Ruin My Life (Mangled Masterpieces #1)

27. Win

27

Win

What do you want for dinner?

Remy: If I eat any more takeout, I’m not gonna fit in my clothes.

I can work with that.

Thank you for reminding me that you’re a massive pain in my ass.

I know I’m big but massive? You flatter me, baby.

I fucking hate you.

Hate sex is hot too.

You’re insufferable.

I’ll be there in ten. Get dressed.

… Why?

I smirk and shove my phone in my pocket, whistling as I stroll through the kitchen in search of Mom’s car keys. Richard stands at the counter stirring a disgusting green fiber drink.

He glances up at me, face expressionless.“You’re in a good mood.”

The man is as direct as it gets; side effects of being a defense attorney, I guess. Would it kill him to act slightly less robotic?

I hold his unwavering stare. “Am I not allowed to be?”

He pours the contents of his nasty concoction down his throat.

“There’s no need for the attitude, Winston. I’m not attacking you.”

My fingers drum the back of the barstool. “There’s no attitude.”

He grunts and rolls up the sleeve of his dress shirt, fixating on the cuff. “You didn’t show up to the office yesterday.”

Sure, it could be perceived as a favor to offer me a menial job at his firm, but to me, it’s a kick in the nuts. I have no desire to sit in a freezing building surrounded by gossiping interns and judgy lawyers.

“Like I told you before, I’m not interested.”

Finally, some fire flashes in his dark eyes. “If you’re going to live here rent-free, I expect you to at least try and get your life together.”

A sardonic grin spreads across my lips as I lean over the back of a stool.

“There it is. I’ve been waiting for it.”

He grinds his teeth. “You can’t just fuck around forever. You’re using our generosity and kindness—”

I bark a laugh. “I didn’t ask to live here, Rich! I was more than fine returning to LA. ”

“To do what? Deal drugs and sell yourself again?” he growls, hands splayed on the marble. My jaw clamps shut. He blows out a shaky breath, pursing his lips. “I’m trying here, Winston. Both of us are. We understand that you didn’t think you had a choice—”

“Because I fucking didn’t!”

Shame stains my skin and I can’t wash it away. The taint is bone deep. I’m broken, disgusting, and used. The ache in my throat escalates to throbbing. He can’t understand. His life wasn’t ruined. He didn't have to leave behind the boy he loved more than anything. He didn’t have to watch his father deteriorate until blood seeped out of his mouth and nose. He didn't have to choose between buying his father’s medication or paying the water bill. He can’t comprehend the relief of snorting a line. He’ll never know what it’s like to lay face down in the dirt, praying to die because at least after death the pain ends.

“Winston…”

I shake my head, letting the tears fall freely. Let him see my shattered pieces. Let him realize I’m beyond repair. Let him give up on me like everyone else, because there’s nothing left.

“You could’ve asked for help,” he says so quietly I almost miss it. “When we got that call from the hospital…” He presses his fist to his mouth. “We can’t go through that again, son.”

More tears.

“And you think I can?” I choke. He winces, but I don’t give a fuck. “You think this is a game to me? That I’m not trying either? Well, I fucking am, but it’s not enough for you. It never will be. But it’s ok, I’m used to fending for myself, so you don’t have to pretend to care anymore.”

Grabbing the keys off the hook by the fridge, I attempt to leave when his strained voice stops me.

“I do care and I want to support you—”

“With conditions,” I snap, my back to him. I look over my shoulder, his face blurred by my wet eyes. “Everyone always has conditions. You wonder why I never reached out? There’s the reason. You don’t want to help because you love me— you're doing it out of obligation.”

I hear him calling my name but it’s silenced by the slam of the front door. My boots crunch over the gravel as the poisonous pain festering in my chest reaches an unbearable level. Trembling, I climb into the driver’s seat, bracing against the onslaught.

It's no use.

Agonizing sobs rip out, my forehead crashing onto the steering wheel. You’re worthless. You’re empty. You don’t deserve love. No one cares about you. You’re a burden. Maybe you should’ve died. Maybe you should now. Someone can sell you pills. You can swallow them all this time. Lay on your back so you choke when your useless body tries to throw them up—

“Shut the fuck up!” I howl, slamming my palms over my ears. “Shut up, shut up. Shut. UP!”

My pocket vibrates.

Shivering and whimpering, I fumble to free my phone. It takes four tries to unlock it.

A string of messages from twenty minutes ago fill my screen.

Why am I getting dressed?

Ignoring me? Really?

???

You said you’d be here by now.

I'm getting worried. You ok?

Don’t make me call you.

1 Missed Call.

I don’t want him to hear me breaking. Dark whispers increase their volume. He’ll never forgive you. You don’t deserve him. You have nothing to offer him. He won’t love you. No one can. You’re too damaged.

Another message comes through.

Win. Answer me.

I can’t deny him.

My thumb swipes to accept his incoming call.

“Oh, now you pick up,” he growls. The sound of his voice, even furious, chases away the demonic chanting. I cling to it like a life raft.

“Hey, sorry,” I croak, clearing my throat. “Richard stopped me on the way out.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but even the crackle of his breathing through the speaker soothes me.

"Are you ok?”

No.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Forcing a steadying breath, I add, “Change of plans. No need to dress up, I'll be there soon.”

Before he can argue, I hang up and grind my knuckles into my sore eyes, struggling to regain composure. It may be hopeless pursuing him and it’s unlikely he’ll ever want me back, especially after learning the truth, but he’s the only one who calms the storm inside me.

And I’m desperate for shelter.