Page 86 of Because I Liked A Boy
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stand to look at him another second.
I turned and stormed up the stairs, folder still clutched tight, tears blinding me. Behind me, his footsteps pounded after mine.
“Isabella—please—fuck—just listen to me!”
I didn’t. I tore through the bedroom, yanking my shorts and cami from the floor, pulling them on with shaking hands. His shirt hit the ground, crumpled like it burned me.
“It was a job!” His voice cracked, raw, frantic. “That’s all it was at the start. Just money I needed it they offered me more than I’d ever seen—”
“A job?” I spun on him, fury and grief clawing out of me. “That’s all I was to you? A pay check?”
“No!” His fists curled at his sides. “It stopped being about that the second I met you.”
“Bullshit!” My laugh was hollow, jagged. “You were reporting back while you kissed me, while you fucked me, while you made me believe I finally had something real!”
His eyes burned. “It was real. Every second with you was me. Not your father. Not the job. Me.”
“Nothing about this was real.” My voice broke as I shoved past him, bag clutched to my side. Then, on instinct, my eyes snagged on the stupid stuffed bunny sitting in the chair. My throat seized. Before I could think better of it, I snatched it up, hugging the ridiculous thing to my chest like a shield. If nothing else, I needed one piece of him left.
“Princess—” His voice cracked, shattering.
“Don’t.” My whisper shook. Tears streamed hot down my cheeks. “Don’t call me that. Don’t you dare use that name like I’m still yours.”
I stormed down the stairs, the bunny clutched tight in one arm, the folder in the other. The coffee table shook as I slammed the file down, pages spilling everywhere.
Proof. Every word of it.
At the door, my hand trembled on the handle.
“Isabella.” His voice was broken now, guttural.
I froze. Just for a heartbeat.
Then I ripped the door open so hard it cracked against the wall. “Fuck you, Hunter,” I whispered, voice shattered.
And I slammed it behind me.
Cool night air hit my damp skin, sharp with the scent of asphalt and rain. My legs stumbled down the steps, phone clutched in my shaking hand, the bunny still in my arms. Ruby’s name lit the screen.
She answered on the first ring, her voice groggy, then alarmed. “Belle? What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“Can you come get me?” My voice cracked, choked. “Please. Just… come get me.”
Her tone sharpened instantly. “Text me the address. I’m on my way.”
The call ended. My knees buckled. I sank onto the curb, hugging the bunnytight against me, arms wrapped around both it and myself like I could hold in all the pieces that were breaking. The night pressed down heavy, every inhale scraping my throat raw.
The folder. His words. His face.
All of it spun behind my eyes, looping like a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.
And the cruellest part? Even now, even knowing what I knew I could still smell him on me. Cedarwood. Soap. Hunter.
The ache of it nearly broke me in half.
Headlights flashed down the street, but it wasn’t Ruby yet just some stranger slowing for a moment to take in the girl sitting on the curb in nothing but shorts, a stolen T-shirt, heartbreak, and a ridiculous stuffed bunny. I turned my face away, shame searing hot through the tears.
My phone buzzed. Ruby.
