Page 116 of Vicious Saint
He seems satisfied with this response—and it’s probably not a good thing.
“Do you know what would happen if someone else pulled this little stunt of yours? Hm?”
“It’s not a fucking stunt, asshole. I was forced to stay here by our parents.”
He doesnotseem satisfied with this response.
“Were you also forced to make it a fucking mess? Go through my shit?”
“I didn’t go through your shit.”
“Left drawer of my dresser.” He juts his head. “It’s cracked open.”
Barely.
How the heck can he tell from here?
“That wasn’t—”
“You moved my 2’s.”
Oh, Mylanta. Saint’s obsession with his Jordans is almost as bad as his obsession with being a dick.
“Did not.”
His eyes turn to slits. “Then why are they next to my 5’s?”
Probably best not to tell him it’s because I tried them on.
“I was making room for my stuff.”
“There will be nomaking roomfor your stuff because you’re getting the fuck out of here.” He pauses. “Now…before I do something only you will regret.”
I have zero control over the laugh bursting past my lips.
“Somethin’ funny?”
“Just how delusional you are. In like…every single way.”
Cheap shot, Montgomery.
I’m proud of you.
“Tell me…what exactly was the goal being here, Jimi? Did you miss me that much?”
“Not enough, actually. You should try leaving again.”
“That…mouth.” His nostrils flare, and I give myself an internal high-five.
“What aboutmy mouth,Letterman?”
Saint grips my chin, eyes dipped to my lips as he runs a thumb along the bottom one. “I’m gonna really need it to stop pissing me off.”
“Or else what?” I smack his hand away. “I’ll end up like Lance?”
Cue a tight, ragged inhale. “Shut your mouth, Hendrix.”
“All these demands coming from the asshole who’s in no position to place them.”
