Chapter Seven
It was taking Dame a long time to pick up food, but she already knew what that meant. He wasn’t coming back.
Something bad had happened with his brother earlier. Some realization that she was a problem in his life, and now she would be stuck in the aftermath. Okay. She’d only met him officially yesterday, so this was no big deal. She’d had fun, the sex had been amazing, and that was that.
“He’s just a guy,” she said aloud, testing the words.
If she was a Cat, she would hear the lie in her voice so easily. Even as a human, she could.
She stirred the boiling pasta and padded to the front window, looked down at the parking lot, and her car was back. It was parked in the same spot she’d parked it in earlier, but there was no sign of Mars, or his truck with Dame in it.
She sighed. They’d done it. They’d done the switch off without her knowing. She hadn’t been diligent enough on the window. Right now, she imagined Dame in the passenger’s seat of Marsden’s truck as he took him to his own rig, wherever he’d parked it.
Where did he even live?
What was his number?
Today felt big, but it shouldn’t. She didn’t know why she felt like crying again. This was strange, and too much. She was a strong woman. She didn’t fall for men fast like this. It wasn’t her way.
So…
What was it about him? What magic did Dame possess that she’d imagined a future with him after one rollercoaster, and at times traumatic, day?
She returned to stir the pasta she wasn’t very hungry for. Uncle Tim had always made her butter noodles when she wasn’t feeling well, and that was her move now. Comfort food.
Her phone vibrated with a text, and she checked it with such hope in her chest. Stupid hope, because she and Dame had never even gotten to the part where they exchanged numbers.
It was Uncle Tim, checking in. She replied to his text that her friend was gone, and she sent him a picture of the noodles. He would know exactly what she was making.
She drained them and seasoned them with salt, pepper, and garlic powder, then melted butter with them, and grated fresh parmesan cheese on top. She sprinkled fresh-cut parsley over it and sank down into her couch with a hearty bowl. Maybe the sound of the television would drown out her thoughts.
She wished she had his number.
Wait.
She sat straight up.
LameDame10.
She set the food down and navigated to her Instagram page in a rush and did a search for Dame’s handle.
Nothing came up.
Misty frowned.
She went to her follower list and did a search for his name there, and again, nothing.
She inhaled sharply and leaned back against the couch as she realized what he’d done.
He’d unfollowed and blocked her. That or he had deactivated his account entirely.
The pain in her chest was something she’d never felt before. The claw marks on her arm throbbed in rhythm with her pulse, and it was the first time she’d really felt the ache of them. She looked at the bandage, and there was a blood stain there in the shape of the marks.
They were bleeding again.
Tears stung her eyes as she made her way to the bathroom to clean it and replace the bandages.
She’d been such a stupid girl.
“Really think about what you’ve done,” she told herself in the mirror. “You were traumatized by that Cat attack five years ago, and you took one of them to your uncle’s home, saved him, slept with him, let him mark you, and now you’re crying when he didn’t want you.”
Angrily, she wiped the tears on her cheeks.
“And now you will have to heal the scars all over again!” She dragged air into her lungs on a sob. “You stupid girl.”
Losing her mind, she threw the new bandages onto the counter and marched into the living room to pick up her phone.
She opened the text to Chris. She’d left him on read when he’d told her she looked good yesterday.
A dark part of her wanted to hurt Dame, but this wouldn’t even hurt him.
He wouldn’t know. But it would hurt Chris’s girlfriend, and that didn’t feel right.
Even if she was the woman who broke them up, Misty would be no better than her if she started conversations with Chris now.
So, instead, she took a screenshot of the message and sent it to Miranda, the nurse he was dating now. She had most of the nurses’ numbers for emergencies or for meetups outside of work. They’d even been cool for a while before Chris did what Chris did.
I’m sorry to send you this, but I would’ve appreciated it if you had done this for me. I’m not responding to him. I want nothing to do with any of this. Send.
And then she blocked Chris and set the phone down.
It did make her feel a little better, even if it did piss off his girlfriend.
Misty knew sometimes the messenger got shot, but right now, she didn’t really care.
She’d done the right thing and given her a heads up that her boyfriend’s attention was wandering in Misty’s direction.
She’d done that instead of pulling Chris’s attention onto her just to feel better after Dame’s rejection.
Miranda’s response was quick, and simple. This is the second one I’ve been sent. Thank you.
Good enough for Misty. She wasn’t surprised that Chris was talking to multiple people.
She didn’t need to know how that woman was handling it.
Misty didn’t need to know if she was going to leave him or stay with him through the disrespect.
Whether Chris was single or not, Misty would never, ever give him another chance to hurt her again.
She sat up straighter at the realization that the bond to him had been completely severed. She had no remaining feelings, or questions. She didn’t care about what-ifs. Sometime in the last day, she had just accepted him for what he was, and her heart had moved on without her realizing it.
Huh.
Okay, so bright side: even if Dame ditching her hurt like hellfire, at least he’d moved her heart on from Chris and his games. And there was value in that. So…okay. It wasn’t all for nothing.
She sat there clinging to that bright side, waiting for the aching in her chest to feel better, but it didn’t.
All right, maybe tomorrow.
Tomorrow would be the day.
Tomorrow she would make fun plans and stay busy, and the ache would definitely go away.