Chapter 19
“You should really try the disks, Morgs. No risk of TSS,” Michelle says as I grab a box of my monthly essentials and toss it into the basket.
I snap, “Right, because in all my thirty-four years of life, I’ve never had a period and have absolutely no idea what works for my own body.”
Michelle recoils, then throws a box of stupid disposable menstrual disks into the basket. “Jesus, I was just saying… And those are for me, so don’t freak out.”
I roll my eyes as dramatically as my pounding head and uterus will allow. God, it hurts. And I blame Reginald. He probably cursed me and summoned my period early just by mentioning it yesterday.
Wouldn’t put it past him to dabble in freaking sorcery—hunched over a cauldron, billowing robes, evil-laughing. Yep, sounds just like him.
A cramp tears through my abdomen, a hand pressing against my stomach. No wonder shark week caught on as a euphemism. It’s relentless, like rows of hundreds of sharp teeth chomping down on me. And this time, it came with a bonus—a hammerhead to the skull.
At first, I thought the pain was just a perfect storm of overexertion from moving, indigestion from pizza, and maybe a mild beer hangover. But then I remembered I only had one beer and one slice of pizza. Plus the salad John threw together with whatever he could find in Jiho’s fridge.
Michelle, on the other hand, downed several beers, which is why she’s with me—her hungover ass forced to come to the grocery store at 8-fucking-AM, on a Sunday for period supplies and pain meds.
Oh, and the salad was absolutely delectable. Ten out of ten, would eat again.
“Sorry, Sis,” I mutter, rubbing my temple, hoping the single measly pad I found in my purse holds up until I get home. “I’m just pissed. According to my app, I had five more days before unleashing ragey period-Morgan on Jiho. So yeah—pissed. And in pain.”
“Well, considering the absolute shitstorm you’ve been through this week, I’d say stress probably threw off your cycle. As for the pain, exercise helps.” She pauses, a smirk tugging at her lips. “And sex.”
On-brand irritation bubbles easily to the surface. “Can you, like, not be a doctor today and just be my sister?” I grumble, my feet forcing me onward to the next aisle.
“Only if you check your attitude,” Michelle quips, jogging a couple of steps to catch up. “I’m way too hungover to deal with it.” As I reach for a bottle of ibuprofen, she cautiously adds, “Are you really like this for seven whole days? Because if so, that could be a symptom of—”
I jab a finger in her face, cutting her off. “No doctoring. Only sistering.”
“Fine, fine,” she yawns, snatching the meds from my hand, opening the bottle, and popping a few pills without any water. Not going to lie—I’m a little impressed. “Holy shitballs, my head is killing me. I needed a good twelve more hours of sleep. Why’d I have to come along again?”
“If I can’t be home, sound asleep in bed with my boyfriend, you can’t be in our guestroom, sawing beer-drenched wood.” The pill bottle clatters into the basket while I bend for a new heating pad. Mine’s somewhere in a box, and I have no patience or will to find it today. “Fair is fair, Sis.”
“It wasn’t beer-drenched. I only had three.”
“Five.”
Michelle stills for a beat behind me as we make our way to the most important grocery aisle of the day. “Shit, you’re right. I guess it was a rough night at the hospital. They scheduled me and Dr. Misogynist for the same night shift. I hate that guy.”
“You hate every guy,” I deadpan, then turn into the row full of delicious, satiating, sugar-filled candy…that I bypass to the small section of somewhat-delicious-and-satiating zero-sugar shit.
Fuck you, weight-loss goals.
“That’s not true,” Michelle calls out, catching up to me and grabbing a bag of Hot Tamales along the way. She throws them in the basket, and the pills rattle again. “I don’t hate Dad or Jiho. Even his friend, John, is alright.”
My head whips in her direction. “Dad doesn’t count, John has some weird maybe-thing with Jina, and Jiho is mine.”
Michelle’s hands fly up. “Whoa there, ragey rage. I know Jiho is yours. And not that dating a Michelin-rated chef isn’t relationship goals, but he’s not my type.”
My shoulders relax, amped-up guilt rising above the rage crowd like a flying, overhyped pop star. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Stop saying sorry.”
“Sorry. Fuck. No, I’m not. You know what?” And there’s rage again, cutting guilt’s safety harness. “What even is your type?”
Michelle scoffs. “At this point, I’ll take any man who doesn’t make me want to bioengineer a deadly virus to eradicate their entire species. Sans Dad, John, and Jiho, of course.”
“Right,” I say slowly, skeptically, with a pinch of caution. “You’re so…murdery lately. And irritating. Stop irritating me.”
Michelle folds her arms across her chest, popping out her hip. Her hips are smaller than mine, but the effect is all the same. “Everything is irritating you, period Morgan. You could see a fucking puppy and want to punt it off a bridge.”
Dammit, she’s right.
Since the moment that cramp woke me up, I’ve been irritated…and ragey…and I want to cry.
A couple deep breaths do little to smother it. In fact, I think they make it worse. Because as my sister blabs on and on about other things I would punt off a bridge, her voice grates on a different nerve until it snaps.
Snatching a bag of zero-sugar chocolate off the shelf, I slam-dunk it into the basket and shout, “I get it, Michelle!” My loud, irritated voice echoes around the almost empty grocery store, an employee pausing mid-shelf-stock to stare. “Sorry, sir.”
“You said sorry again,” my sister drones. Thank you, Captain Obvious.
Fixing her with a glower that rivals our mother’s, I mutter, “Can I punt you off a bridge?”
Michelle smirks, then swings an arm around my shoulders. “You’d miss me too much, and you know it.”
Guiding me in the direction of the cashiers, she adds, “Come on, let’s grab some coffee—my treat. A new place opened up nearby with great reviews. If I can’t sleep this hangover away, I can at least beat it into submission with caffeine.”
“Nooo-ah, Sis, I want to go hooome-ah,” I whine, sounding like a prepubescent teen and not giving a damn. Especially as a sleeping Jiho flashes in my mind.
He looked too adorable and peaceful to wake up before I left, so I took a page out of his book and left a note for him to find. Except instead of coffee next to the note, I left a lacy thong—a hot pink one.
“But, III-ah want coffeee-ah,” Michelle mocks, and I give her another period, limited-edition eye roll. “You live with Jiho and can see him every day. Me, on the other hand…” She cups her cheeks and gives me puppy-dog eyes. And she’s right—I feel the need to punt.
One more deep breath. “Fine. Coffee, but I’m home by ten. And if you fight me on it, I’ll abandon you at the coffee shop.”
“You promise? Because I really love coffee.”
***
Michelle watches in awe as half of my iced americano disappears the moment the straw touches my lips.
“Better?” she asks, then takes a sip of her hot caramel macchiato.
“Much,” I say, relishing the calming effect. “Coffee makes everything better. Even my rage feels somewhat tamed.”
“Told you so.”
I take another long sip. “Yeah, yeah. In fact, I think it might be beating period-Morgan into submission, too.”
“Oh. Em. Gee.”
Spoke too soon. The Cali-from-the-valley voice smacks against my head before I see her in my periphery.
God, if you love me at all, please don’t let this be who I think it is. Please, please, please, please, please.
“Oh, em, gee. It is you, Morgan! It’s, like, so hard to recognize you since you’ve changed so much.”
Nope. He hates me.
Slowly turning my head, I can only hope the coffee keeps menstruating-Morgan at bay as Kelsey Bradshaw comes into view along with Jina.
“Hey, Morgan,” Jina greets coolly with a smile, the same way her brother does. And now I miss the man more. “Long time no see. Did you get all your furniture and stuff organized?”
I shake my head. “That’s the goal for today.” Then nod in Michelle’s direction. “This one crashed in the guestroom last night, and that’s where we stashed a lot of the boxes.”
Kelsey blinks in my sister’s direction. “Oh, Michelle’s here! I, like, didn’t even see you.” And I didn’t think she could sound any faker.
“Like, really?” Michelle snarks, fluttering her lashes. “Because I, like, totally saw you.”
I hold back a laugh. My sister has met Kelsey only a handful of times, and needless to say, she’s not a fan. Neither am I. Especially since the day she pounced on Jiho—the thought sparking a fire under my ragey ass.
“Do you at least know where you want everything to go? There are so many options,” Jina says with a sarcastic lilt. Spirit fingers and everything.
“Yep. Should be a smooth process.” I force a chuckle, determined to keep my focus on Jina for Kelsey’s sake. There’s still a scalpel in my purse from yesterday. “Jiho said that I can have free design-rein.” Kelsey stiffens the moment Jiho’s name leaves my mouth.
But her knuckles turn white around her cup when Jina mentions him again. “Yeah, that tracks. My brother has no eye for that sort of thing. I mean, you live there, so you know firsthand.”
“Did you, like, move or something?” Kelsey asks, her hand relaxing and that classic, fake-Kelsey smile twisting her mouth.
Michelle mocks for me, “Yeah, like, she and Jiho, like, moved in together.”
There go her knuckles again, her to-go cup starting to bend around her fingers. She says through her toothy smile, “Oh. Em. Gee. That’s so great, Morgan. Like, tell me all about it.”
And then she fucking sits at our table, Jina following suit, mouthing, I’m so sorry, to both of us.
“No, please, have a seat,” Michelle grumbles under her breath.
I feel the coffee’s temporary hold on my rage slipping, so I take another long drink. “Okay, what would you like to know?”
“Well, like, when did it happen, silly? Jina said you’ve only been dating for a solid week. Isn’t moving in with him, like, I don’t know…super-duper fast?”
Jina’s eye flicks from a wall painting back to mine. She mouths another silent, I’m so fucking sorry.
“Well, Kelsey,” I start, that irritated need to punt something—preferably Kelsey’s face—front and center again, “it happened on Tuesday.” I don’t bother explaining that Reginald’s eviction triggered the move. Chances are, she already knows and wants me to say it for one sadistic reason or another. “As for how long we’ve been dating, once you get to a certain age, time isn’t such a big factor anymore.”
Kelsey blinks once, her feigned smile faltering almost indiscernibly. Almost. “I, like, totally get that. It was the same way when he and I had a thing.”
The table falls silent, and then time fucking stops. Only Michelle and I move, our heads turning to one another, eyes meeting. All in slow motion.
But one second later, time speeds back up again. Michelle lunges for my purse—the scalpel—and spills her macchiato. I grab her wrist, simultaneously choking on my iced Americano, while Jina spews her coffee all over the table.
Between my newly freed rage, my burning espresso lungs, and, now, my rampant heart, I don’t know how I manage to ask-shout, “Excuse me, what?!”
Kelsey shrugs, annoyingly nonchalant, toying with the lid of her drink. “Jiho and I had a thing.”
“Since fucking when Kelsey?!” Jina also ask-shouts.
“Around New Year’s.” Her head angles toward her friend. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. It started at your New Year’s Eve party.”
“Fuck me,” Jina gasps, her eyes moving like she remembered something. Pulling out her phone, she looks at the screen, stands, and walks away, blurting, “It’s my mom—got to take this.”
Michelle wriggles her wrist from my grip and grabs my hand. “What do you mean by started? How long did it last?”
Shy, bitch-blue eyes meet mine. “It was… short-lived.” She shakes her head as if reliving a painful memory. “I’m so sorry, Morgan. I thought you, like, already knew. Why didn’t Jiho tell you?”
Shit. Why didn’t Jiho tell me?
If this thing was with a stranger, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass. But Kelsey? My ex’s step-sister?
Hell, I thought she was still hung up on that guy she liked since—
“Wait. A damn. Second.” Now my knuckles turn white. “Is Jiho the guy you’ve been obsessed with since college?” She doesn’t have to nod or say anything for me to know I hit the nail right on the head—it’s the triumphant look in her eyes.
My pulse quickens, blood rushing in my ears and drowning out the ambient sounds of the coffee shop. My vision turns blood red, and I can’t fucking breathe…
Under usual circumstances—like not being on my period—I like to think I would’ve accepted this news with at least a little bit of grace. But now—emotional and rage-filled—I’m transforming into a monster ready to smash and destroy. Like a werewolf without the fur, claws, and fangs, and this news is a full moon.
Aroo, motherfucker.
Michelle’s hand tightens around mine. “Morgan, don’t,” she warns. “Rocks-for-brains over here isn’t worth it.”
Is my sister right? Absolutely. But I can’t fucking take this anymore. Reginald, Kelsey, and their entire horrendous family be damned.
Sure, I disliked Kelsey the least out of the whole bunch of them, and perhaps at one point, I saw her as the little sister I never had. But the moment she brought Jiho—a man I’m certain is the love of my crazy, little life—into this, she became nothing.
Kelsey may not be worth it, but Jiho certainly is.
A nervous laugh flits from Kelsey, her head canting to the side. “Rocks-for-brains? Like, what does that even mean?”
“It means,” I grit out, ripping my hand from Michelle’s, my chest heaving, “that you’re an idiot, Kelsey. And normally—before you fucking said Jiho’s name—I would’ve defended you. But it’s clear now that all you want is to wedge your bony ass between us. Well, guess what? I’ll even use little words so you can understand. Jiho didn’t want you then, and he definitely doesn’t want you now. He. Is. Mine. So, back the fuck off.”
For the first time since knowing the girl, all duplicity falls from her face, leaving what, I assume, has been underneath this whole time—malice and resentment.
Kelsey raises her chin. “Yet he kept our fling from you, so I wouldn’t be so sure, Morgan. He might be reconsidering. Jiho deserves someone beautiful, not a fatass like you.”
“What the fuck, Kelsey?!” Jina gasps, walking back to the table. “Why the hell would you say something like that?”
Kelsey’s eyes go wide, her head whipping toward Jina, long black hair slipping over her shoulder as her mask snaps back into place. “Oh, hey, Jin! I didn’t see you come back. Is everything alright with your mom?”
Jina levels her with a terrifying glare. Hell, even Michelle sits a little straighter. “Are you serious? I’ve known you for years. Don’t pull that fake-bitch bullshit with me. Get your shit, and let’s go.”
“Oh yeah. We’re, like, going to Flex Factory, right?”
“After hearing you speak to a customer like that? Let alone my brother’s girlfriend? Absolutely fucking not.” She presses a hand to her sternum. “I’m going to Flex Factory.” Then, she points at Kelsey. “You’re going home.”
“Okay,” Kelsey drawls, her brows knitting. “But, like, why? You said you need help with something at the gym. And we, like, have to plan your b-day party for next month.”
Jina points again. “Not anymore. You’re fired, Kelsey. As yoga instructor and as my friend.”
“What?!” she shrieks, jumping to her feet, her chair scraping across the floor. The noise turns every head in our direction, but Kelsey keeps on shrieking. “You can’t fire me. You fucking owe me, Jina.”
“For what?” Jina shoots back, bracing her hands on her hips. “For saving me from your creepy brother?” Her eyes guiltily meet mine. “Sorry, Morgan. It was a long time ago, and I didn’t want to bring up more shit where Reginald’s concerned. He didn’t even remember me yesterday until I said something.”
He barely remembers anyone. Having dipped his micropenis of a wick in so many candles, he probably lost track. And has an unchecked venereal disease. I’m pulling for syphilis, and his dick eventually falling off.
“I’m done.” The words ripple through me like a growl, ferocious sister-bear style. My hands meet the table, pushing myself to my feet, entirely rage-filled for another reason.
Not only did I waste three years on a narcissistic, cheating asshole, I loved a fucking predator who went after college-aged girls. Proverbial claws and fangs—never the fur—slip free, and I’m ready to fucking fight.
I aim every sharp word at Kelsey’s head. “Targeting me? Fine. At this point, I’ve come to expect nothing less from everyone in your awful fucking family. But targeting Jina? Making her believe she’s in your debt because you intervened when Reginald tried to—” My eyes shut for half a second, my words failing at the thought too awful to voice. When they fly open again, they sear into Kelsey’s soulless stare. “You’re the worst person, Kelsey. So stay the fuck away from me and mine. Jina included.”
“Is this the part where we leave?” Michelle asks from her seat, sipping whatever’s left of her macchiato. Bored, like she didn’t just watch me transform into the most beautiful, badass werewolf-butterfly.
Looping my purse over my shoulder, I say, “Yeah, Sis. This is the part where we leave.”
She jumps to her feet. “Oh, thank God. I don’t think I could stand listening to shit-brains over here for another second.”
“I thought she was rocks-for-brains?” I volley.
Michelle shrugs. “She was until she gave herself away. Idiots have rocks for brains. Shitty idiots have shit-brains.” Looking at Kelsey down the bridge of her nose, she adds, “And that’s an official medical diagnosis. Seriously—go see a psychiatrist.”
I motion for Michelle and Jina to head out. But after taking only a few steps, I turn back to Kelsey, her face bright red now that she’s noticed the room full of snickering coffee lovers. Normally, I’d go along my merry way back to Jiho. But not today—rage-ball Morgan has something else to say.
“One more thing, Kelsey. If I ever see you even glance in Jiho’s direction again, let alone dare to touch him, I’ll give you a nose to match your brother’s.”
She blinks up at me, confusion contorting every feature. “But, like, his nose is broken.”
“Exactly.” And with that, I, rage-ball Morgan, take my leave.