Page 78 of Burn It Down
16
“I. Want. More. He doesn’t deserve you.” Seemed clear to me.
Someone was not done with me. After my chat with Jordan, I'd hoped the notes and flowers were over. Since the holiday weekend, I had been proven wrong.
Every day, I got a single rose with a nasty note delivered. Either dirty shit someone wanted to do to me, or threatening ones like the one Mags just read out loud.
The shop was empty and had been slow all day. The rose, a bright red one that made me think of blood, mocked me. Mags intercepted it in her attempt to pass all evidence right to Finn.
Instead, I made her read me the letter. The others, showing up at my door, on the steps of our condo, on Finn’s blazer, had been passed to Diggs.
The hand writing looking different in each one, they were all on different paper, and they had no clue who was behind them. I sat with my knees brought against my chest, rocking on the edge of the counter.
“You know,” Mags shoved her curly carrot curls into a low pony tail, “I don’t believe it is your professor. I think it’s that slutty, scheming honey bun, Bree.”
Absolutely, I thought it might be Bree too. After that cryptic comment about her from Jordan, it was all I had been able to consider.
Bree was clever and cunning, and had run games like this very one on people before. Pitting couples against each other so she could steal one of them away. Bree had no preference.
Bree was capable of a lot worse than some dirty notes and a few roses. It made no sense for it to be Bree. Since I had known her, she stayed with no man, or woman for that matter, for more than a few nights. Bree’s remark about only one of the men I had been with saying no meant one thing.
Finn had slept with her.
The night after the pub, after I asked Finn for details that made me sick, I learned something. There might have been many before me. Maybe even Bree. That hurt and I wasn’t right with it yet, but I would be. Because I knew something none of them did.
I would be the last.
“Might be Bree. Certainly capable of some dark shit like this.” I snatched the rose off the counter and crushed the petals in my hand.
“Anything other than the flowers and notes?” Mags asked as the front door chimed, a customer stomping their feet in the snow.
“Few texts. Restricted numbers. Just dirty talk. I don’t feel like I’m being followed now; Jordan might not be behind this,” I waved at the note as Mags tucked it into a baggie. “I think it was him following us, though. After we talked last, I feel like it stopped. I just don’t get what the point of it all is.” Sighing, I slid from the counter as the customer approached.
After that, we got busy with a stream of after work and mid evening shoppers. My phone vibrated in my pocket, but I had no chance to check it.
When we closed up shop at eight, I finally pulled it out. It crashed to the floor when I saw the text message at the top of the screen. It was Finn. A photo of him at least.
Sitting at O’Malley’s with a busty brunette on his lap. They were kissing, his tongue clearly slipping into her mouth. My body caved in on me as I bent over the sink I’d been doing dishes in and emptied my stomach. Shaky hands snatched up the phone as I crouched on the floor.
There were more photos. All from an unidentified number, of course. Photos of his hands groping her tits. The two of them dancing in the smoky club. Laughing together as they stared at each other in the fluorescent glowing lighting. I knew it was O’Malley’s by the wall décor. By the mug gripped in Finn’s hand.
The left hand. Where he wore a tattoo. My key. It caught the light just right, mocking me as that hand cradled her jaw. Tipped her face back as he sunk his tongue into her mouth. One last photo was the two of them leaving, the brunette glancing back. Bree.
Despite the dark hair and tame clothing, leggings and a sweater, it was her face. I could recognize her despite the dark locks cascading down her back. The lip print tattoo just beneath her ear and the scar over her left brow confirmed it.
I retched until I was choking. Gasping for air, tears streaming down my face. Mags came rushing in after locking the doors, folding in beside me.
I shoved the phone at her, and she gasped. Then, she laughed. Actually laughed. I shoved away from her and gaped at her.
Was it some huge fucking conspiracy? Make a complete idiot out of trusting, naïve Gigi? Who was in on it? Who wasn’t in on it felt more apt.
“What. The. Fuck. Mags?!” I screeched, crab walking backwards on the tile floor.
“Oh, Sweetie,” Mags wiped her eyes, “I think Bree just confirmed it.” I stared at her in disgust.
“That she’s fucking Finn? My Finn? I figured that, Mags. Jesus, fuck.” Trembling hands wove through my hair, tugging at it until my scalp burned.
“Oh, no. You think…Sweetie. Take a second look. It’s all wrong. Look at the clothes. Sunglasses. Flip flops. Shorts. I don’t doubt it is Bree with Finn. I doubt it was recent. Look again.” Mags slid her arm back around me and I let her.
