Page 38 of Twisted Love

When I slip it on and glance at my reflection again. I look... ordinary. The realization makes me wonder why he came back for me. He could have had any beauty from wherever he had disappeared to all these years. Was it just all revenge and hate for whatever he imagines I have done to him … or is there something more?

I slip on a pair of comfortable flats and hurry out of the room. The sharp, impatient blare of the car horn echoes through the house. He’s already annoyed. Good.

The rain from last night has left the ground damp and the air thick with the scent of wet earth as I walk unhurriedly toward the car. He’s seated in the driver’s seat, his leather jacket gleaming under the overcast sky. He looks effortlessly good—too good—and I hate myself for noticing.

Sliding into the passenger seat, I make a point not to look at him, though I can feel his gaze on me. The engine hums as he pulls away from the house, the silence between us heavy.

We’re not shopping locally it would seem as the town passes by in a blur of color and bustle. I guess we must be heading to the mall in the next town two hours away. He doesn’t speak and neither do I. About half an hour later his phone rings and he talks on the speaker with someone called Olivia about some property he is acquiring. I notice he is friendly and almost flirtatious and that makes my stomach tighten with jealousy.

I turn my head away and look out at the countryside. The call ends and still he says nothing. My thoughts drift, unbidden, to the department store we’re headed to. The last time we were there together was so long ago it feels like another lifetime.

Back then, it was never for shopping. We went on Earl’s motorbike to eat slices of Mario’s extra-large, thick-crust pepperoni pizza and share ice cream sundaes like they were delicacies. I didn’t care about the high-end brands lining the food halls, and neither did he. It was simple. It was us.

The last time we were there it was my birthday. Earl and I were sitting in one of the rickety booths near the edge. The smell of fried food and the distant hum of chatter filled the air, mixing with the faint sounds of people talking and the clatter of trays. Then Charles showed up, flanked by his usual crowd of loud, arrogant friends. I noticed them before they noticed us, their expensive sneakers and designer gear making them stand out from the casual crowd. Charles's laugh carried across the space. He always behaved as if he owned whatever space he was in.

When he spotted us, his eyes changed into that familiar, predatory gleam. He hated Earl. Hands stuffed casually into his trouser pockets, and his friends trailing behind him like a pack of hyenas, he sauntered over. Earl stiffened beside me, his hand tightening around the flimsy plastic spoon he was holding. I could feel the tension radiating off him. His jaw was clenched tight by the time Charles’s shadow loomed over our table.

“Well, well, Raven,” Charles drawled, his smile dripping with false charm. “Celebrating your birthday in style with pizza and ice cream, I see. Really? Is that the best your greasy boyfriend could do?” He let his gaze slide over to Earl, his eyes assessing, mocking. Then he shook his head with disgust. “What a loser.”

The flimsy plastic spoon snapped in half, but Earl didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look up, but I could see the way his knuckles whitened. Charles leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for everyone to hear. “You know, if you were with me, I’d show you what a real birthday looks like. I’d take you somewhere special. Buy you a meal fit for a princess because that’s what you are. A right princess.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and cutting, and I felt the burn of anger rise in my chest. I looked at Earl then, at the way he sat so still, his shoulders rigid, his eyes fixed on the table like he was trying to will himself not to react, make a scene and ruin my birthday. It broke something in me to see him like that.

“No, thank you,” I said sharply. “This isexactlywhat I wanted on my birthday and I’m celebrating it with the person who matters.”

Charles’s smirk faltered, just for a second, before he recovered, laughing like I’d just told the world’s funniest joke. “Come on, Raven. Be serious. What could he possibly offer you? Maybe his drunkard father begging for change in the parking lot outside the liquor store? Oh, wait, didn’t that already happen last week?”

His friends erupted into laughter, the sound grating and cruel. I felt my hands ball into fists at my sides, the heat of my fury threatening to spill over. “You’re pathetic,” I said quietly. Then I stood abruptly, my chair screeching against the floor, and shoved past Charles, my shoulder deliberately colliding with his in a way that made him stumble.

“Come on,” I said to Earl, grabbing his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Oh, come on,” Charles had called after us. “I’m not lying. His father was on his knees before mine begging to borrow some money. Tell her, Earl!”

“Ignore him.” I’d rubbed Earl’s arm. “He’s an asshole.” Earl followed without a word, his hand hot and tense in mine. We walked away, leaving Charles and his pack behind, their laughter fading into the distance. I didn’t let go of Earl’s hand until we were outside, the cool air biting at my skin, the noise of the food court replaced by the distant hum of traffic.

I looked at him then, at the way his head was bowed, his eyes fixed on the ground. “Are you okay?” I asked softly.

“Of course I am,” he replied. “And he’s right, my father did do that. We might lose the workshop.”

“I’m sorry,” I’d replied, worried on his behalf.

“Hey, It’s not your fault, you know,” he’d smiled in the way that made my heart stop.

“And it’s not yours either,” I’d told him.

“Yeah,” he smiled and kissed me and I felt so in love it made me dizzy.

Now, the memory burns like acid in my chest and I can’t help but steal a glance at him. His jaw is tight, his focus unyielding on the road ahead. The same guy, but not the same at all.

“How did you do it?” I ask before I can stop myself, my voice breaking the silence.

He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even flinch. “Do what?”

“All of this.” I gesture vaguely at the car, at him, at the life we’re both pretending to live. “The money. Where did it come from? And so quickly at that.”

There’s a pause, thick and deliberate, before he finally answers. “Every cent of it is dirty.”

Something in me recoils with horror, and I turn to face him fully, searching his expression for any hint of hesitation, any sign he’s lying. But his face is a mask, his tone devoid of anything but cold truth.

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