Page 65 of Choices
“Fine?”
“Good,” I correct. It was good.
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“It was different. Vanilla.” I shrug. Cutter is a rough lover, and I crave his animalistic fucking.
“What did you do when he told you he loved you?”
Died.
“What could I do?”
“Well, did you say anything back?”
Cutting a glare in her direction, I grind out, “I’m not going to pretend to feel things that aren’t there.”
“That’s good. Don’t take his heart if you can’t love him back,” she says, like I don’t already know how shitty that is.
Getting up, I begin stacking the magazines into a pile, irritated. “I wouldn’t do that. It was a one-time thing,” I say defensively. “He asked me for one night.”
Pushing to her feet, she brushes my arm with her fingers. “Don’t get upset.”
“I’m not upset.” I huff, plonking down on the mattress. “I’m fed up.”
“Okay.” Sitting beside me, she says, “Get ready. Let’s get drunk.”
That’s the support I’m looking for.
“I love you.” I nudge her shoulder.
Schooling her features, she looks me dead in the eyes. “I’m not fucking you for one night only.”
“Ha!”
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, holding up the lilac wig then the blue. Indecision has me dumping both. My naturally blonde hair hangs around my shoulders, a slight wave to it. It’s pretty, the same style and shade as Claire’s—why I started wearing wigs in the first place.
It sickens me to think how much I’ve allowed stupid things to affect me. Opening the cupboard, I rummage through the contents until I find a pair of scissors. Taking a breath, I smile at myself in the mirror and fist a clump of hair, ignoring the burn from my cuts as I snip away at it. Strands fall to my feet like confetti as I grip the next clump and the next.
When I’m done, it sits just below my jawline in jagged layers. Flawed, chaotic, fun. It’s me.
Slipping into a skin-tight black mini dress, I pair it with classic chunky-soled boots then smudge eyeliner under my eyes and smear on red lipstick.
A soft knock comes from the bedroom door. “I’m coming,” I call out, grabbing a bottle of perfume and spritzing it all over myself.
Waltzing through the bedroom, I grab the handle and pull it open, faltering when it’s not Rogue standing there. “Chris…”
“Hey, can I come in for a sec?”
“Sure.” Widening the opening, I stand aside, nervously tugging on the hem of my dress.
Scratching the back of his head, he avoids looking at the bed, focusing on a spot by the chair.
“Listen, Chris, I wasn’t fair to you yesterday.”
“No.” He shakes his head and comes to stand a few inches from me. Taking my hands delicately, he examines the cuts.
My heart pounds wildly in my chest. “You were clear with me about things, and I pushed.”
