Right now, I’d like to rip his heart out of his chest, just to see if it beats anymore.

If it’s still there.

And if it’s black, like my mother warned me.

Mal

 

On my way back into the house, Aurora’s shiny boyfriend stands up from the sofa and stretches his hand toward me, flashing me his slimy banker smile.

I saunter past him to my room and slam the door. I fling myself onto the dirty bed, staring at the ceiling, ignoring the buzzing of my phone.

Maybe it’s one of my regular bells.

Maybe it’s my agent.

Maybe it’s Richards.

Maybe it’s Ryner.

Don’t know, don’t care.

Aurora. Aurora. Aurora. What am I going to do with you, Aurora?

Not fuck you. Not right now. You’re not ready for it yet, and besides, there’s the whole boyfriend thing to tackle. He’s leaving in a day. I know, because I’ve read the email Ryner’s barely literate assistant sent me, though, of course, I didn’t answer it.

Perhaps I should start by educating you as to how badly you’ve ruined things for me?

No. Too early for that.

Explain how I tried to protect you all those years ago by keeping the truth from you and what you did in return is kill my soul, then feed it to the wolves? Hmm. There’s still time for that, too.

The house looks like a kip. It’s not always like this, but I wanted her to feel bad. I’m trying to dig into her soul with a spoon and see if she still has a conscience.

I close my eyes, letting another phone call go to voicemail.

“Love?”

I hear the English version of American Psycho calling to Aurora behind the door.

“Mal went to lie down. Would you like me to call a cab so we could go buy some toiletries? I haven’t seen any here.”

First of all, Mal? I’m not one of his masturbating-in-a-circle Eton mates. Malachy for you, thankyouverymuch.

Second, was he expecting The Ritz? I don’t owe him anything.

Third…there isn’t a third, but I’m positive I’ll find something else to get pissy about by the end of his visit.

See, Kiki? You always said I should be more positive.

A few minutes later, I hear a soft knock on the door. I don’t want to recognize the sound of her knuckles hitting wood, unless that wood is attached to my crotch. Still, I know it’s her.

“Mal?” she asks.

“Leave.”

“We’re heading out.”

I don’t say anything, because that’s exactly what I said she should do. Go away.

“Can we grab you something? Food? Milk? Bleach? Manners?”

I smirk to the ceiling, my hands tucked behind my head. It’s on. She’s here, and she is angry, and she is funny, and she is all mine. Sweet and thoughtful and feisty—the perfect combination. Shiny Boyfriend can do nothing about it but sit back and watch.

“No,” I growl.

“When are you planning to start working?”

“When the muse strikes me.”

“Can you be more specific? I need to know when to unpack my equipment.”

“I need to feel inspired to write,” I say in a patronizing tone I just adopted out of nowhere. “Anyone can click a camera. I actually produce, with words and everything. It takes a bit more than having a finger.”

Low blow, but that’s where she aimed when she made potpourri out of my heart and skipped back to America, throwing it everywhere in her wake. There’s a beat of silence on the other side of the door.

“I can email Whitney, Ryner’s assistant, to send someone over to clean the house before Richards—”

“Who died and made you Joanna Gaines? Why don’t you mind your own business instead of criticizing other people’s houses?”

A part of me prays her shiny boyfriend will take offense to the way I speak to his mot, storm in, and punch me. I’m in the mood for a good fight. Alas, Mr. Banker is not planning on ruining his manicure anytime soon, based on the depressing silence coming from outside the door.

“How do you know who Joanna Gaines is?” she asks after a moment of silence, a smile in her voice.

Kathleen’s Ma, Elaine, watches her and her husband’s show all the time. Sometimes she cries. I’d cry, too, if I had to spend an hour watching people choosing wallpaper for a house that’s not even theirs.

“Yeah. Okay. Gotcha.” Aurora bangs her palm against the door.

Two minutes later, I hear the front door slam. I close my eyes. My phone starts ringing again. I crack one eyelid open, just to make sure it’s not Kathleen’s number. When I see it’s a US phone number, I turn the phone to silent and take a nap.

By the time I wake up, the crickets are singing. I take my time adjusting to the darkness and stretch—I have nothing waiting for me—then sit up on the edge of my bed, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes.

A sudden thud comes from the living room. Then the front door whines open. I flip my phone over and check the time. Midnight. They weren’t solely shopping for tampons and shampoo, that’s for sure.

Aurora giggles, her shiny boyfriend grunts, and then they both whisper.

Someone bumps into a piece of furniture. Aurora laughs breathlessly. I hate her laugh. It’s throaty and low and fuck, which part of me thought this was a good idea, the masochist or the drunk?

Getting revenge by having her come here and spend time with me is like getting laid by wrapping your crotch in sandpaper and joining a monastery.

I hear wet, sloppy kisses. Grunting and chuckling and oof-ing. Her muppet boyfriend kisses like a fecking greyhound by the sound of it. So. Much. Tongue. But she likes it. I know, because she whimpers like she did when I did things to her.

He moans.

She sighs.

He groans.

She giggles.

My chewed-up nails are digging into the flesh inside my palms. A nice, sane way to prevent myself from strangling both of them.

“What about our host?” Shiny Boyfriend murmurs.

His host is about to pull a gun from under his wooden floor and blow his fecking head off. The only hole in that plan is that I don’t own a gun. And the floor is carpeted. Never mind. This plan clearly cannot work.

“Asleep, probably. His door is closed,” she replies.

I listen as they make their way to their room, which I never bothered showing them, bumping into every single object on their way. They sound more sauced than an enchilada. Their door clicks shut, but there’s only one, thin wall separating us, and you can hear everything through it.

The kissing stops, but something far worse starts. She’s moaning now, and I can tell she’s not faking it, because I know what she sounds like when she comes.

“Love,” Shiny Boyfriend rasps.

I hear a zipper rolling down. I dig my fingers into my skin until I draw blood. It feels like every inch of my body is wrapped in thorns.

“Bite down on your dress. He’s going to hear us.”

He’s already hearing you, you oxygen-wasting pillock.

I jump to my feet like the bed is on fire, throw my door open, and take the two steps to their door. Rather than knock, like a normal human being, I push it open like the manner-less cunt Aurora is starting to become familiar with.

I fold my arms over my chest at the door, watching them lazily. Aurora is plastered against the wall, and Shiny Boyfriend is on his knees, carpet-munching. She is naked save for a black lace bra, and he is licking the outline of her bare pussy—perfectly, beautifully shaved—when I clear my throat and make myself comfortable against the doorframe. They both crack their eyes open.