That was called ‘reverse psychology’, and you’d think someone who had a degree in human resource management would realize that, but oh well. Fools in love, right?
She made me promise to tell you the truth.
Of course she did. Nothing more fun than to have the boy I like twist the knife a little deeper, right?
And I wanted that, too. We’re like a family now, and families stick up for each other, through the good and bad.
I believed that, and I knew Johnny believed that, too, but Dahlia?
And she just wants you to know, she doesn’t hold it against you. After what she did to you, it was only natural, she said, that you’d try to get back at her. But…if you ask me, I think it’s not the same. Dahlia was sixteen like you when she did what she did. But you’re a grown up now, and the method you’ve chosen…I’m just disappointed and sad.
Johnny’s words had confused me at first, but when he kept on talking about vengeance never being the answer and how there were certain lines that people should never cross, things had started making sense eventually, and for a few moments, I had been in complete shock, unable to believe that the bitch had done it again. I wasn’t sure how she had managed to pull it off, but as Johnny went on and on rather self-righteously on the need to forgive and move on, I could only think of one thing. She had done it again—-
Don’t you think it’s a little sick to sell your own sister to the devil? Did you really think you’d be able to get away with it?
And I was right.
Even after everything Johnny knew about Dahlia and me, the bitch had still found a way to turn the tables around. Just like what she had done to my former best friends and high school crush, she had once again convinced someone I had stupidly trusted to think the worst of me.
Johnny actually believed that I was the one who had agreed to have sex and get pregnant for money, and later on arranged to have Dahlia take the fall as an act of revenge.
Clever heartless bitch, my twin was, with the way she had diabolically maneuvered everything so that she’d be laughing her way to the bank – and Johnny’s bed, too – while I ended up with a smoking gun in my hands and trapped in the shittiest place in the world, which Google Maps would tell you was somewhere between a huge fucking rock and a hard place.
Since I’d never risk having Greg behind bars, Dahlia knew I could only choose one or the other: keep my V-card and get my ass sued…or throw away my pride and have a stranger knock me up.
My mind flashed back to the latter part of the interview and how Dahlia had so obviously misunderstood the lawyer about the appearance of her prospective “employer”. I bet, oh I’d fucking bet she’d love to hear how, with my back against the wall, I had ended up saying yes and letting an ugly old fuck use me as his breeding cow.
Unfortunately for her, however…
An idea took hold of my mind, an idea so fucking crazy that pigs might as well fly first before it happened.
It would never work, Smarter Side of Me scoffed.
But if it did…
Oh, if it fucking did…
It might just have Dahlia shitting in her pants for the rest of her life, and the thought alone had me making up my mind.
Dear Ms. Teller,
This is to acknowledge receipt of payment for Job Order XV19.
Packing shall commence at 1000h and estimate completion time of the job will be 1800h.
Thank you for your trust, and please do not hesitate to contact us for any concerns or additional requests.
Green Lit Moving Company.
Un-fucking-believable. I had such a hard time believing what I was seeing that I found myself turning back to step out of the room and make sure I was in the right place.
That was my room.
I stepped back into my apartment and found myself thinking again, Un-fucking-believable. I honestly thought the message in my inbox this morning had been some kind of scam and hadn’t thought twice about throwing it into the junk folder right away.
But obviously, I was wrong.
That shit about the moving company clearing my place was for real.
Like, my-entire-apartment-was-now-empty kind of real.
The clothes I had hanging inside the cabinets, my underwear, and even the ones that I had inside the laundry basket? Gone.
The stuff on my desk? Nowhere in sight.
Even my fucking bedsheets and the art prints I had taped to my mirror – everything had been packed off, and just as I started seeing red, I heard my phone ring.
The number wasn’t saved in my contacts, but that didn’t matter. Only one person could be calling me at this moment, and I answered it right away, yelling, “Where the fuck are my things, you asshole?”