I’m scared, covering myself where the bruise is. When Nathan sees it, his eyes falter, but only for a moment, and he looks away.
“Babe. I love you, please can we talk,” he says, stepping one foot in the door.
“No, don’t come any closer,” holding my hand like a stop sign.
“Lola, please, babe. I’m begging. I’m f*****g sorry,” he says, trying to hand me the flowers.
I scoff in disgust at his gesture, even more repulsed by him. Nathan’s never given me flowers, only tears and fake apologies—the perfect picture of empty promises from a horrible excuse of a boyfriend.
“Babe, talk to me. I love you,” he says again.
“Don’t say that,” I glare. “You don’t mean it!”
“Yes, I do, Babe. Everything is gone, the pictures and the videos. She means nothing to me. I love you,” he pleads.
My eyes widen
