Criminal Passion

2

It’s almost four in the morning when I turn the key in the door and see Calebe sitting in the armchair. My mother is beside him, wrapped in a satin robe. They both cut off their conversation and stare at me the second I walk in.

The looks they throw at me could easily make me feel like a guilty dog that ran away and came back with its tail between its legs. And maybe I am one. But regret is the last thing I feel right now.

What I feel is anger. The kind that surges so violently you can barely hide it.

For starters, I’m exhausted. Exhausted as f**k. On top of that, I just had a gun shoved in my face and Iris’s necklace stolen. All I want is the darkness of the house leading to my bedroom, a hot shower, and my sheets. I don’t have the patience to deal with Calebe and his accusatory stare. Not tonight.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” my mother says, her voice sharp with cutting promises only I can read.

The reprimand is subtle, buried in her tone. Her swollen red eyes and exhausted expression make me wonder if Calebe is blind, in addition to being a pain in the ass. He’s been a nuisance. A nuisance I’ll have to deal with tomorrow.

She walks slowly, almost dragging herself up the stairs. I drop my purse on the table. Calebe waits a little longer. He needs to make sure no one’s listening. After all, the version of him my mother knows is not the one I know. Not the one about to wear down my patience.

“I’m going to bed. Good night.”

He lifts his phone, quoting my last message from four hours ago. “Care to explain this?”

Yes, I can. I’d love to tell him I wrote it already in the car, heading to the club, ready to get wasted and—if I was lucky—f****d hard enough to forget all this s**t for a few minutes.

Unfortunately, I only managed the getting wasted part.

“What do you want at this hour?” I sigh, pulling off my hoops and twisting my hair into a bun.

His eyes study my bare neck, searching for marks he won’t find.

“A friend saw you downtown,” he says. “I came to see if you really lied to me.”

“You drove three miles in the middle of the night just to stick your nose in my life?”

“I’d cross the world for you, Lou. You know that.”

I look at him for a second before shaking my head. I slip off my heels but don’t head to my room. I won’t give him that opening. With alcohol still in my system, letting him in would be stupidity on my part.

“You know what day it is, Calebe?”

“Yes, I know, and I’m sorry.” He steps closer.

Black eyes lock onto mine. Blonde hair neatly trimmed. The same cologne I gave him three years ago.

He’s handsome. And manipulative. I know him better than anyone.

I take a step back, slipping out of his bubble.

“I think you should leave,” I suggest. “You shouldn’t even be here.”

“Why avoid me? You want me here, and you know I want to be here. I can take care of you.”

“Oh, spare me.”

He laughs. “So stubborn…” He reaches for a loose strand of hair, but I move away.

“Fine. You want to talk? Let’s talk. Last year, when I was stupid enough to call you because Iris’s death anniversary was hell for me, you went to my parents. I opened up to you, and you made them think I was some suicidal wreck.”

“Of course I did. What did you expect? I was f*****g worried. ‘I don’t know if I can take this anymore’—remember? What do you think someone means when they say that?”

“Maybe that it’s just a shitty day? That maybe they just need to vent, to talk, to feel like someone’s there for them?”

“You won’t admit it, Lou, but your behavior about Iris isn’t normal. I always think on this day… you might do something reckless.”

“My behavior is called grief, asshole. I have every right to feel however the f**k I want about my sister’s death!”

“It’s been three years, and it only gets worse.”

“Oh, so grief has an expiration date now?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Because that’s what happens when you lose someone you love. You suffer. For life. Maybe some people handle it better than others, but this is how I handle it. And I don’t need a guy who f****d with my head telling me what I’m allowed to feel.”

“Louise…” His voice carries a warning. I hate that tone.

“I won’t apologize for you worrying. Look—proof. You caught me lying, going out alone, drunk. Did you drive back?”

I exhale, exhausted. My silence is all the confirmation he needs.

“You act on impulse and then get mad at me for caring about your well-being? You sound like a child. A spoiled, irresponsible little girl.”

“Funny. When Iris acted like that, all you felt was lust.”

The words tear him apart. The gentle, understanding act is just that—an act. His face shifts in seconds. I know what comes next. The raised voice. The defensive stance. The avalanche of guilt he’ll dump on me. Predictable.

Calebe is painfully predictable.

“Really? We’re doing this again?” His tone spikes. “I’m here trying to help, and you want to drag things this low?”

“That’s because your hypocrisy drains me. Like I said, you shouldn’t even be here.”

“I’m here because I care, for f**k’s sake. How many times do I have to say it?”

“You proved otherwise a long time ago.”

“God, Louise, you always twist things this way.”

“Leave.”

He refuses, stepping closer.

I try to slip past, but his fingers clamp around my wrist.

“One mistake, and you throw away everything I did for us? You really want to go there again? You’re so f*****g unfair.”

“What I want is for you to get out of my house and let me sleep!”

“You broke up with me.”

“Leave.”

“You did.”

“I’ll call security.”

“It was you, Louise.”

I move forward, but he blocks me.

“You start s**t and don’t want to finish it?” His voice drops to a nervous whisper. “You dumped me out of nowhere. Made me look like a fool without even telling me what I did wrong. Don’t pin everything on me. You ended it.”

“And you were so heartbroken that you drowned your sorrows in my sister’s cunt. You f****d Iris in the filthiest way and still have the balls to suggest it’s my fault?”

His nostrils flare, furious. Natural. Scratch the wound, and it bleeds.

“I was drunk. I didn’t mean to.”

A humorless laugh bursts out of me. Oh no—you meant it. You’d been dying to. That’s the real answer.

My blood boils under my skin. My gaze flicks to the bottle of cognac suspended behind him in my father’s cabinet. I’d smash it over his head with pleasure.

“Calebe, I’m begging you—leave before I do something stupid and blame it on the alcohol too. You know. Screwing your girlfriend’s sister and shoving a shard of glass in some bastard’s neck—it’s almost the same thing.”

He stares at me for several minutes.

“You’re insane.”

“I’ve been called worse. ‘Cheated on’ was one of them.”

The venom softens, replaced by cynicism.

“You’re drunk. That’s all. You get wasted and start spitting this s**t. You’ve always been like this. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“No. We don’t have anything to talk about. Not now, not tomorrow.”

I pull away before he can reach for that loose strand of hair again. He smiles, like an adult indulging a child’s tantrum. That’s what I am to him. A spoiled little girl, still hung up on being betrayed by her own sister and the bastard who took her virginity.

We’ve had this argument a million times.

We’re a vicious cycle, and Calebe f***s with my head so much that now I’m angry he’s actually leaving. He goes because he thinks it’s necessary, not because I told him to. He decided everything I said was just alcohol talking. He discredits me. Belittles me. Pushes me to the edge. Awakens my worst.

He reminds me of every bit of s**t that went down three years ago.

“Sleep, Louise.”

I inhale sharply, trembling, as he walks out of the apartment and disappears.

But unfortunately, never from my life.