Page 5 of My Vicious Beast
Sienna
How long?
The thought flashes through my brain before I can stop it.
I don't truly want to know the answer. I don't want to know how long I've spent believing his lies. Their lies. But I can't stop myself from spiraling.
How long has this been going on? Six months? A year? The whole time?
When did it begin? At my birthday party? Our parents' anniversary dinner?
What about all the time James and I were together? The way he held me? Looked at me?
Was any of it ever real?
A sob rips through me as I rack my brain for something, anything. Proof that at some point, he did love me.
A torn photo lies near my knee and I remember that day and so many others like it. Days where I thought, I'm so lucky. I've found my person. But if that was true then when did I lose him?
Was it a fight? Something I said or did? Was it me?
When did he decide I wasn't enough?
Or did I ever truly have him in the first place?
Was I just a placeholder for him? Someone convenient? The girl who made meals and rubbed his back after a shift? The girl he could come home to, complain to, dump all his shit on, until something younger, thinner, and more exciting came along?
Until Aubrey?
I choke on her name and hug my knees to my chest.
My baby sister.
I took care of her, soothed every nightmare, bandaged every scratch and cut, fed her, gave her advice, gave her my clothes. My time. My everything.
And she repaid me by spreading her legs for the only man I'd ever loved.
It doesn't matter how tightly I squeeze my eyes, how hard I press my palms to them, or how deep I breathe—I can't get the image of them out of my mind or the questions to stop.
I bury my face in my hands and scream, a hoarse, broken wail that does nothing to ease my heartache.
I wish I could turn it off—the need to understand. The obsession with why.
Why me? Why not a stranger? Why her?
My eyes dart around the room as if the answers are here, waiting for me. As if I just look hard enough, I'll be able to see the moment they started, and we fell apart. But the torn photos, shredded anniversary cards, broken trinkets and artwork from the flea market, even the nightstands we DIYed together, don't reveal a thing.
My gaze drifts to my engagement ring, still perfectly glittering on my finger.
Why did he propose to me?
The thought hits me like a bucket of ice-cold water, a wave of nausea rolling over me.
James proposed three months ago. Aubrey said she's eight weeks pregnant. He fucked me not even three days ago.
He's been sleeping with both of us at the same time.
I lurch toward the trash bin, retching until my throat burns and my knees tremble against the hard floor.
