Page 156 of Volatile Obsessions

? Circus For A Psycho - Skillet ?

Noir Coastwas dying.

I’d tried my best to keep that shit afloat, but Vic was still acting dodgy as fuck. So, after several months of minimal contact with the wanker, I stopped giving a fuck.

Washed my hands of it without a word.

Just as he’d done to me.

Like passing ships in the night, I literally hadn’t seen him since the Vybefiasco. Calls and texts were few and far between, but for the most part, I didn’t answer anymore.

Didn’t feel the need to respond to his repugnant, irredeemable ass, especially after Lux telling me of what he’d done to her.

That was nearly three weeks ago. It’d been one hell of a struggle not to reach out to him and lure him into a trap.

To do away with him, even if it was only putting miles between us.

It’s not like anyone would miss him…

What sobered me whenever the thought of revenge hit was knowing that, if I reacted, if I sough out Vic, she’d ask questions.

Questions I’d been harboring the truth about for quite some time now.

Truths I was terrified to share.

After I told her I loved her, I had contemplated when and if would be a good time to finally tell her, but I could never go through with it. I knew I had to, and a part of me knew that for us to ever be fully bared to one another, to be as real and raw as our fierce connection, she needed to know all my truths.

And I needed to know hers.

So when she rang me to let me know Roscoe had finally fired Vic, I knew the time had come. I’d be getting a call from from the bastard soon enough and it was about to go down.

Soon turned out to be a mere hour soon.

The moment his blasted name popped up on my screen, that violent surge of animosity consumed me. I had to breathe through it, deeply, willing myself to calm down.

If I answered then, he’d call me out on it, and this point in time, I wouldn’t hold back for shit.

I let it ring through to voicemail instead, stalking my screen for the new voicemail drop down that was about to appear at any moment. Like clock work, the small alert box descended at a the top of my screen about a minute later.

Except it wasn’t a voicemail.

It was a text.

Vic: SHE FIRED ME.

He was livid, a concept I found comical to say the least. I played it off as though I had not an inkling as to what he was talking about.

Me: For what?

Vic: Technically, the little bitch didn’t fire me herself. She had Roscoe do it. He says it was his decision as new head of everything, but I know that’s bullshit.

Me: Either way—what did he fire you for?

Vic: He said primarily because they didn’t need me anymore but, evidently, my attendance played a role in the final decision, too. Are you free later?

Me: Possibly. Have to check my schedule.

Vic: Make time, brother. We need to chat.

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