Page 64 of Unstable

AFTER THAT SOLITARY, GLORIOUSnight in my new bed, in my new room, this couch feels lumpier than ever. But I’d sleep outside on the gravel, with no blanket or pillow, before I’d step one foot back into that farce of a gift from him.

Great—now more than half the house is off-limits.

I was full of shit on all the garbage I fed Gatlin. I am mad. Furious. It does bother me. So much so that my head is throbbing and my stomach has a hollow ache—just like my chest—from the torture I keep putting myself through. Analyzing and examining every single word, look, act in my mind, trying to figure out the precise moment I crossed into a foolish state of misinterpretation.

And Keaton did do something wrong too. He convinced me, unmercifully so, to open up, give him, life, and hope a chance. Who does that? Targets someone who’s already fragile, and toys with their emotions?

That’s just…evil. And among any other characteristic or criticism I’d ever labeled on Keaton, evil had never been one of them.

Guess I was nothing more than a lifelong challenge for him to finally concur…so he could check me off his list of accomplishments and move on in gloating glory. Another Ashfall girl fallen victim to his snake-charming ways.

Letting him touch me, kiss me, call me “baby” and “his woman.” Never really laying into him about his “rules” of how things would work if we were together. Agreeing he could come with me to finalize things at Merrick’s office.

Played right into his fucking hand—and when he could taste the win—he folded. The real victory had in ending the game while I still thought I had a chance.

Maybe it was just a ploy for vindication, getting me back for all the years I fought with him, goaded him…made sport of antagonizing him. But I never purposely hurt him. I didn’t catch him at his lowest and pretend to care.

Gotta give it to him though—he’s damn smooth, because I actually believed he was sincere.

Oh well, I’ll just go back to the way things were—a world of cynical isolation. It won’t be a long trip.

I flop over again, trying to get comfortable, finally accepting defeat. Sleep’s not gonna happen without some help, so I head to the fridge in search of alcohol.

Half a bottle of pear wine left way in the back. That’ll work.

Pear’s my least favorite flavor, but desperate times…

I don’t bother with a glass, getting settled on the couch again and tipping the bottle back like a wino…who loves pears. I just need to fall asleep and regroup tomorrow.

But the bastard has other plans, my phone dinging with a text. I shouldn’t read it. Ignore him, Henley.

Yeah right. That was never gonna happen. Curiosity killed the cat ya know…and I want to see how he’s planning on playing this out.

Cocky PITA: Hey, you up?

Well shit, that doesn’t give me much wiggle room. If I ignore him, I find out nothing more. If I say yes, I’ve answered, but gained no advantage.

I wait several minutes, then construct my reply to my gain.

Me: Why?

Cocky PITA: We need to talk, asap.

Me: Not tonight we don’t. Had all day to talk, we didn’t. Now it’s late and I’m too tired. Night.

Cocky PITA: I had a busy day, sorry about that. What’d you do?

I could snip back and say, again, that I’m too tired to talk…but I’d rather get a dig in. Petty? Nope, I don’t think so.

Me: Gatlin and I went to the sale barn. Very successful. I had a great day.

Cocky PITA: That so? Wow, I’m proud of you. Good job, baby.

What in the actual fuck? I haven’t had that much wine. He’s really not only not throwing a fit with his “come to me for help” bullshit, but he’s praising me and has the nerve to call me “baby?” After he no doubt just finished climbing off of Addison?

He’s worse than Merrick! At least he was consistently distant and indifferent. And didn’t insert pet names in the same breath he used to lie!

Cocky PITA: Did I lose ya?

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