Page 18 of The Stallion
Such a cliché.
Who would’ve thought?
Chapter 7
Bria
Present Day
SIXFUCKINGYEARSLATER.
Goddamn stupid. That was how I felt as I curled into a ball on the floor of my shower, water streaming over me as I cried my eyes out over a man—no, a boy—who shouldn’t have ever fucking mattered to me.
“Bria.” A soft voice carried over the sound of water hitting the tiles, and I buried my head deeper into my hands.
Fuck this.
Fuck him.
“Go away, Ash. I don’t want one of your pep talks.” I croaked, my voice muffled.
“Is that fucking so?” She threw open the curtain and stared down at me, hands on her hips like she didn’t give a shit if she found me naked—which I wasn’t.
“What the hell happened? Weren’t you going to see Connor today?” Asher’s brows knitted together with concern as she crouched down beside me, tilting her head to get a good look at my face.
I’m sure my makeup had run all over it by now, making me look like a feral, ratchet raccoon—or psycho brunette Barbie…
“He’s gone…” I whispered under my breath as she tried to calm me down from the shame spiral that had consumed my entire being. “The son-of-a-bitch left me. He won’t answer a single call or text. He’s completely ghosted me.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Connor I know...” I could hear the doubt in her tone, a sense that she didn’t believe me. “You two are endgame… Are you sure?”
“You seriously think that I would be sitting here—a fucking wreck of a woman if I wasn’t?” My voice cracked as my breathing turned erratic and heavy through all the heart-strained sobs. “I guess the game was over for one of us.”
The water in the shower had turned cold, causing me to shiver and grit my teeth from the sudden drop in temperature. I hugged my knees even tighter to my chest, pressing my forehead into them.
I never told Asher the harsh reality of the last three years—that my relationship with Connor had started crumbling with every passing day, and I had been pretending we were as happy and perfect as ever.
While deep down, I was becoming starved for touch and attention.
I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d fucked, spending most nights getting myself off with vibrators while he ignored my growing needs. Always claiming to be too busy or too tired to care.
After six long years, we never moved in together, and Asher didn’t seem to see that as a sign of a problem in our relationship. Assuming we just preferred to have the personal space while we could, before we eventually married.
I let her believe whatever facade she wanted because I was too afraid to admit that I had become nothing more than his doormat—something I utterly despised—just a pretty little thing to wrap around his arm when the need or event called for it.
The love I thought I once felt for Connor had inevitably turned me into the one thing that I resented—a fucking pushover.
“Hey, what’s up? It’s—” I could hear Connor’s voice over the speaker before Asher hung up and called his number again, this time allowing the voicemail to run until she could leave a message.
“Connor, you sorry son-of-a-bitch. You pick up this goddamn phone right fucking now before I come over there and nail your balls to the wall!” Asher shrieked into her phone like a banshee, threatening him with seething rage.
I wiped the tears away from my red and swollen eyes as I peered up at her, feeling lost, helpless, and shattered to fucking pieces.
Fuck, I was an emotional disaster…
Twodayshadpassedsince Asher dragged my ass out of the shower and into dry clothes before allowing me to curl up in the middle of her bed.
I refused to leave her room—mine, nothing more than a reminder of all the timeshestayed the night. And instead of abandoning me to my depressed demise, she tried her hardest to feed and comfort me.
