CHAPTER 13 #3
I looked at Miley one last time as she turned toward the stairwell. The words left my mouth before my brain could stop them—a raw, unfiltered truth that cut through the lingering anger in the air.
"Goodbye, Miley... and for what it's worth, you’re even more beautiful in person," I told her.
And then, I slammed the heavy wooden door shut, throwing the deadbolt into place with a sharp, echoing clack.
The apartment went dead silent, save for the low murmur of the television.
I walked over to the living room window, pulling back the thin lace curtains just enough to look down at the street below.
A few minutes later, I saw my momma’s sedan pull away from the curb, its tail lights disappearing into the Brooklyn traffic.
I let out a long, ragged sigh, my forehead resting against the cool glass of the pane.
I knew my mother meant well. Deep down, I knew she just wanted me to have a life, to be normal.
Momma always complained that I was twenty-three years old and should be living my life to the absolute fullest, experiencing everything the city had to offer, regardless of the destruction Megan had left behind in my soul.
Megan. Just thinking her name made my stomach turn into an absolute knot.
Megan had been my everything. My best friend, my sister, my absolute confidant since the seventh grade.
Or at least, that was the lie I had swallowed for a decade.
She had turned into a literal, unhinged bitch the exact second I decided I wasn't going to help her cheat on her final Calculus exam senior year.
I had spent weeks studying for that grade, and when I refused to hand her my test sheet, a switch flipped inside her.
Megan didn't just walk away; she tried to completely sabotage my entire future.
She spread vile, disgusting rumors through the neighborhood, tried to get my college applications rescinded, and at one point, she even threatened to straight-up unalive me outside our building.
Luckily, I had a momma that didn't play about her child—Monica had handled that situation with the swift, terrifying wrath of a mother hawk—but the psychological damage was already done.
I couldn't believe how much of a chameleon Megan had been.
A real-life hater, a user, and a backstabber all along, just hanging around my space to take advantage of my light and my intelligence.
From that day forward, I swore an oath to myself: never trust people again, especially the ones who try to get closest to you.
But truth be told... Miley Palmer seemed entirely different.
And that last comment she had made before she left, the way she had looked at me when I closed the door—she meant it.
She hadn't looked at me with judgment; she had looked at me with insight.
Miley was drop-dead gorgeous, and deadass, I had never felt that kind of sudden, electric pull toward another woman in my entire life.
It had made me so incredibly nervous on that couch, so terrified of my own vulnerability, that I had overreacted like a spoiled brat, shunning her away when indeed every single cell in my body wanted to do the exact opposite.
The emotions were completely foreign to me. They were heavy, unmanageable, and I didn't know what the fuck to do with them, so I had behaved like a child, much to the chagrin of my momma.
"I should apologize," I thought to myself, straightening up from the window. "I really shouldn't have let her leave like that."
But how?
"No... no DM," I said out loud to the empty room, shaking my head sharply. "An internet apology is cheap. I should do it in person. Maybe... maybe I'll find out where this dinner is, crash it, and just tell her straight up how much I like her vibe."
I paused, a hot wave of embarrassment hitting my cheeks. "Nah, you absolute fool, that wouldn't work. God, I can be such a hopeless romantic at times. I am truly, deeply delusional."
What did I even know about being with women?
Not a damn thing. I had only ever slept with one guy in my entire life, and let’s just say after the act was over, he always left me completely wanting more.
He would roll over and go to sleep, and I would have to always sneak off into the bathroom to rub one off myself just to get some peace of mind.
God, I hated my sad, sorry little life sometimes. And maybe... just maybe, my momma was right. Maybe Miley was exactly the person I needed in my space to truly bring some much-needed joy and color back into my world.
Max trotted back into the living room, his white tail held high as he jumped back up onto the couch, looking at me with those wide, intelligent green eyes.
"What do you think about that, huh, Max?" I asked my cat, walking over and rubbing his furry head. "Think I should make an actual move on Miley Palmer?"
Max let out a soft, clear purr, closing his eyes contentedly beneath my fingers. In our language, that meant an absolute "yes."
"Then a move it shall be, Max," I whispered, staring out the window again as the final streaks of orange and purple sun continued to dip beneath the horizon, leaving the city in the dark.