

I gasp for air between my sobs, crying like the little girl I ditched multiple times. Shasta isn’t the only one to blame when Birdy grows up bitter and wondering what the fuck she did to deserve her shitty life.

Knowing she was right, I bet Simone got a kick out of my suffering.

I dig my hands into my hair and close my eyes, inhaling cinnamon and vanilla from God knows where while wallowing in my self-pity. My heart beats but at the bare minimum. I wish it would give up already. The rest of me has.

I catch my breath and try to calm the fuck down because the loser in my reflection needs to get a grip. I have to face those people again before I hit the road. And then every day until eternity. At least, it feels like it. Watching Simone with that dickweed is a dull knife to my heart, shredding me with every agonizing beat.

More fucking tears fall from my eyes, and I use the heels of my hands to wipe them. I’m almost thirty fucking years old, and I’m boohooing in my boss’s bathroom because a girl kicked sand at me, and another is stealing something that wasn’t mine.

I sniff and hear a throat clearing behind me in the room.

I roll my watery eyes and cross my arms, clearing my throat before asking, “What, Garrison?” When she doesn’t answer, I say, “I know it’s you. Are you here to mock me? To brag about the size of the dick you’re fucking?” I sniff again and shake my head. “No. You’re here to tell me I deserve Birdy leaving me.” My voice catches, and again, I sob but stop myself before she calls my mother.

I sigh with a laugh as I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling. “You’re the last person I want around me right now.” I bite my lip and, closing my eyes, whisper, “But you’re the one person I used to need.”

I scratch my jaw as I hear the bed squeak as if she’s sitting. I hope to God she’s alone. “You were right. Okay? I miss Birdy. I loved her. And now Shasta is taking her from me for the second time. I have zero right to Birdy, but that doesn’t stop how I feel about her. I guess I’m one of those fuckers who doesn’t realize what they had until...” I shrug against the wall. “Everything I ever cared about is gone.”

Tears fill my eyes again as I laugh and confess, “I didn’t want to be here tonight, but your brother is a sick bastard. Still, I don’t regret seeing you in that tight skirt. Some things never change.”

This bathroom looks like the fucking Garden of Eden. There must be fifty potted plants in this damn room. I stare at the spider plant closest to me, remembering my mother having one in the kitchen that lived for years. It must have spawned over a thousand kids she gave away as gifts. She was famous for spreading her spider plant around Durham and making people smile. I hated that fucking thing.

“And just so you know, seeing your tits in that top wasn’t fair. I can’t stand that you’ve moved on, and you’re showing them off to other assholes. Yeah. I know I’m one. Damn it, though. Do you think of me when you’re with those guys?” My voice breaks, and I shake my head and look to the floor, muttering, “I hope you imagine me licking your tits and fucking them with my mouth.” Damn, I need to stop dirty-talking myself into a hard-on.

I hear a gasp, and I don’t know if it’s good or bad. Squeezing my eyes shut, I plead, “I need you to go.” I can’t be in here with Simone and then seen leaving the room with her. Too many things could come from that, and every single one will crush me again.

When I don’t hear the bed squeak, I say, “Be real with me. I’m not the only one hurting. You loved her too.”

This time, her silence mocks me. On the edge of a bigger sobfest, I ball my fists over my eyes like it’ll stop the waterworks. “Look, I need to go home. Please show me a bit of mercy.” Home. I don’t have one anymore.

I hear rustling and breathe a quiet sigh of frustrated relief. When I expect her to leave, I realize she could confront me here. Maybe even stab me with a toothbrush. But she doesn’t, and the bedroom is silent again. Until she moans.

My voice is hoarse. “What are you doing?”

She answers me with another moan. In the mirror, I now see movement on the bed. I only see her long legs and her chest in the dark reflection. The shadows obscure the rest of her since neither of us turned on any lights. There’s only a nightlight in the bathroom, casting shadows on the walls for my pathetic puppet show. Her clothes appear to be different colors in the light, and now, I doubt it’s Simone. She shifts, and her underwear falls to her feet. Her hands then go to her titties, where she clutches them through her top before she pulls the shirt up, exposing them. From here, her sharp nips catch my eye.

Stunned, I swallow and whisper, “Are you crazy?”

Simone doesn’t answer. Christ. She’s never not talked so much. She responds with more moaning. With her shirt resting on her tit ledge, she drops her hands, and lifting her ass, she yanks up her skirt. Even in the dim light, I see her blonde tight and curlies. I watch her push two fingers into the lips between her legs. I hear how soaked she is as her fingers move.

Regardless of what my brain tells me, my body takes a different route, and I resist like hell as my dick hardens. It’s like her cunt tempts me to react.

My voice cracks. “So?”

Simone removes her fingers, shoves them into what I assume is her mouth, and licks her fingers. I’m done.

No, I’m not.

I notice what looks like dark nail polish, but I can’t remember if Sylvie painted hers any color. And damn it to hell, Sylvie was wearing a skirt too.

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