Mistake (B.S.)

T W O

I couldn't talk to him. No way in hell could I fucking talk to him—not like this. I didn't want him to know that I knew; I couldn't stomach all the excuses and bullshit answers he was going to give me.

I can hear his lies in my own head—how he knew her, who she was to him. I can see things finally unfolding—I can see him turning it around on me and saying that it was my fault that it even happened.

I just wanted to go back to being oblivious. Whoever had invented the phrase "ignorance is bliss" was onto something. Some things were better left unknown.

For hours, I ignored my phone. I turned off the ringer and put it under a throw pillow downstairs, incase he wanted a reason why I wasn't answering his calls.

I can't find my phone.

Crying in the shower is awkward. You can't feel the warmth of your tears, all you feel is your face contorting to ugly expressions; and that godawful ache in the back of your throat that masks the pain in your chest.

I decided to do something—I was going to go out... alone. Anything was better than being here when Adam came home. If it meant going to a bar for a few drinks, so be it. Maybe by the time I came back, I'd be too drunk to care.

But standing in front of the vanity applying my second coat of mascara, I heard the front door open.

Fuck.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make myself stop listening to the footsteps coming up the stairs. The sound of their voices that ricocheted off the walls.

Wait... voices?

I tossed my mascara back into the bag, reaching for a bottle of foundation. I'd already put it on, but I pretended to be reading the ingredients on the back label in an attempt to seem oblivious of Adam and the problem that stood on my doorstep earlier.

Water, Cyclopentasiloxane, Octyldodecyl Neopentanoate Butylene Glycol-

There was a knock on the frame of the door, getting my attention. "Charlie..." He whispered.

But that wasn't Adam's voice. My head turned in his direction; my eyes widened and I could swear I was smiling.

He stood leaning against the frame, smirking at me. I swear, sometimes he didn't look real. His skin was so clear, it was like you could see right through it. His eyes were just as clear; big green eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I tossed the foundation back into the bag, rushing to close the space between us. I wrapped my arms around his neck, listening to him giggle softly.

"You look good. You going out?" He spoke, pulling away as he examined my face. He said I looked good. Well, those eyes may be pretty but they obviously couldn't see.

"Well... I was." I admit, moving back to the sink to clean up my mess. I didn't want to get bitched at for leaving anything out again. Although, the thought of intentionally leaving my shit out was tempting—I now knew why he fought with me about it.

"Did you guys have a fight?" He asked low, but his voice still echoed in the confines of the bathroom. I found myself creeping over his shoulder, making sure Adam couldn't hear.

"You have no idea." I whispered.

"What'd he do?" Bill spoke softly; his sweet voice not matching his massive stature.

I shook my head. I couldn't talk about it—not with him in the house.

"So what are you doing here? I thought you were coming in next month."