Corrupted Chaos (Tarnished Empire)(6)

There it was. The thing he’d always promised me didn’t matter. He promised to not use it against me and the motherfucker just did. “But, Gerald, you said—”

“I know what I said. I meant it. It’s just really hard to have a good time when I know you can’t drink too much or indulge in new things because you’re scared of your ‘addictive personality.’” He air quoted himself like it wasn’t a real thing. “Lucy is a nice breath of fresh air on the side. If you met her, you’d understand. We should all get brunch—it might smooth things over a bit.”

Nope.

I’d sort of always known this guy wasn’t the one for me. I should have had butterflies when he kissed me, right?

I should have wanted him home early from a work trip rather than for him to stay another day.

I should have, but I never did.

Everything with him was mediocre, but I’d tried. I’d stopped myself from breaking up with him time and time again because I knew that some things weren’t meant to be only emotional highs or lows. If I didn’t miss him when he was gone, so what? That was me being an adult and handling our separation maturely.

Now, though, it all made sense. “I’m going to go ahead and make this easy for you. We’re done.”

“Sugar, take a deep breath.” He pouted like a child.

“Gerald, don’t call me. Don’t text me. This is over.” I opened the car door, but he grabbed my arm.

“Izzy, I do love you.” I sort of believed him. He was sweating now and cracking his knuckles with his other hand like he didn’t want this to end. “Please, sugar. I really do.”

He leaned in to kiss me. I think I was so shocked I didn’t react at first, the whiplash of his speech caught me off guard. Then his hand went up my shirt like he was trying to cop a feel.

I jerked away and shoved him. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“We were always good together like this. Let’s take some deep breaths and go to brunch with Lucy, baby. It’ll all be fine. We need you.”

“We?”

“Me,” he corrected. “I need you. I love you.” His eyes were attempting the hooded, sultry look, but instead he appeared drowsy and stupid.

“The fact that you think we were good together anywhere just proves that this was never a match to begin with.” I stopped myself from saying more. I was better at controlling my temper now.

My therapist was right about that.

“Good riddance, Gerald Johnson III.” I rolled my eyes and ripped my arm away from him as I got out of the car.

Of course, the man couldn’t let a breakup be clean and easy. He had to roll down his window and make a fool out of us both. “Good riddance? I gave you everything. I just needed a little something in return. Not a whore going to a costume party with her big ass out. That should be for me to see only anyway.”

Right.

So, this is probably a good time to state that, as a twin, I wasn’t the good one. Delilah was. She got the good grades, she was the one who never rebelled, never caused too much of a stir. The one who smoothed over a situation instead of making it worse.

I, on the other hand, barely made it through high school and got sent to juvie when I was so loaded I attempted to shoplift. I don’t really remember it. It was a low point for me.

I had my reasons and I kept them locked away in a box under my bed.

This was who I was though. Even though I always had a family that showered me with love throughout my whole life. Addiction can affect anyone.

I didn’t need to come from a troubled family or past to have drugs hook their claws into me. Fentanyl worked fast, manmade and potent. It took one time experimenting with a friend, and I was hooked. A few bad occurrences later, and that was it.

But juvie shaped me into one of the lucky ones. I got clean, I went to rehab, I tried not to look back.

Still, I wasn’t the good twin. I really tried to be someone like my valedictorian of a sister. But if I was honest with myself, I was the fucking fireball you threw in when you wanted hell, not the angel who’d bring you heaven like my sister.

Quite frankly, I’d dressed as Harley Quinn for a reason. My shirt had Daddy’s Lil Monster printed across it, and the red lipstick contrasting against my pale face makeup gave the impression of outrageous behavior.

The costume was all about fun but suddenly, it felt right. I wondered why I was holding back. Why did a woman always have to suppress her emotions so she wouldn’t offend anyone else? We were entitled to—no, we deserved—the space to feel when we’d been wronged.

My costume fit the bill tonight.

I strode right back up to his car and dug into my purse. I didn’t normally carry around spray paint, but earlier that day when I’d been getting the last parts of our costumes, I saw the red spray paint on sale and couldn’t resist. It was a vibrant bloodred. The perfect shade to draw the eye for a painting, or a bold color choice for restoring a piece of furniture.

I loved doing both things. They calmed my mind in a way most things couldn’t.

The spray paint would serve as such a good part of my next piece, but it was about to serve another purpose.

My steps slowed as I uncapped the can. Had he not been so dense, he could have taken the hint and driven off as I shook it.

“Izzy, what are you do—”