“Lyra, please…”
“Don’t touch me!”
She reached forward, and I stepped back so fast I nearly slipped on my own broken pride.
“You let me sob over him, you evil b***h. You hugged me while your panties still probably smelled like him. You knew how he made me feel. You knew how he humiliated me. And you still opened your legs like a damn invitation card.”
Tears were running down my face. My makeup was done. My chest was heaving. I could taste salt, heartbreak, rage, and a little bit of vodka.
“And for what?” I shouted. “For what, Tasha? For a five-minute f**k from a boy who couldn’t even handle a girl who respected her own boundaries? A boy who slut-shamed me for not giving him head and then turned around and called you easy behind your back?”
That made her flinch.
Yeah. I said it.
“Oh,
