“Don’t come back here, King,” was the princess’s text. The only goddamn thing I’ve heard from her in months. Don’t come back here? Bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. Tell me not to do something and I’m gonna fucking do just the opposite. That shit’s in my nature, and even more so when it comes to Samantha.
She doesn’t want me here, and here I fucking am anyway.
Sitting in the dark, on her couch, I wait. I watch when her headlights come up the driveway, lighting up the living room wall across from me.
I listen to her heels walk up the walkway. Listen as she sticks her keys in the lock, unlocking the front door.
She kicks her heels off at the door and sets down her shit on the little table in the entryway.
I wait, biding my time until she walks by.
Jesus, she looks good.
“Wanna tell me why I shouldn’t come back here?” My voice is loud in her quiet house, filling the room.
The princess gasps, her hand on her chest. “King?” she squeaks, breathing hard, sucking in air. “What are you doin’ here?” Her eyes are fucking huge, staring at me, in what I’m going to guess is shock and disbelief.
I’m not above breaking and entering. Not above sitting in someone’s house uninvited, waiting. “Wondering why you don’t want me here?” I question, waiting for the answer I know I’m not going to get from her.
She looks shook. Looks confused and a little scared. She should be scared. I’m not happy.
Taking a deep breath, she shivers, but doesn’t answer me. I watch her pace, arms wrapped around herself.
“What’s goin’ on, Samantha?” Getting off the couch, I follow her into the kitchen. “Why the fuck you textin’ me not to come back here after not hearin’ shit from you for months?”
She snorts. “Was I supposed to text you after the way you left?”
She’s going to make this difficult, hold shit against me and rub it in my face every chance she gets. The bitch is going to play this rough. “No. Wasn’t expecting shit, but what I wasn’t expecting was some cryptic fucking text tellin’ me to stay away. Why? There a reason you don’t want me around? Back with Tags?” Just saying that shit makes me see red. That motherfucker puts his hands on her, I’m removing them and feeding them to him.
Standing at her fridge, her back to me, she mutters, “I could really use some damn wine right now.”
“Can’t have wine? Tags knock you up?” I joke. I joke until she turns around slowly, her eyes big and watery.
She’s been caught.
I feel fucking sick. Her eyes tell me exactly what I wanted to know. My girl is fucking pregnant by another man.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“You’re fuckin’ pregnant?” I’m gonna kill Tags. Disembowel that motherfucker. Tear him limb from fucking limb. He slept with my girl. Fucked my woman and knocked her up. “He fuck you as soon as I was gone?” I’m fucking shouting, about to lose my shit. “Goddamn it, Samantha!” I put my fist through her kitchen wall, inches from her pretty little head, the drywall ripping a hole in my knuckles. Again. And I couldn’t give a fuck less.
Now she’s crying, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She’s shaking, backing away from me. She’s scared.
This is a goddamn mess.
I want to kill him and her.
“You pregnant, Princess?” I ask, stalking toward her. I gain as fast as she retreats.
Do I love Samantha? In some sick fucking twisted way, I do. I fucking love her more than any goddamn thing, always have. But here she always was, on her fucking pedestal, untouchable, and I was just some loser with a sick fucking crush. Nothing was ever going to come of it. She deserves more, and I don’t have more to give her. In fact, I don’t have anything. Not a goddamn thing to my name. And it worked. She gave me her body and it worked until it didn’t.
“Thought you loved me?” I taunt, backing her into a corner. I throw her words back in her face. Emotional fucking warfare.
Sam grabs a knife and points it at me. “Be careful,” she warns, shaky. “Don’t make me put this shit through your heart.” She laughs, sounding a little deranged. “Oh wait, you don’t have a heart,” she sneers. Her fear has turned into anger. I can deal with mad.
Laughing, I snatch the knife from her hand and chuck it into the sink. “Planning on killin’ me?”
“I’m not the only one.”
Smirking, I grab her arm, shoving her back into the counter. “Convince your daddy to kill me?”
“And if I did?” she growls, tears still rolling down her soft cheeks. She’s scared, but she’s madder. “No one would miss you,” she adds, pissed as hell. “But if you really want to know, it’s my fucking brother. He’s out for your blood.”
It hits me out of nowhere. Shit starts making sense, and I swear to God, I almost throw up. Staggering, I let her go, backing away. “It’s my baby, isn’t it?”
For the first time since seeing me, the princess doesn’t flinch or falter. Her face is cool and unaffected. Aside from the silent tears, you wouldn’t guess shit was wrong with her, but I know her better than that.
“Yes.”
“You hidin’ my baby from me? Tryin’ to keep my baby from me, bitch?”
That does it. Sam hits me, and she hits me fucking hard. Her hand connects with my face and it fucking stings. I let her get one in, she deserves it, but I grab her wrist when she goes for it again. She fights me, trying to pull away. “You should’ve stayed away.”
“But I didn’t,” I tell her, catching her jaw in my hand and holding her head still, looking into her blue eyes.
“But you should have.”
Kissing her lips, I chuckle. “Scared I’ll end up dead?”
“At least if you would’ve stayed away, my baby would have had a daddy,” she whispers through those goddamn tears. Well, that shit did it. Hit me square in the fucking chest. Crippling me.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not this time.” Never meant anything more in my fucking life.
“I can’t love you.”
“I don’t want you to fucking love me, baby. I want you to trust me.”