Page 16 of Never Have I Ever

“Actually, you did.”

Snatching my clothes that somehow made it from the floor to the arm of the couch, I start back toward the bedroom. My sole mission is to get out of here. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m not staying here any longer, especially when she looks at me like a stranger.

“Your phone is on the island.”

I stop, gritting my teeth so I don’t say something I’ll regret, though I’m not sure if it matters if I add another to the mountain rivaling Everest. I turn to retrieve it, restraining myself from making eye contact. I can’t. I don’t have a clue why she’s here, but I’m not in the right headspace to deal with her. As soon as I grab the phone from the counter, I’m heading back in the other direction.

“No apology?” she asks, somehow managing to twist this around like I’m the bad guy.

My feet stop without my permission. Keeping my back directed toward her, I steady my thoughts, confident she needs to be gone from my life. If not from her own choosing this time, then by mine. “I’m going to get dressed. You have ten minutes to get out.”

“That’s not enough time to make dinner?”

Where’s the disconnect? I turn around, and my eyes latch onto hers. It’s like she’s oblivious to the destruction she’s caused. “What are you talking about?”

When her mouth drops open, she tilts her head, her hair swinging to the side, and presses her palms to the counter between us. “I. Need. To make dinner.”

Our eyes stay fixed on each other’s, but I’m starting to wonder in what universe this would happen? On planet Earth, this would be insanity. Is my past catching up with me? Too many drugs? Too much alcohol consumed?

I throw my arms out and look up like I’ll find a higher power on the ceiling. “Fuck me. Make this make sense.” Done with this nonsense, I storm down the hall, needing to get out of here. I can hit the road in ten minutes and be back in LA in a few hours.

Before I close the door, she says, “Dinner will be done in thirty minutes.”

No. Nope. Not going to happen. I don’t need to leave. It’s my cabin. She needs to get out, so I turn right back around and take two steps into the living room again. I’m tired of this bullshit. “Then make the damn chicken and get the fuck out!”

“Don’t talk to me like that. I may work for—”

“Leave! What do you not understand?” Why is she hell-bent on torturing me?

Her mouth hangs open. Finally, she has nothing to say. The towel twists when I turn and hits the ground. I don’t give a damn, knowing her eyes are on me. Of course they are. I’m a fucking rock star, a celebrity in my own right. But I guess she knows that already since she’s been stalking me.

I look back over my shoulder when the silence extends too long. Disappointment enters her eyes, the outside corners weighed down by the emotion. “You’re mean, you know that?”

“I’m mean?” I begin to laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I wonder why.”

“Me too.” She shakes her head and starts grabbing the knives. Her weird obsession with them probably always has them within her reach.

I pick up the towel and start for the bedroom. “I want you gone in five minutes.”

“Don’t worry,” she yells. “I’ll be gone in two.”

I slam the door closed and toss the clothes on the bed. I’m already pacing the floor when I call my sister.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Four.

“Hi, leave a message.” Shit.

Dragging my fingers through my hair, I reply, “Hey, I need you to call me back as soon as you get this message.” I set the phone on the dresser and stand in the middle of the bedroom, still naked. “What do I do now?”

Wait.

Wait until she’s gone.

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