Page 91 of Filthy Elite

Even if he never knew about that post I made, the one that got him in trouble, so he can’t remember that, I can’t let him remember Gloria before we’re engaged, when it will be too late for him to change his mind.

“Why’d you run off?” he asks.

And as much as I want to know what he remembers, I’d rather steer him away from that conversation, so he won’t think about it. He’s already fucked up on pills tonight. Hopefully he won’t remember any of this tomorrow—least of all, whatever came to him while he was sitting out there on the back step.The last thing I want to do is make him repeat it, which is just another form of rehearsal, another memory for him to bring up later, maybe even ask me what he said.

“Because you treat me like garbage,” I say, sniffling so he’ll notice my tears, be reminded that he hurt me, and that matters more than his memory. I’m here, after all. She’s in the past.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling out his cigarettes. “You want to go?”

“Can you not smoke in here?” I ask. “I’ve told you how much I hate it.”

He sighs and tosses the pack down in front of the gear stick, then leans forward and pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, tossing that down too. Then he leans back and rakes a hand through his hair. “What do you want from me this time?” he demands. “Dinner at Cliff’s? Flowers? Jewelry?”

I let my mouth drop open in indignation. “You make it sound like I’m just with you for what you buy me.”

“What am I supposed to think?” he asks. “This is how it usually works. I fuck up, and you tell me what you want me to do to make it better.”

“Well, maybe you should stop hurting me, and that wouldn’t happen,” I say, giving my voice a little tremor.

“Everything hurts you,” he grumbles, picking up his cigarettes again.

I force myself not to blink until tears swim over my eyes, and then I blink one off my lashes and let it roll down my cheek.

“I just want to know we have a future,” I say, staring at him with my eyes wide and shiny with tears. I know that gets to him every time. “Why can’t you tell me that?”

“I don’t know the future.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

He pulls out a cigarette. “I don’t know anything anymore,” he says, sounding defeated.

“Can’t you just take one of your pills instead of smoking?”

“I already took three.”

“Well, maybe Dr. Swift can up your dose,” I say. “They’re obviously not working. You’re usually sweet when you take them.”

“You want me to take a damn pill?” he asks, reaching into his pocket and pulling one out. He swallows it dry, glaring at me. “There. Am I fucked up enough for you now?”

“That’s not what—”

“I know,” he says. “It’s never what you mean. So how am I supposed to guess what you mean this time, Dixie?”

Before I can answer, my door swings open, and Duke stands there blinking stupidly at me for a second. Then his drunken gaze moves past me, to Colt. “Hey,” he says. “You got any pot?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Colt mutters, throwing open his door. He swipes his cigarettes and slams the door, stalking around to the back.

“You coming?” Duke asks.

I consider it for a second. I want to be included, to be next to Colt every time anyone sees him, until they see us as one entity. But Duke knows Gloria better than anyone, and maybe they’ll say something that I can use. I shake my head no, and Duke closes my door. When he walks around to join Colt, I lower the window a crack and mute the radio so I can hear.

Colt drops the tailgate, and they hop up next to each other.

“Were you fucking Lo?” Duke asks. “Is that where you both disappeared to?”

“No,” Colt says, sounding annoyed. “I was fucking Dixie. My girlfriend.”

“Hey, Lo disappeared too,” Duke says. “She came back looking all… I don’t know.Fucked.”

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