Page 2 of Doctor Bossy

“Talk about what?” I glanced at the woman. “I doubt there is much to talk about now unless you want to tell me about the grand romance between you and this floozy."

“Excuse me?” the woman looked offended.

Damn, no need to be catty to her. She isn’t the one you’re really mad at, is she?

I sighed. “I apologize, lady. You didn’t deserve that shot; he did. The only thing you can be faulted for is that you have bad taste. But apparently, I do too.”

James sighed and didn’t seem to even notice his nakedness as he rubbed his hand over his face. He glanced at the blonde cooly and said, “Could you excuse us?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you seriously kicking me out right now?”

“Yes, because I need to talk to my fiancée.”

The blonde looked between the two of us for a few seconds, clearly stunned by this development. Then she gave an outraged huff, gathered the blanket into a makeshift taupe, and stalked off, brushing against my shoulder as she exited.

There was a beat of silence after she left, but if James thought that getting rid of the woman so harshly would make me feel better about the whole situation, it didn’t. It only made me feel worse.

It proved that he hadn’t cheated on me because he had fallen madly in love with someone else or had doubts about his feelings toward me.

He had cheated on me simply because he wanted to get his dick wet.

And that was the most devastating part about all this.

It crushed me that he could throw away everything between us just like that. Furthermore, what I saw on his face wasn’t remorse, not really anyway. More so, it was regret that he had been caught and also a mild annoyance. As if this whole thing was just a giant inconvenience.

Fucking asshole, I thought.

He was an asshole. How on earth hadn’t I seen that before?

“You know what,” I said, making a decision. “She’s not the one who needs to leave. I’m the one who has to get out of here.”

I turned to do just that, then felt James grab my arm. “Wait, Becca…”

And just like that, I snapped.

I whipped around, and my palm landed with a crack across his cheek, the sound seeming to echo around the room. Rather than looking pained, James looked shocked at the fact that he had just been slapped. He took a step back and then blinked once, twice, before anger spread across his features.

“What the hell was that for?” he exclaimed, his cheek already turning red with my handprint. I felt savage satisfaction at the sight of it.

“Penance,” I said and turned around. “Fuck you, James McCormick.”

And with that declaration and nary a shake in my voice, I stormed out of the apartment, hoping I never saw James in my life ever again.

* * *

Unfortunately,things weren’t that simple, and my luck only seemed to go downhill from there.

After all, when it rained, it often poured.

James tried to contact me for the rest of the week, but I blocked him. He had then taken to calling me on alternate lines, so I ignored all unknown numbers, letting them all go to voicemail. I played the voicemails at the end of the night to see if I missed any important calls and also because a part of me still pathetically wanted to hear what he had to say and to see what his explanation for hurting me was, not that I would buy it anyway.

In the beginning, his messages were pleading and apologetic, but after a week without an answer from me, his tone became angrier and more indignant.

That pissed me off. It seemed that James somehow thought he was entitled to the chance to explain himself, entitled to my forgiveness. He wanted us to meet at least once more, he said, for closure.

Fuck that. The disrespect was all the closure I needed.

Eventually, I found the strength to begin deleting his messages before even listening to them.

---