Page 91 of Landon & Shay: Part One

I crossed my arms. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Shut up, Land.”

“Answer me.”

She shrugged. “Don’t know.”

I sighed, pointed toward the dining room. “Sit.”

“Oh, so now you want me to stay? Screw you, Landon. I can open my phone and find a shit ton of men who will want me to stay, who will want me to touch them, to want them, to spread my legs for—”

“Sit the hell down, Monica!” I barked. My patience was being tested, and every time she talked about what other men did to her, it pissed me off—not because I wanted her, but because I knew they didn’t. They used her, abused her, then tossed her to the side.

Just like Reggie would end up doing.

She gave me a sly smirk, curtseyed, and then sat down at the dining room table.

I went into the kitchen and slapped together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, grabbed a glass of milk, and set it down in front of her.

I sat across from her at the table, as far away as possible.

“Eat,” I said.

She rolled her eyes and flipped me off. Then, she picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

With each bite she took, a part of me sighed with relief.

There’d been many nights I had sat there with her, eating PB&Js, drunk, high, and wasted out of my mind. I didn’t miss those nights.

I didn’t miss that cold feeling of despair, that emptiness.

Even when we ate the sandwiches together, I always felt alone whenever I was with Monica. Maybe her loneliness made me drown even more.

“Was it over me?” she questioned.

“Was what over you?”

“The fight with Reggie. Did you fight him because of me?”

The question was so heavy, and the desperation in her eyes was clear as day. She wanted us to fight over her. She wanted to be the reason men lost their minds. I’d never met a woman who craved being wanted so much. It was sad to see. I didn’t answer for two reasons. One, it would’ve hurt her already damaged heart if I told her the truthful no, and two, I knew my silence would be enough of an answer.

Her eyes watered over for a split second before she returned to her sinister stare. Every now and then, you could see flashes of the hurt girl Monica was. You could see it in her eyes, but she never showed it long enough for most people to notice.

“So, did you?” she asked.

“Did I what?”

“Show her your scars.”

“We’re not talking about that.”

She snickered, shaking her head. “It’s because she’ll never accept you. She’ll never accept all your scars. She’ll never love you for who you really are, Landon. She’ll never love—”

“Stop,” I whispered, pounding my hand against the table.

She pounded her hands against the table as well. “No. No. No. No!”

“Monica!”

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