Page 71 of My Infatuation with Isabella

“Well, guess who got bumped up to level nine...The Vandal? I gotta admit, you screwing me like a two-dollar hooker, then sneaking out in the early parts of the morning really made me take it up a notch. The thing that bothers me is that it wasn’t once or twice or even three times. No, you had your fill of me before you fucked off. And then imagine my surprise when I call you and your phone isoff.”

“My battery died! And, I’ll be honest with you, out of all the things I wanted to do that night, charging my phone wasn’t one of them. It was very low on my list of priorities.”

“That doesn’t change anything. Where the fuck did you go?”

I don’t answer, and my car takes another hit. I look to the side and this woman is on the phone with the police. “Ma’am, please put your phone away. There’s no need to get the cops involved. This is between me and her, alright?”

Bella doesn’t seem to care about the woman, the cops, or anyone else. “I’m waiting, De Lorenzo.”

“It was an emergency. I had to leave. I called the hotel. You had already checked out.”

“And where did you call the hotel from?”

Again, I don’t answer and the little patience she has is wearing thin.

“Okay. What was the emergency? Fran finding out? Did you tell her about us?”

“No! Why would I tell Fran about us?”

“Wrong answer.” Equal amounts of rage and hurt flash in her eyes and she goes ballistic on my car.

“Bella, please stop. Come down before you hurt yourself.”

“Hurt?” Her voice cracks and she bites down on her lower lip when it starts to quiver. “Now you care if I get hurt?”

The words come out as a strangled whisper, and that’s when I see it. She’s not trying to cause a scene or embarrass me or take her revenge out on my car. I told her the levels of crazy only exist because of hurt caused by a man, and she went to level nine to show me just how much I hurt her. I feel like a total dick. I don’t even protest anymore. I just stand there and let her fuck up my car.

She lets out all her frustration, cussing me out in English and Spanish. At the end of it, my windshield is completely bashed in, the hood and roof are dented and scratched, and the headlights on both sides are shattered. She’s shaking when she stops to look at me again. “You told me you love me.”

“I do.”

“You’re a walking contradiction. You don’t do that to someone you love. You don’t...you don’t just leave them like that.”

Oh, shit! Shit! Shit! Big piles of steaming shit!

Considering all her issues with her father, with me, considering that this woman always reads into actions instead of words, leaving her in that hotel room was the worst thing I could’ve done to her. It becomes a million times worse when I add on what I did to her when we were younger. Then let’s throw in the fact that I’ve offered zero explanations for any of my actions, and I can see why she’s struggling to keep her composure, why she keeps blinking back tears.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “Bella, I’m so sorry. I was going to come?”

“Save your apologies. I don’t want them. I don’t need them. I’m officially done with you. You want to push me to level nine, you get level nine.” She drops the spade and the metal clangs as it hits the sidewalk at my feet. “There’s your Queen of Spades, bitch.”

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