He reaches out to grab my hand, but I yank it away with a violence that startles the both of us. I’m shaking. I stare blindly out the window, willing myself not to break down and cry. Or punch him in the junk. I also want to stab that straw through his forehead. Maybe later.
“How did it happen?” I finally look at his cheating flushed face. “Who is she?”
“I…”
Matt trails off as his gaze moves past me to something behind me.
I turn to see what he’s looking at. Rachel Ward, one of our friends, is slowly approaching our booth. She probably wants to just say hi and ask how my summer was. I like her well enough, but I want to scream at her to get the hell away.
“Hi, V,” Rachel says in a small voice. But her big hazel eyes are trained on Matt.
Oh. Duh.
I whip my head back and pin Matt with my evil glazed eyes. “What! Really?! You and Rachel?!”
To my complete and utter astonishment, that lying ass slides over and beckons for Rachel to sit down next to him.
Are you kidding me?!
They are holding hands right now. Seriously, what the hell is this? Are they dating? I want to hurt them both.
“I’m so sorry, Violet,” Matt says, staring down at their entwined fingers. “It just…happened. We were working together at Smilin’ Jack’s, and…I don’t know, we always got along so good—you know that. So we started hanging out after work and…it just happened,” he concludes helplessly.
“I’m really sorry,” Rachel whispers, her eyes downcast. Her pretty face is wet with tears.
Aw, let’s give the sweet pretty bitch a hug!
“Don’t talk to me,” I snap. I have found my anger, and it’s the only think keeping me from breaking apart. I focus on my former boyfriend with laser like intensity as a revelation hits me like a falling coconut to the head. “Did you sleep with her?”
Matt’s mouth tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. Rachel, however, is blushing bright red, so I guess that’s all the confirmation I need. Slut! a voice in my head screams.
I feel like someone’s kicked me in the chest. Matt and I…we’ve never had sex, and he’s never pressured me to do it. And to find out that he slept with her…ugh! I thought he was just scared he might do it wrong! Does that mean he never really wanted to have sex with me? Why the hell not?!
Matt begins to talk rapidly at me, but I can’t hear him. A roaring noise, like crashing waves fills my ears. I can’t seem to look away from the two of them sitting there together, like a couple. Well, I guess they are now. Ex-boyfriend. The term runs through my head like a cocky sprinter. Distantly, I wonder how everyone at school will react. Or do they already know? Were Matt and Rachel flaunting their new status while I was slaving away in a delicious-smelling bakery in Hawaii?
I hate them.
“…hope we can still be friends.”
Yeah, my ex-boyfriend actually says this. I gape at him disbelievingly.
That—wow, that just pisses me off! My hand twitches spastically with the urge to claw his eyes out. I have to get out of here. I stand up abruptly, but the ass clown grabs my hand—you know, with the other hand that’s not hanging onto his new girlfriend.
“Please, please don’t be mad at us, V,” he begs. And tears are spilling down his cheeks. “I swear, I never wanted to hurt you. I don’t want to lose your friendship. Please say we can still be friends.”
A deadly calm suddenly drapes over me, like a super villain’s cape. But it’s the calm before storm that I can feel building up inside of me. “Friends,” I repeat coldly.
“Yeah. Like how we used to be.” Matt forces a smile to his weasel face at the sudden awkward silence. He glances down at the box on the table. “Do I still get my gift?” he jokes feebly.
“Sure,” I say. I snatch it off the table and make as though to hand it to him. When he reaches for it, I hurl it away with the strength and speed of a major league pitcher. It lands in some old guy’s plate of refried beans with a splat.
I take off. I can’t hold it together anymore, and to my horror, I’m sobbing uncontrollably. I never cry in public. I hate it! I hate him!
Are people looking at me? Most certainly. I don’t care. I run blindly toward the door and shove it open. And then I trip over something.
I don’t know how it happens, or what I trip over. It’s all a blur. I’m suddenly on my hands and knees, somehow wedged painfully in the threshold, the door trying to shut on my arm.
I can see myself laughing about this after. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold onto the hope that if I wish for it hard enough, a wormhole will open up in front of me and suck me into that future point in time.