I spit the question at him venomously, unable to control the outburst of shocked pain that hits me and bubbles forth, and the strained tone in my voice betraying the instant hurt. Like a stab to the chest as those words filter through my brain and I realise that I've been living in a fantasy land and forgetting exactly who this arsehole really is.
A date! A f*****g date with a f*****g woman, who left part of her wardrobe in his goddamn car.
I'm such a complete and utter blind moron.
It's like all those niggles of mistrust and disbelief just burst all over my head and pour over me like icy cold water. All the reasons I kept telling myself to keep my guard up. Here they are—staring me in the bloody face as they shatter my soul to pieces.
Last night when he f****d off all night with Santa
