Page 78 of Nocturne

“Where is he?”

“He had to step out for work,” I reply, hating the way I feel small against men like him.

So many sharp comebacks dance on the tip of my tongue, but I suppress them, not wanting to become a target again. The bullying may have stopped in college, but now these grown children wield real power, and there’s no telling what they might do if their egos are bruised.

Burke nods, dragging his hand along the back of my chair, his proximity sending waves of revulsion through me. When the waiter approaches with the bill, Burke clicks his tongue.

“Leaving the woman alone to pay? Seems like your choice of date sucks, baby.”

“Better than the one who never took me out,” I shoot back.

Burke’s lips thin, but he says nothing—thank God for that. I stretch my hand for the waiter, but Burke slips his card out without a glance at the bill. Rage boils inside me, and I turn to pin him with a glare.

“I can pay for myself,”

His eyes drop to my breasts, leering without shame.

“You don’t have to,”

I grit my teeth, the urge to slap him dancing just out of reach. No. I can’t give in to violent thoughts. Nothing good ever comes from anger. Instead, I turn away, biting my tongue.

“I don’t need some stranger's money who has no respect for my boundaries,” I hiss.

“I didn’t seem to be the stranger when you let me fuck your virgin cunt,”

I suppress the shock from appearing on my face from his sudden crass words. Tears of indignation burn in my eyes. I fist my hands over the material of my dress, doing my best not to drive the knife into his throat. His friends snicker around us, revelling in the spectacle.

“You did win the bet,” Matthew, Burke’s close friend, chuckles, his laughter dripping with condescension.

Why am I surprised that these spoiled brats would go as far as to place bets on me?

When I turn back to him, Burke scowls at Matthew but doesn’t say a word.

“You disgust me, Berrett,” I spring to my feet, wrenching my arm free from his grip.

The restaurant buzzes with chatter, and the last thing he wants is a scene, so he holds back. I know he’s following me, calling my name as I push through the doors. The cool air does nothing to quell the anger brewing inside me.

I stride toward the curb to hail a cab, but a grip on my wrist spins me around to face an angry Burke. His face, so tempting to slap, twists with frustration. We’re right beside the entrance, and thankfully, no one notices us. The staff are busy ushering patrons inside.

“When I call, you answer.” Burke orders.

“Why would I? We are over. Looking at your past behaviour and what I’ve learned just now, I doubt we were ever a thing.”

“Damn it, Ara! Did you ever stop to think about what it might look like for me? How-“

I don’t think. I act.

I slap his face, the sting of my palm echoing in the night air. His cheek flushes red, and the sound of impact drowns in the cacophony of traffic, but I relish it. I slapped him hard enough that the satisfaction of that moment will linger for years.

“Don’t you dare try to fool me with your stupid excuses! Be decent enough to accept that you’ve made a mistake, apologise and be done with it.” I seethe.

He takes a threatening step forward, and I back away, instinctively retreating from the man.

“You slapped the son of the man who will be this nation’s next Prime Minister, and you don’t see me retaliating. Anyone could’ve captured that moment; it’s on me to do damage control. But I’m not raising my hand at you. That’s how much you mean to me, baby.”

I cringe, his twisted version of affection is repulsive.

“That is bull crap. You know what? I’m done with this.”

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