Page 80 of Revenge Cake

Armaan and Lauren showed up together about a half hour ago—to Brenna’s indignation—and Logan wasn’t with them. In fact, Lauren drunkenly insisted that she “talked him out of coming” so I “have nothing to worry about.”

I was annoyed with her for many reasons. Annoyed that her carelessness is leading her to hurt my best friend without even thinking twice about it. Annoyed that she’s at this moment so drunk that she doesn’t even realize how much she’s hanging all over Armaan and humiliating poor Brenna in front of all of our friends.

But I was also annoyed that she prolonged my agony by—

I jump at the sound of a shrieking yell coming from inside the house. “Get the fuck out of this house!”

Oh god! That was Brenna’s voice. I turn around and rush inside.

The sight that meets my eyes stops me in my tracks. Brenna looks up at Armaan with blazing eyes, her stance as wide as a warrior’s, and she’s holding a curling iron high in the air. The room is silent. Everyone around seems to have halted in place at her outburst. “Did you hear me?” she shouts. “Get your cheating, fuckboy ass out of my house now!”

“We need to talk.” Armaan’s voice is surprisingly gentle, though I catch a hint of fear too. “You need to hear the full story.”

Brenna glances at Lauren, who is wincing apologetically at Armaan.

“I’m sorry?” Brenna’s voice is ice. “Did you do something more than feel her up and down in your bed last night? Did she leave out a few details you want to fill in?”

Armaan shoots a horrified look at Lauren. “I didn’t really feel you down—”

“Oh Jesus H. Christ, Armaan, this is not the time for technicalities. Just get the fuck out of my house before I beat you to death!” Brenna raises the iron high in the air like a sword.

I’m propelled into action. I rush to Armaan and grab him by the arm. He looks dazed as he glances back at me. “Come on,” I say gently. “Let’s go.”

He looks at me pleadingly. “I need to talk to her first.”

I’m about to tell him no, when Brenna interrupts. “The time for talking is over! If you ever set foot in this house again, mark my words, you will leave here cockless.”

Brenna’s threat sends Lauren into a fit of drunken giggles. I shoot her a scolding look, but she seems oblivious to it.

Armaan’s shoulders drop a little. “Alright fine. Come on, Lauren—”

“Oh no, Lauren is staying.” Brenna takes several steps toward Armaan, her eyes wide with menace. “Do you want to know what Lauren and I are doing tonight?” She lowers her voice into a threatening drawl. “We’re going to call up one of your dumber than fuck frat brothers. We’re going to lure him over here, and then we’re going to drag him into my room and fuck him on top of the quilt your mom made me. So, as you put your mouth on your bong before bed tonight, know that both Lauren and I will be putting ours on someone else’s cock.”

“Girl!” Lauren shouts. “You are my hero! Forget his frat brother. Can we just fuck each other?”

I glare at her again for her tone deafness, but neither Armaan nor Brenna seem to have noticed her outburst.

Armaan looks like he’s desperately trying to keep his cool, but his breathing is rapid. “Brenna, come on. Let’s just—”

“Get out of my house.” This time she whispers it.

When I shoot Brenna a concerned look, she dismisses my sympathy with a quick shake of the head. “I was ready for this,” she whispers, and thanks to my own experience, I know exactly what she means. Rage is a welcome reprieve from months of sadness. Too bad I didn’t have the foresight to limit my own rage to a saucy speech about sucking another dick instead of a multi-week revenge plan.

I pull Armaan’s arm in the direction of the door, and thankfully he follows, but with a heavy, sorrowful tread. I haven’t seen him express this much emotion over Brenna in months. No wonder she’s so satisfied.

When we reach the edge of the porch, I let him go. He looks like he’s about to make his way down the stairs, but then he turns to me abruptly. “Will you please talk to her?”

I cross my arms. “No.”

He sighs heavily. “I really do love her.”

“The fuck you do.”

“Stop acting like I’m the only asshole here.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

His brown eyes flare. “She’s fucking mean, dude! You know it too, and you always let her get away with it. Like, I know I talk a lot of shit, but Brenna’s like, ‘Hmm, what can I say right now that will still haunt him when he has great-grandchildren? How can I tell him he’s a colossal fuck up using the fewest words possible?’” His tone is light, but the words are rapid, as if to disguise the hurt behind them.

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