Outside the Lines (Rebel Hearts #1) (25 page)

Ben still has a look of amusement on his face. “I’ll work on that while you take care of business.”
 

I press my lips together but end up laughing. “Deal.” I do take a shower too, since there is still sand in my hair that needs to be washed out. I get out, towel my hair, and get dressed while Ben hops in for a quick shower.
 

Since it’s raining and we need to leave soon anyway, we drive to my parents’ house and I get my dad to open the garage door so we can run in and stay dry. We eat leftovers from last night, say our goodbyes, and head home.
 

An hour into our drive, Ben tells me he has two events to go to this week. He doesn’t even mention bringing me with. After a weekend like we just had, I don’t know how much more it will take for him to want me to be his girlfriend and be worthy of going to fancy art shit with him.
 

I think about it for too long, and I use the excuse of being tired when Ben asks why I’m not talking. I force myself to put on a smile the rest of the way.
 

“I’m starving,” Ben says when we pull into my driveway.
 

“Come in and I’ll make you something,” I say. “Mac and cheese sounds good.”
 

“It does, actually. I haven’t had that in a while.”
 

I raise an eyebrow. I thought all single people lived off of a diet that consisted of at least 50% mac and cheese. He brings in my suitcase, sets it in my room, and joins me in the kitchen. I’m feeling better and not so insecure when we take our bowls into the living room.
 

“I don’t want to go to work tomorrow,” I say and take a bite of food. Ben just nods, his mouth too full to answer. “Even though it was just as weekend thing, I feel like I need a day to recover.”
 

“Me too,” he agrees once he’s swallowed. “I probably will take tomorrow off. Perks of being my own boss.”
 

“That is so not fair.”
 

“You went into the wrong profession.”
 

“Apparently.” I take another few bites. “I have a feeling you’re going to have an awkward reunion with your secretary when you do go back too.”
 

He raises his eyebrows. “You can say that. And I’m sorry she gave you shit.”
 

“Why are you sorry?” I finish my mac and cheese and set the bowl down on the floor for Ser Pounce. He likes to lick the leftover cheese sauce.
 

“Ah, fuck. I forgot you didn’t know.”
 

My throat goes dry. That’s never a good thing to hear. “Didn’t know what?”

“I know you guys had a bad history in high school or whatever, but Mindy was extra bitchy because she’s jealous of you.”
 

There’s only one reason she’d be jealous of me, and that involves Ben. “She likes you?”

He nods. “I don’t think she ever got over—”

“Got over? Wait. You two had a … a…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
 

“Yeah, we dated when she first started working for me.”
 

My heart stops beating. Ben, perfect, amazing Ben, dated Mindy fucking Abraham. I blink, then turn away.
 

“It wasn’t anything serious,” Ben says and it’s like his voice is echoing in my head. “We went out and hooked up a few times, that’s it.”
 

Now my stomach is twisting. Hooked up. He hooked up with Mindy. I can’t hide the abhorrence on my face.
 

“Felicity?”
 

“You … you and Mindy?” You and Undesirable No. 1, more like it. “Hooked up?”

“Yeah, but it’s over and it never meant anything to me.”
 

All I hear is how what we have might not mean anything to him as well. “I just…”
 

“It’s not a big deal,” he says slowly. “I’ve hooked up with other people in the past, and I’m sure you have. Actually I know you have because you’re quite good at more than a few things, and I’m thankful for that.”
 

“It is a big deal,” I say and I know the words are coming out of my mouth on their own accord and there is no stopping once I get started. “You put your dick in her, and then in me, so it’s basically like I had sex with her.”
 

“It doesn’t quite work like that,” he says. “You’re mad, but I’m not really sure why. I didn’t do anything wrong, Felicity.” He’s getting defensive.
 

I blink. Somewhere, deep down in the hallow pit that is now my heart, I know he’s right. But another part of me, the part that I try to ignore, the part that houses all my insecurities, tells me this makes sense.
 

It makes sense that Ben would date someone like Mindy. It makes sense now why he wouldn’t take me to a fancy art event when he could take someone like Mindy instead. She might be a cum-guzzling thunder cunt, but she doesn’t
look
like one. Well, as long as she keeps those fake tits under control and her stupid mouth shut.
 

No, Mindy is perfect on the outside. Perfect hair, perfect skin. Her nails are always polished and not chipping. She’d never wear miss-matched socks or forget deodorant or have frizzy hair when it rains or even when it doesn’t.
 

She might not be a nice person, but can’t tell by looking at her.
 

And my Ben—my sweet, wonderful, passionate Ben, who I’m pretty sure I’m fucking in love with—dated her. But it’s more than that. He dated the type of woman that I hate. The type that brings others down to make herself feel better, who doesn’t give a shit about what’s right or wrong as long as it benefits her.
 

Suddenly I’m a teenager again watching Mindy shove her tongue down the throat of my crush.
 

“Hey,” he says. “Come on.” He nudges my arm. “Let it go.”
 

“I need time to process this, to process that you literally slept with the enemy.”
 

“I thought you said you were over that.”
 

“I am! But still … she’s fucking married and has a kid! You slept with a married woman!”
 

“She’s getting a divorce, and she doesn’t have any kids I’m aware of, just a niece. She told me they were separated at the time and not living together. I believed her and didn’t check into the facts. I never would have hooked up with her if I knew she was still living with her husband, I promise. I’m not like that. And it wasn’t anything serious. Just a fling that meant nothing to me.”
 

A fling with Mindy fucking Abraham is right up there with a lunch date with Hitler. It’s nothing to be taken lightly. He puts his hand on my arm and I flinch away.
 

“Felicity, don’t be stupid.”
 

A nerve is struck and my anger and self-doubt boil over, bubbling together into a deadly combination that sends me into rage mode. “I’m not being stupid! I guess I just finally see this.”
 

“See what?”

“What this is, who I am to you.”
 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“This!”
 

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “You’re not making sense. Calm down and let’s talk about this like adults. If I knew it would cause such an issue, I never would have brought it up.”
 

“Well, I’m glad you did because now I know the truth on where we stand.” I must be a fling too. Nothing serious. Maybe I mean nothing to him too. The thought breaks my heart and instead of feeling sad, I’m pissed. The anger will fade and the hurt will be setting in, but not yet. I’m mad now. I need to hold onto that anger while I can to protect myself.
 

No, I don’t think rationally when I’m in an emotional crisis like this. “It makes sense now. You never took me to one of your fancy art shows. You’re still seeing other people, bringing them to your house … I saw the women’s shoes there, by the way … and I can’t—” my voice breaks with emotion and my mind continues to whirl.

“Maybe it’s my fault and I gave you the wrong impression because I slept with you on the first date. I don’t do that. It’s not who I am, but there was something special about you, something I couldn’t ignore and you made me get carried away. It meant something to me, but I guess it meant nothing to you.”
 

I stand and turn around, wiping away tears before Ben can see. Push him away before he pushes me. It’s a subconscious defense mechanism and if I calmed down, I’d realize what I’m doing.
 

But I don’t. I can’t. Ben means too much to me that logic isn’t going to apply right now.
 

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. My heart pounds in my ears and each second that goes by makes me realize that my words are true. If they weren’t, he’d protest, tell me I’m wrong, say he was sorry for messing with my head. The silence is killing me, and my mouth opens despite my better reasoning, saying I should shut the hell up because I say things out of anger than I regret later. I know I do. Always have, always will.

“Then the office booty call … The signs were in front of me. But I guess that’s how you are with everyone, right?”

Still, all I get is silence from him.
 

“If I mean so little, then just go. Call up one of the other girls you’re seeing or even Mindy.”
 

I get nothing. Come on, Ben. At least be angry. Shout, yell. Tell me I’m right and that you don’t care. Tell me I’m wrong and I’m stupid.
 

Just.
 

Say.
 

Something.
 

“That’s what you think of me?” he finally says and his voice is broken.

“Yeah. It’s obvious now.”
 

He sharply inhales. “Felicity, that—no,” he cuts off, shaking his head. “I thought
you
were different, but I guess I was wrong. I should go.”
 

I whirl around, not expecting that. And I’m not expecting the hurt on his face.
 

Oh, fuck.
 

“Ben,” I start but he’s already on his way out. His hand is on the doorknob. He turns, eyebrows pushed together.
 

“I never asked you to go to my fancy art events because I always take my mom. It’s her shoes you saw at my house by the way. She stays with me when she’s not staying with my dad, who has memory problems after so many head injuries fighting in the war and needs round-the-clock care. You could have just asked me about it. I don’t bring it up because it’s not exactly fun to talk about, and most people here don’t understand the culture on my mother’s side, and see living with their parents as a burden. But I thought
you
would.” He turns his head and our eyes meet for what I’m sure will be the last time. “I thought I loved you. I was wrong.”
 

Then he leaves.
 

And it hits me all at once: I did the very thing to Ben I hate that people doing to me.
 

I judged him. I made assumptions and filled in the blanks with misinformation. I let my own insecurities get the best of me, and I let Mindy fucking Abraham ruin my life, nearly ten years after high school.

You’ve won, Mindy. Again.
 

My chest rapidly rises and falls and I suck back a sob. I blink and shake myself, then sprint to the door. But I’m too late. Ben is already pulling out of the driveway, driving down the street. I watch, tears filling my eyes, as the tail lights of his Audi disappear.
 

Suddenly I can’t breath and it takes everything I have to go inside and close the door behind me. I fall onto the couch and cry. I messed up. Big time. I was so worried about getting hurt that I ended up hurting myself.
 

I am my own self-fulfilling prophecy.
 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I don’t know what to do. I wipe my eyes, sit up, and swallow a sob. My phone is in my purse, by the couch. I pick it up, madly rummage through for my phone, and call Ben. I get his voicemail. I wait a few seconds then call again. It rings once then goes to voicemail.
 

He hung up on me.
 

I close my eyes, barricading more tears, and try not to hyperventilate. He’s mad right now. Just like I was. He needs time to calm down, and he’s not even home yet. I fall back onto the couch and wait.
 

One minute goes by.
 

Then one more.
 

I want to call him again. Now. But it hasn’t been enough time. My heart is still pounding, and I feel sick. I fucked up. I said things out of anger and fear, things that make no sense and that I don’t really believe.

He said he thought he loved me.
 

And now I know that I really do love him. I fell for him even though I didn’t want to, even though I was sure he would hurt me.
 

I hurt him.
 

I hate myself for it.
 

And I have no idea how to make it better. I can’t take back what I said. I can’t delete this glitch, reprogram the day and start over. I bite my trembling lip and know the only thing I can do is tell Ben I’m sorry and wait for him to calm down enough to hear me out.
 

I call him again. Two rings then voicemail, and take a breath. The words die in my mouth and I’m hanging out without saying a word. I fall onto the couch, tears running down my face. I’m suddenly exhausted, and it feels like it takes an incredible amount of energy to put our dishes in the sink, grab a bottle of wine from the fridge, and go into my bedroom. I sink into bed and start drinking. I gulp it down, letting emotion be my guide, and soon I’m feeling sick before my mind hazes over. But I don’t stop now. I keep drinking until I literally can’t and pass the fuck out.
 

I want to wake up and have everything be better.
 

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, I wake up hours later feeling like roadkill warmed over, with a dry mouth and a full, angry bladder. I check my phone—no missed calls—and get up to pee. I shower because that just seems to make sense. Warm water pours over me and then I’m crying again, sinking down to the shower floor.