“So I came looking for you, and I found little Miss Russian Barbie blindfolded, begging to be taken. I knew you weren’t gonna enjoy that, so…”
Shaking my head, more annoyed than anything, I walked away before he got to the details I knew he was itching to tell someone. I found Abigail sitting at her desk, typing away on her laptop and ignoring me with such precision I had to think if I was really there or if this was some kind of hallucination.
“What are you doing? We’re leaving.”
“I think you’re leaving. I’m working.” All cutthroat and all sour.
“Abigail. Get up. We’re leaving.”
She wouldn’t even look at me. I was standing there, waiting for any kind of hint to how she felt or a chance to explain. I wasn’t stupid. I knew she was floored by Jessica showing up. Hell, so was I.
With my hand flat on her desk, I leaned over, bearing all my weight on my hand. “I’m not playing games with you. Get the fuck up. We are leaving, Abigail. I’ll explain shit in the fucking car.”
After a long minute, she finally pushed out her chair and stood up, grabbing her bag aggressively.
What’s worse than ‘fuck my life’?
Grabbing my phone and hat really quickly, I found myself taking big steps, not wanting to give her more time to stew. My hand clamped around her elbow, guiding her towards the elevators. “I’m not talking to you right now.”
Sucking in air, I tried to breathe through how aggrieved I felt. The Clave, my mom, Jessica… my whole life was aggravating. I lived for control, under the fucking assumption I had control, when really I had none.
I slammed the door to my car, pushed the start button, and barely waited for the engines to fire before I swerved out of the garage at an alarming speed. The anger always gave the monster in me a license to be reckless, while the silence gleamed between us.
“Who is Jessica? What happened at the estate?”
“Jessica is the girl I’m supposed to marry in two years when our fathers retire and we take their places.”
“And you fucked her at the estate? Was she allowed to make you come?” Her voice hissed the words out.
“I’m not talking about this. I said nothing happened, so nothing happened.”
“Well, that’s not good enough for me.”
I had a feeling nothing was good enough for her. It was an attitude or standards; it was an accurate depiction of how I saw Abigail. Too good for us all.
“Why, Abigail? Because you can’t control me too?!” The palm of my hand slammed against the steering wheel, only so I wouldn’t break anything else. I wanted to break everything. I wanted to kill everything that didn’t make me feel the way she did.
When she didn’t respond, I glanced her way to see her lip quivering and eyes filling up with water. I had yelled at her. Well, my monster had, but I was gonna take the blame.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Now she’s gonna cry.
“You’re so beyond being controlled that it’s comical, asshole. You stomp around doing and saying exactly what you want with little regard for anyone else. Throwing that elitism status in everyone’s face.” She practically shouted the words at me, with rage flicking off her body and making sure I got hit.
“I’m a fucking warning sign, Abigail. One you didn’t bother reading before you broke that rule.”
She sunk back into her seat and went mute the rest of the way back to my house. I expected it. Hell, on some level I deserved it.
ABIGAIL
One you didn’t bother reading before you broke that rule.
His words played on a loop inside my head, weighing me down to the leather seat and forcing my gaze out the pitch black tint of his windows.
I read all the signs, and I did nothing to heed his warnings.
I broke my own rule to read the goddamn rule before I broke it. If I took the time to read Grimm, I would have talked myself out of breaking that one. Instead I let his obvious looks and his obvious uniqueness drag me by the hair deeper into his trap.
That’s the thing with bad boys with pretty faces: They’re everything inviting so you don’t see the bite coming.
Let me save you the pain; that bite has fucking teeth because you were dumb enough to fall for their tricks.
Meeting Jessica sent every petty emotion on high alert. In my mind, I stopped to the level of making fun of her accent and inappropriate lip color for the daytime. I even called her a cheap hooker, which I know isn’t nice, but you stand there in my shoes. You get sloppy drunk, show up at Grimm’s house, have the best orgasm of your life (the kind where your legs literally don’t work after), then witness his previous fuck squeeze his arm saying his real name like she won the privilege.
None of it had to be true for it to hurt the way it did.
Grimm was my boss, and here I was sulking over his sex life that excluded me.
“So it was just a drunk mistake?” I was thinking it, but the words appeared before me instead for Grimm to hear.
“I was sober. You were drunk.”
He didn’t answer the real question, only making observations that we both knew already.
“So my mistake, right?”
I hadn’t had time to process what his generosity in bed meant yet. He was still my boss, and Grimm looked like a hard pass on relationships.
“Abigail.”
“No worries. Got it. Cool. I’m not Jessica. I don’t scream sex and throw my pussy at every hot guy.”
Again, petty and unfair, but it was pleasing the angry parts.
“I didn’t fuck her, Abigail. Khaos did. I don’t have to share the minor fucking details of my life with you. She’s just some girl who failed to earn my attention. If you left when I asked, just listened to me for fucking once, we would have avoided all that and this.” His hand waved over me like I was the this he was referencing.
“Typical fucking asshole. Nothing is your fault, right? If you were honest with me about working for the Clave, about who you are, actually be my boss… none of this would be happening.”
“How does that fix how you look at me, Abigail?” He didn’t even wait for a response when he pulled down his driveway and got out of his car so fast it was obvious he was running away.
All the pretty ones did. When it comes to arguing, they completely called it quits, preserving every ounce of good looking from the aging of stress.
Getting out of his spaceship after searching for the fucking door handle longer than anyone should, I got out. “How do I look at you? Seriously? What about how you look at me?”
I didn’t expect Grimm to turn around and close the space so quickly between us. My butt pressed against the car door, and my chin was turned up. I stubbornly made eye contact like the lead he had on my height was easily demolished just by looking up, even though he seemed to tower over me.
“You know exactly what I fucking mean. You don’t just look at me like you want me to fuck you. It’s like you can love me—broken or not. Me of all people.” He paused only long enough for me to swallow that horse pill. “Exit is that way, toots.”
I watched Grimm head into his house, leaving me with all this information I didn’t know what to do with.
Did I look at him in such an accepting way he saw love?
Did I give him false hope?