Page 1 of The Companion Love Trap

one

EVERLY

In my life, I've had so many labels. Some of them I’d given myself, fully aware of the circumstances I’d placed myself in and the resulting consequences. And while I didn’t always like the repercussions, I accepted them as part of my penance.

But many others were thrust upon me without any consideration as to how I felt about them. In those situations, I was expected to adjust and adapt with a smile and a polite nod. As long as I remembered my place, everything went smoothly—or at least for the person placing the demands. Me, not so much.

Because the thing I hated more than never being able to find the perfect pair of jeans or a comfortable bra was someone else determining my worth for me.

No, thank you. Decline. Do not recommend.

I might be impulsive—my parent’s label—and I might be severely allergic to commitment—my therapist’s label—but the one thing I was not was worthless. I knew my worth, and my dress size didn’t determine it. Not unless size twenty equaled awesome; if so, then go ahead and carry on with your fine-ass self.

See, confidence was not something I lacked; if anything, most people said I was a little too confident. And I got it. I did.

I could be loud and boisterous, always up for a challenge and never backing down from a dare. I wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and I’d accepted that about myself long ago. It always sucked when a friend dropped me because I knew it wasn’t about me, not really.

Like bananas, I had a window of optimum enjoyment, and it varied based on the person. And I’d just hit the past enjoyable date with my roommate, adding a new label to myself—homeless.

“I really think you’re overreacting, Grace.”

A shoe flew at my head, and I juggled the clothes in my arms as I tried to catch it and duck simultaneously. Grace—a sweet girl I’d met while working at a costume store—screamed as she picked up my favorite handbag, rearing her arm back to launch it at me next.

Her face had become tomato red, her usual perfect ponytail in disarray around her head from throwing my meager possessions one by one at me. She roared like a lion as she let it fly, bending down to grab another item. The girl had stamina.

I didn’t know what was more depressing; seeing all my possessions on the floor at my typically sweet roommate’s feet or that I’d caused said sweet roommate to Hulk out like she was a contestant on American Ninja Warrior.

I really liked my stuff, so it was a toss-up.

“Come on, Grace. Let’s talk about this. Is it really my fault my butt looks so good in yoga pants? These cheeks should be admired! It’s a rite of passage! And isn’t it the patriarchy you should actually be mad at for sexualizing women? Surely not your innocent roommate. I was just practicing my warrior pose, after all.”

Grace’s nostrils flared as she panted like a bull in Pamplona about to run, and I was the red flag. Her eyes narrowed to slits, pure hatred radiating off her porcelain-like features. Gulping, I involuntarily ducked and clutched my clothes to my chest like a shield. She’d gone full viper now, and there was no telling where her venom would land.

“Innocent?” she screeched at a volume usually reserved only for dogs.

Despite knowing better, I nodded. “Yes. Totally innocent.” I gave her my pouty eyes, the ones that had gotten me out of countless tickets and bar tabs.

“You kissed my boyfriend! You filthy cheating slut!”

I might be a lot of things, but I was not filthy, nor was I a cheater. And personally, the word slut was no longer an insult and was used between friends to show affection for something you obsessed over and never wanted to quit. Hello, book slut. I see you. But back to the conversation at hand.

Standing to my full height of five-foot-nine, I pushed my shoulders back, officially done with letting her insult me. Worth mode activated.

“You take that back, Grace! I am not filthy, nor am I a cheater. He came on to me, and I pushed him away. If you should be mad at anyone, it’s Todd!”

I motioned my hand back to the sleazy guy she considered a boyfriend, the one now sporting the black eye I’d given him after he groped and forced himself on me. He then ran to Grace, saying I threw myself at him and punched him when he denied me.

As if, asshat. Learn consent. It’s not that hard.

Grace sneered, clearly beyond reason at this point, as her hands clenched into tight fists and she stomped her foot. I stepped back, fearing she might actually be a bull, and was about to charge me.

“Everyone told me not to let you live with me, but I thought, Ev’s cool, it will be fun. Newsflash, it’s not! So, I’m sorry, but I don’t think this will work out, Beverly.” She kicked the remaining things into the hall and slammed the door, rattling the others along the apartment hallway.

“No, you’re not!” I yelled, my anger now revved up. “And it’s Everly! The B’s silent! You know that and said it just to be mean!”

Screwing up my face, I flipped off the door with both fingers as I cursed her out under my breath. So much for girl code. Not only had she not given me a chance to defend myself, but she’d already made up her mind and had all my possessions in front of the door, waiting to ambush me the second I returned from volunteering. Twatwaffle.

Sighing, I gathered all of my clothes and stuffed them into one of the bags she’d tossed out. Once the hallway was clear of thongs, high heels, and yoga pants, I picked up my stuff and held my head high as I marched down the hallway.

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