Page 8 of Chaos

Externally, I begrudgingly recognize defeat. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Again with the ominous shit. Figuring she wouldn’t grace me with an explanation even if I asked for on, I let the silence persist. Once we reach my apartment block, I don’t ask for help getting out of the car and Lux doesn’t offer any. I hobble and swear my way up three flights of stairs and into my apartment, relieved to find my roommates absent. They’re always either fighting or fucking, and I’m not sure either would be a suitable soundtrack for whatever plot twist is imminent. Nor would they be particularly reassuring to the woman already eyeing my home like it’s some kind of hovel.

I’m less relieved, however, when I shoulder open my bedroom door and find a blond, man-sizedratlurking in my space, and the damn boot on my foot doesn’t let me back up quick enough to evade an unwanted hug. “Holy fuck, babe.”

My hands curl into tight, furious fists. “Get off of me.”

Ricky doesn't listen. He maintains his tight hold until I drive my knuckles into his stomach, and even after he’s forced to retreat, he still doesn’t take the damn hint. “I was so worried about you.”

Something like a smile curves my mouth, but there’s no joy in it—just amazed disbelief and the strain of keeping homicidal urges at bay. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The dumb, stupid,idiotmotherfucker actually tries to cup my face tenderly. He actually lookssurprisedwhen I bat him away. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Shit, lemme—”

“Get out.”

He jerks like I’ve slapped him, and oh, do I wish I had. “What?”

“Get the fuck out of here. I never wanna see you again.”

Ricky gapes incredulously, so damn confused, I almost laugh. “What’re you talking about?”

“Youleftme,” I remind him, too pissed to care that the one person I would least like to witness this conversation is currently lurking an inch behind me. “You broke into that house, you dragged me out there, your brother set off that alarm and crashed my fucking car, andyou left me.”

“I didn’t drag you anywhere,” Ricky refutes, and it’s so fucking typical thatthat’sthe part he gets hung up on. “C’mon, Lot. I was drunk. I was high. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You are so full of shit.”

“Youare kind of being a bitch.”

“Hey,” Lux barks. Her hand lands on my shoulder, and I wonder if it’s instinct that guided it there. A second later, I wonder if it’s common sense that snatches it away. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

As if he’s only just noticing her presence, Ricky squints at Lux. “Who are you?”

“No one,” I answer at the same time Lux says, “Her sister.”

Ricky blinks. “Lottie doesn’t have a sister.”

“Oh, okay, then.” Lux bleeds pure, thick sarcasm. “If you say so.”

Gaze flitting back to me, Ricky accuses, “You said you didn't have any family.”

“You left me in a crushed car,” I spit. “I think we’re even.”

“Jesus, Lottie, it’s not like you weredying.”

“Yeah, Lottie,” my sister parrots, her voice a mocking drawl. “Don’t be so dramatic. At least the car wasn’t on fire.”

I shoot her a look—a silentstay out of itthat she responds to with a sigh and two innocently raised hands—before returning my focus to the dumbass I cannot believe I wasted over a year of my lifehanging out with. Stepping aside, I gesture at thedoor with a dramatic flourish. “Fuck off, Ricky. I mean it. We’re done.”

Ricky blinks again. He scoffs. He shakes his head. He snickers beneath his breath like he really thinks this is all one big joke. He sobers when he takes another look at me, when hereallylooks at me, when he finally realizes hownotjoking I am.

“Yeah, okay.” His shoulder knocks into mine as he stomps out of the room, calling some lovely parting words over his shoulder. “See you in a week when you remember you’ve got no one else.”

I laugh in his wake, but fuck if that doesn’t hit harder than I care to admit. If it doesn’t make me feel small and inferior and oh-so-alone, things I’ve felt enough of to last a lifetime, things I started burying a long, long time ago.

My thumb finds its way to my mouth. I’ve barely started biting on the nail—a bad habit I always think I’ve kicked until it rears its ugly head again—before my hand is gently slapped away. “Don’t ruin your nails overhim.”

---