Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
VIOLET
Violet: You need to move your stuff out!
Fucker: What? Why?
Violet: Because I’m sick of looking at it.
Fucker: It’s my house too.
Violet: Last time I checked, it was only my name on the deed and the mortgage.
Fucker: But I help pay for that mortgage.
Violet: You’re not now.
Fucker: I never said I wasn’t going to help you.
Violet: I don’t want your help. So come get your shit out or I’ll throw it out.
I should’ve done what Ashley did with her ex’s stuff. That would have been a sight to see on Zayn’s face knowing I threw away all his shit.
Fucker: I’ll come over after work and we can talk about it.
Violet: The only thing we’re talking about is you moving your shit out of this house.
Violet: And DIVORCE!!
I’m already exhausted just from texting him. I knew he would want to talk about it. That’s what I was trying to avoid. It needs to get done, though. If I’m going to be staying in this house, I can’t have his stuff here.
Fucker: You don’t mean that. Please let’s talk. I’ve been giving you your space. The least you can do is talk to me.
Oh my hell. The nerve of him. I don’t know who he is anymore; he’s a completely different person now.
He cheats, and he thinks he deserves some kind of conversation because he’s been giving me space.
As if staying out of my way makes him some kind of noble king.
The audacity this man has makes me so angry.
He wasn’t thinking about me when he was sleeping with her.
He wasn’t thinking about me when he was tearing everything we built apart.
He wasn’t even thinking about his best friend.
And now he wants a pat on the back or something?
I set my phone aside and let out a heavy breath, looking around my living room.
I don’t even know where to start. One blanket we used sits at the end of the couch folded up.
I grab it and throw it on the ground. Then I head for the linen closet and grab the rest of the extra blankets, sheets, and pillowcases and throw them on the ground.
As I’m pulling them out, I’m wondering why we have so many and why we kept them all.
Some are from the time when we first got married. They’re so old.
I turn to the towels. The only towels we shared were the hand towels, but I could not care less about his towels he used when he got out of the shower.
I grab those and throw them in the pile.
While I’m at it, I might as well throw the hand towels out too.
I shift my gaze deeper into the shelf and grab the beach towels as well.
You know, fuck it. Instead of wasting my time going through everything, I throw everything out of the linen closet onto the floor. After the shelves are bare, I look down at the huge pile I created.
I head for the kitchen and grab a few garbage bags and start bagging everything up. Three bags later, and I’m already sweating. I should hire that dumpster company just for my sake. I walk to each bathroom to grab all of the towels and throw those away.
I take the bags out to the garbage can and throw each bag in, almost filling it up.
I groan seeing how little space is left, and there is still so much more stuff to go through.
But part of me already feels some relief—like the house feels lighter, and I can breathe better.
It feels good that I’m finally choosing myself for once.
Back then I would’ve asked Zayn if he wanted any of it before deciding to throw it away.
Not anymore.
Goodbye baggage.
Hours later, I have five more bags completely full, and I’m not sure where I’m going to put them since the outside garbage can is almost full. I threw away our old pictures, wedding stuff, and stuff he’s bought me. That’s a lot of years of my life, I think to myself as I look at the bags.
The sound of the door shutting startles me, making goosebumps run down my body because I know who this must be. I close my eyes tightly, waiting for the uninvited anger to spring back.
“Vi.” I can hear footsteps getting closer to the stairway until the steps sound softer as his feet hit the carpeted stairs.
“There you are,” he says to my back as I stand in my closet.
I wish I could keep my back towards him, but I’ve read and watched enough crime to know that isn’t a good idea.
I turn around and stare back at the man I used to know.
The scent of oil doesn’t hit my nostrils like it normally does.
He showered before he came. For what? Does he think his smell will make me forgive him?
The only scent I can smell on him is disgust.
It’s crazy what someone’s actions can make you feel about them.
Or in this case, smell. How do you explain the scent of disgust?
You can’t, but I swear the smell lingers in the air between us.
I stare back at him trying to find the man I used to love.
My best friend I used to love. But I can’t find him.
He looks and talks the same. But he’s not the same.
It’s a weird feeling to stand here facing the man you vowed the rest of your life to.
The man you thought you knew and now know nothing about him at all.
All these years thrown away in a matter of months.
How can someone waste all those years away?
Just like that? Like I was nothing. Like none of this mattered.
I shift my sight behind him, looking at his clothes that still hang in the closet, breaking our eye contact. “Did you bring boxes or bags to pack your stuff?” I ask.
The corners of his lips turn down slightly as he steps closer to me. My body jerks back quickly as if he has an axe in his hand about to whack me.
His brows knit together. “Vi. It’s just me.”
I’m even shocked at the sudden movement that came out of my body so naturally. My body doesn’t like him anymore. “Did you expect me to go running into your arms or something?”
“No, but I didn’t expect that.”
“I don’t know how you couldn’t have expected it when you ruined everything between us,” I snap, crossing my arms as I stand tall.
He nods his head, shifting his gaze to the ground. “Can we talk?”
“Yeah. We can. Do you want to get the divorce papers or should I?” I ask, my jaw tight.
“What?” His voice rises and his eyes go wide, clearly shocked by my question. “Are you being serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“We need to talk about this,” he mumbles, avoiding my gaze.
“What is there to talk about?”
The room hangs heavy with silence as I’m left standing here staring at a man who can’t even find the words to his own mistakes. I can’t believe it, but then again, I shouldn’t be so shocked at this point.
“Exactly. You have nothing to say because even you know how badly you fucked up. Don’t make this harder than it should be. Just pack your stuff and get out,” I snap, walking right past him, making sure my shoulder doesn’t swipe his.
He follows behind me. “We can do couples therapy…” he trails off. “Or counseling. Whatever the hell it’s called.”
I whip myself around, my brows furrowed. “No.”
His body jerks as he suddenly stops before running into me.
“I don’t want to be with you. You disgust me.”
“We’re best friends. I know you better than anyone else,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat as if he doesn’t even believe it himself.
“What does that matter? The Zayn I know—my best friend, my childhood friend—wouldn’t go behind my back and fuck someone else.
I don’t know who you are anymore, and I don’t know when things changed with you.
But you can’t go around treating people like shit and then expecting them to forgive you just like that.
You even treated Ezra like shit.” My body shakes as the anger rises in me.
His brows furrow hard at our best friend’s name. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Everything! You slept with your best friend’s wife. How can you even ask such a dumb question?” My chest heaves with anger.
“Because we’re talking about us, and you bring up another man.” He takes a step closer, his body rigid.
“That other man is part of this. So is his wife. What do you not get?” I pause for a moment at his stupidity. “Stop turning this around to avoid the fact that you’re truly a douchebag.” I turn back around, storming out of the bedroom.
I stop in my tracks when I hear, “What the fuck!”
I turn around and find him in Ezra’s room. His jaw is clenched tight and his hands are in fists down by his side. “Is this why you don’t need help paying for the house?”
“Yup.” I whip myself back around and head down the stairs.
Silence fills the air once again. No doubt he’s taken aback by my one-word answer. As if he deserves an explanation.
“Are you fucking him?” he yells.
The night Ezra and I had surfaces in my mind. And why does a part of me feel a little guilty? A part of me feels like I should tell him.
I shake that thought out of my mind as I hear his steps right up against mine as I hit the last stair.
“Answer the question,” he barks with anger rising in his voice.
I turn around, take a step forward, and point at his chest. “No.”
“Then why is he living here?” My finger drops from his body as his chest rises and falls heavily.
“Because my husband and his wife fucked us both over. And do you know what we both need right now? Our best friends. But given that two of our best friends are lying, sons of bitches and are the ones who fucked us over, we need each other.”
His lips part, but no words come out. His fists twitch as if he’s trying to hold his anger in.
I shake my head and a bitter laugh comes out. “You can’t even defend yourself without dragging someone else down with you. How pathetic.”
I turn away, and my body hits something hard.
A chest. A body. The smell of oil hits my nose.
I don’t have to look at who it is. My body already knows as tension releases from my shoulders.
He softly grabs my arms to keep me from falling back from the impact.
“Are you okay?” His voice alone helps me take a breath.
“Of course she’s okay. Why the fuck wouldn’t she be?” Zayn spits out.
I glance up at Ezra just as his eyes shift to Zayn. His jaw tightens as he releases me from his hold. I step aside and my gaze shifts back to Zayn. His face is flushed red and his eyes burn with a sharp intensity as they lock on Ezra.
“Are you fucking my wife now?”
Ezra lets out a sharp huff at his pathetic question. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“You fucking leave. This is my house,” Zayn says, pointing to himself.
Ezra shakes his head. “What happened to you, man? This isn’t like you. None of this is.”
“Are you fucking my wife?” Zayn spits out.
Ezra stays quiet, and his eyes bore into Zayn’s clenched jaw and reddened face.
The surrounding air thickens as our years of friendship are unrecognizable.
My chest tightens as both Ezra and I stare back at Zayn, trying to make sense of the stranger before us.
There’s so much rage running through him, which makes little sense when he’s the one that put us all in this situation.
He squares his shoulders and steps closer. Ezra plants his fist on his chest, stopping him from coming any further.
“What, you’re not man enough to tell me the truth?” Zayn questions, pressing into Ezra’s fist.
Ezra’s lips curl in disgust. “You’re not one to talk. You fucked Rya behind my back.” His body is rigid; he’s no doubt holding back from hitting him.
“So now you have to fuck my wife to get back at me? Is that it?”
“You’re fucking pathetic to think that. But then again, it is you,” he snaps, squaring his shoulders higher.
Zayn’s head jerks back. Confusion flickers across his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ezra leans in closer. “You’re a worthless piece of shit that can’t handle the consequences of your actions, so now you’re trying to take it out on everyone else.”
Zayn takes a bigger step, and then everything moves so fast.
One minute they’re both standing face to face, and the next Ezra’s fist crashes into Zayn’s face with a loud thud, knocking him to the ground.
He growls in anger, wiping the blood pouring out of his nose.
He doesn’t stay down. His eyes blaze with fury, and with a wild snarl, he pushes himself up and lunges at Ezra, driving his shoulder into his chest and shoving him into the wall.
Another loud thud followed by a grunt comes from Ezra.
Ezra’s hands shoot up, pushing Zayn away, and he stumbles back.
I hurry and step between them with my arms out. “Stop!” I shout. I look between the both of them and then back to Zayn. “You need to leave.”
“What! He’s the one who hit me,” he says, standing back up.
“And you’re the one who cheated on me with his wife. Stop twisting all this around and leave us alone,” I yell.
Ezra steps closer, crashing my hand into his chest. I push against it to stop him from going any further.
“No one wants you here, Zayn. Leave!”
“This is my house,” he says with his fists at his sides. Blood drips from his nose onto his shirt.
“You weren’t man enough to go in on this house with your wife. So it’s not yours,” Ezra yells.
Zayn snarls as he steps in closer, his chest puffed out and eyes locked on Ezra. His movement shoves me right between them, my body caught in the middle. The heat of everyone’s anger radiates around me, suffocating me.
Ezra’s jaw clenches as his arm shoots forward. With one swift, protective motion, he plants his hand hard against Zayn’s shoulder and shoves him back, pulling me out from between them.
His breathing is ragged as he says, “I can’t believe you, Vi.”
My head jerks back and my brows knit together. “Me? I did nothing. This is all on you.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he says, stepping around us as he heads out the door.