Page 11 of My So-Called Perfect Life

Mrs. Martinson swings open her door and squawks, “What’s going on out here?”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Martinson,” I say. “He was just leaving. And if he doesn’t, I’ll have Armando remove him.”

Scott writhes on the floor in pain, clutching his crotch.

“Have fun. Good luck getting your dick up after that.”

Slamming the door, I walk back to my bedroom and sag against the wall. I feel like I’m vibrating on the highest setting. My adrenaline is through the roof.

How dare he! He thinks he’s taking Mandy on our honeymoon trip. Over my dead body.

I can hear Mrs. Martinson yelling at Scott, “Don’t come back here. I’m trying to watchJeopardy, and I don’t want any more interruptions.”

Glancing at my phone sitting on my still-bare mattress, I debate calling Mercy. I need alcohol. But for whatever reason, I find myself grabbing my phone and then my bag from the kitchen. I lock my front door and then head back to my room and slip out the window onto the fire escape.

The logical part of me wonders about the ramifications of leaving my bedroom window unlocked as I climb down the rickety metal stairs into the alley behind my building, but if I see Scott right now, chances are the throbbing in my hand won’t stop me from pummeling his stupid, cheating face.

I pull my phone out and dial back the airline.

It takes about twenty minutes and ten blocks before the flights for St. Lucia are canceled.

Screw you, Scott.I’d rather lose part of the flight fees than have him go on our trip with his new girlfriend.

There’s an inferno burning inside me. I don’t know whether it’s my mounting anger toward my idiot ex or the hot, sticky air that is making me feel extra flushed.

My heart is beating fast in my chest, and a whooshingsound fills my ears.

I need something to eat before I pass out right here on the dirty sidewalk. Wouldn’t that just be the kicker to my already screwed-up everything?

I glance around, looking for something, anything at the moment, and see the logo for a bar two doors up.

Food, alcohol, and air-conditioning. A perfect trifecta for all my needs.

Chapter Four

Danielle

The sign for Cohen’s hangsover the door, generic and nondescript. I’m not sure why that matters, considering all I want to do is sit down in the air-condition and toss back a few shots to forget about my life for a while.

Mandy’s lips wrapped around Scott’s dick.

Herplease don’t marry hertext.

Scott’s stupid begging.

His proclamation of him and Mandy enjoying what was supposed to be ours.

So much for not thinking about him today.

I can’t believe the asshole had the audacity to show up and try to get me back.What does he take me for? A doormat?

The sun beats down on my neck as I stand on the sidewalk in front of the bar, and a warm breeze blows a stray piece of hair that’s fallen from the messy knot on the top of my head. Aside from the intense heat, it’s such a gorgeous day for the first weekend of summer—a beautiful time of year to get married. Hence why I picked it.

Ugh, Scott has forever ruined my favorite weekend of the year.

“Bastard,” I mumble as I swing open the door to the bar.

A gust of cool air washes over me, but it doesn’t do anything to cool the rage inside me.