Lovewrecked - Karina Halle Page 0,1
day, possibly, maybe saw myself marrying.
And this is how all that worked out for me.
With him sleeping with my friend.
Oh, I’m mad at her, too.
Furious.
But the betrayal is different. I can’t say I ever got too close to Michelle. I never let my guard down with her the way I did with Chris. Still, I considered her a good friend since I had worked with her and we often spent lunch hours scarfing oysters on the embarcadero. We used to do hot yoga together on Thursday mornings before work, and we had margaritas on Mondays at this dive bar in the Mission district with the rest of the old work crew. Our conversations were usually superficial, but occasionally I’d complain about Chris (as couples do), and she’d complain about San Francisco’s lackluster dating scene.
Never in a million years did I think she’d try and fix that by turning her sights on him.
“How did this even happen?” I cry out, shaking the knife again.
“Just put the knife down and we’ll talk,” Chris says. He takes a step forward, and as my gaze drops again, he pauses and hastily picks up the pillow. “Look, it was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I say at the same time Michelle makes a scoffing noise. I point the knife at her. “Something funny, bitch?”
“Yes, a mistake,” Chris says imploringly. I stare into his baby blue eyes, but they’re no longer the eyes of the guy I loved. They’re the eyes of a stranger. One I want to murder with a butter knife.
“Uh huh. A mistake. I see. So she slipped and fell on your dick?” I ask. “Or you slipped and landed in her vagina?”
“It didn’t mean anything!”
Somehow that makes everything worse.
My blood begins to boil.
“You threw away our relationship for some screw that didn’t even mean anything!?”
I make a half-hearted attempt to calm myself but it doesn’t work.
I turn around and pick up the cut tomato I used for my sandwich, holding it in my palm like a baseball, seeds slipping through my fingers.
“He’s lying,” Michelle speaks up, eyes flashing. “He told me he loved me.”
I don’t even think. I launch the tomato and get Chris right between the eyes with a messy plop, the tomato splattering everywhere. The pillow drops to the floor again.
“You asshole!” I yelp.
I whirl around and pick up the top slice of toasted bread and wing at him like a frisbee. It hits him squarely on his junk and he goes down to his knees on the linoleum with an oof. I used to play disc golf on my parents’ apple orchard growing up, and apparently my aim is as good as ever.
“Daisy!” Michelle cries out, as if I’m the one with the problem, and then I’m reaching for the remainder of the sandwich.
I pelt it at her. The slice of turkey flies ahead of the sandwich layers with swift velocity and slaps her on the cheek with a satisfying thwack, while the other pieces of mayo-soaked bread and juicy tomato slices explode over the bedroom.
“Get out!” I scream at the both of them. “Now!” I threaten with the butter knife again. “I’m not done throwing things.”
Michelle swipes at the cold cut that just bitch-slapped her, and runs to the opposite side of the bed where she yanks on her jeans and sweater. She quickly sidles past me, avoiding eye contact. I’m not a violent person, but it really takes everything in me to not open the fridge and find what other food I can whip at her.
While she’s shoving on her boots at the front door, I turn to Chris who is getting back to his feet, wincing.
“There’s a lot more where that came from,” I warn him as she slams the front door.
He groans, reaching for the pillow again, as if he’s suddenly bashful. “Please, just…hear me out.”
My eyes widen. “What the hell could you possibly say? Chris, I just caught you screwing my friend!”
“It’s not what she said. I don’t love her. I love you…I just got…I got confused.”
“Confused?” I repeat, my voice beyond shrill. “Confused?”
He winces dramatically again, putting his hand to his ear. “Can you stop being so hysterical? You’re hurting my ears.”
“Maybe I’ll slice your ear off like in Reservoir Dogs. That should fix the problem,” I sneer at him, waving the knife again. “It won’t be easy with this thing, but believe me, I could make it work. Would leave some pretty nasty scars.”
He glares at me. “You know, you haven’t been easy to