Betises
The conclusion of the Bedsprings Arc
He's cheating on me.
Evan Fucking Rosier, my boyfriend of--shit, is it seriously five years now?--what seems like forever, is cheating on me. I just know it.
It's not like he hasn't before, and not just since my starving actor boyfriend Evan Roswell hit the silver screen and changed into international heartthrob Evan Rosier. He always flirts. Mostly with boys, but he certainly makes exceptions. He can't resist a pretty face, and I know he's slept with at least a handful of his flirtations. The first time I found out was the second time we broke up. It's a long story. We're a messed-up couple.
It's just that--even though I'm always jealous, he bores of them. Always within a week. A few days is unusual. With luck, they won't even hold his attention more than a few hours.
But this is different. He's sneaking around, keeping secrets, making excuses. And it doesn't help he's been working late nights shooting some fucking vampire flick, so we haven't had sex in a week, except for a quickie in the closet, right before he started sneaking around. I should make it clear that it's rare for us to go two hours without sex. After a week, I'm fucking insane with jealousy and my own libido. Normally, he would be, too, but it seems he's found something that interests him more than me.
I am so fucking jealous. I'm going to be sick.
I walk to the door of his dressing room and stop. I hear a high-pitched cough, and then Evan's laughter, loud and wide. I can taste my own jealousy, cold and cloying like swampwater in the dead of winter, thick and choking in the back of my throat. I knock.
Evan swears, and I hear scuffling. Someone whines. Who the hell actually fucking whines?
"It's probably Matty," Evan's voice grumbles. "Hold this. I'll get rid of him."
He opens the door. "Matty." He steps through, carefully closing the door behind him, so that I can't get a glimpse inside. I glare.
"You'll get rid of me?" I echo, fucking pissed.
"Matty--"
"Who's in there?"
"No one." The smirk on his face is reckless, challenging. We both know he's lying, it's more than evident, but he's stronger and faster than me. There's no way I'm getting past him.
Rage tastes like a mouthful of vinegar, and it's burning my throat. "You fucking bastard. Go to Hell." I walk away.
"Matty!" He swears, grabbing my arm before I'm halfway down the hall. "Matty," he growls.
I glare, angry and fucking hurt. "Don't you fucking call me Matty."
He sighs, forcing his voice gentler. "We're shooting late again tonight. The next take is in fifteen minutes."
"Break a leg," I snap, in full hope that he will.
"But I will be home," he finishes, firmly. "I'm having Jerry drive you home. You're not taking a taxi when you're this upset."
I'm letting him walk me out to the parking lot, although I'm not exactly docile about it. Jerry's his private limo driver. "Of course I'm fucking upset," I rail. "My boyfriend's cheating on me, and actually thinks I'm fucking stupid enough not to notice."
He opens the limo door and pushes me in. "Jerry, take him home."
"Which one?" Jerry asks.
"The rented one. The flat. And keep an eye on him. He might try to run away."
Run away. Like I'm a spoiled child. "I am not your fucking pet," I snarl, "you selfish fucking--"
He cuts me off with a kiss. "I'll explain tomorrow. Any question you have, I'll answer it. Just wait home for me until tomorrow."
He closes the door on my retort.
I thank Jerry when he drops me off. "You can go," I say. "I'm not going to run away. He promised me an explanation. I can always leave him tomorrow. Not like I haven't done it before." I lock the door and collapse on the bed, starting to cry. Fucking crying, like a little girl.
I wake up with him on top of me. His arms are around my waist, so only his head and upper torso rests on me. He's fast asleep. He likes to keep it cold in the apartment, because then I'll let him cuddle me. He knows I wouldn't let him, otherwise.
