Down and Out(75)

The front door opens right as I set our plates on the table.
Perfect timing.
I hurry out into the foyer. Declan pauses when he sees me, lowering his eyes before he shuts and locks the door behind him.
He doesn’t look happy to see me. At all.
Smiling nervously, I hitch my thumb towards the dining nook and say, “You’re just in time for dinner. I made spaghetti.” I purposely stayed up late to cook so we could sit down and eat together. Macy’s right, I should cut him some slack, and this is my attempt at extending an olive branch. I won’t admit I’m wrong or back down from doing the fight, but maybe—hopefully—this can be the first step to getting back to . . . us. Normal. Whatever the hell we were before it all went to shit.
Declan glances at the table, but makes no move to sit down. “You didn’t have to make me dinner if you wanted sex. You could’ve just asked.” His mouth turns up into a cocky smirk. “You know I’m up for it.”
My lips purse as irritation flashes through me, and for the millionth time, I regret walking into the shower on that night. What the hell had I been thinking?
Oh, yeah, that I missed his arrogant, bossy ass and I didn’t want to fight with him. Same thing I was thinking tonight before he walked in and opened his stupid mouth.
I feel a sarcastic comeback brewing, and I smile caustically in return. “No, thanks. I’m not in the mood to be left high and dry tonight.”
Declan’s smug look only grows as he walks past me. “By no means did I leave you dry.”
Okay, now Declan’s being a twat. My face flames as I stalk back into the dining nook and grab the plates, then take them into the kitchen. “You want to be an ass, be an ass. I was only trying to— Never mind.” The plates clatter on the countertop as I dig out a Tupperware container from the cabinet.
“You were only trying to what?” Declan’s voice softens as he comes up behind me.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Declan’s like a stranger now, and it really f*cking hurts to know that I’ve lost the closest thing I ever had to a best friend. And on top of that, I feel stupid for missing him, because he doesn’t seem to feel the same way.
How could he give up on me—on us—so easily? And after everything he said, all the declarations he made about winning me over. . . Were they all just lies? Did he just want in my pants like every other guy?
My mind automatically flits back to that night in the shower. He took what he wanted without any regard for my needs. I might’ve provoked him, and I might’ve instigated the whole thing, but that was still a dick move.
And he says I’m the mean one.
Sex wasn’t even my intention that night. Granted, I knew it was almost guaranteed to happen, but that wasn’t my sole purpose. Believe me, if I just wanted to get off, I’d have done it myself instead of literally baring myself like that. It took a lot of courage to strip in front of him and then get in that shower. I’d been so brazen that night, and it was all for Declan. I wanted to show him that I was still trying—that I still wanted him—and it blew up in my face.
So why am I stubbornly clinging to this little sliver of hope that things will go back to normal? They won’t. I see that now.
I’m afraid the damage that’s been done is irreversible. I feel unwelcome around him now. I don’t think he wants me here, but because of that stupid lease, he can’t ask me to leave.
My throat tightens as I wonder if that’s why he’s being an ass. Maybe he’s anxious for me to take the hint and get the hell out of his apartment already.
Yeah, well, I’ve got your message loud and clear, *.
I’m angrily scooping our uneaten spaghetti into a container when I feel his hand on my shoulder and hear his cajoling, “Talk to me, Kitten.”
Hearing that damn name sets off a kneejerk reaction and I turn and shove Declan’s chest, making him stumble back in surprise. “No.” Tears prick my eyes as my chest aches. It feels like it’s been sliced open.
I’ve missed that nickname for two weeks. I never thought I’d hear it again. Now I wish I hadn’t, because the bittersweet feeling tearing through me is too much to handle.
My hand trembles as I point at him. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. You’ve lost that right.”
Declan wisely doesn’t say anything as I walk around him and head back to my room, slamming the door behind me. He can take the slack I’ve cut him and choke himself with it for all I care.









I’ve lost that right? I’ve lost that right?
I can’t believe she just said that. She’ll always be my Kitten, whether she wants to be or not.
My throat tightens as I realize it’s “not.” She doesn’t want to be my Kitten anymore. She doesn’t want to be my anything. . .
The hardwood floor turns watery and distorted as I stare at it, my eyes stinging with every unshed tear. What she said cut me so deep it f*cking gutted me. Left my heart and entrails all over the floor in a bloody, heaping mess. I look back up at her closed door, my hands curling into fists as I automatically take a step in its direction.
She might not want to be mine, but I’m hers, body and soul. She f*cking owns me, so her skinny, bitchy ass is stuck with me. And if she doesn’t like it?
Too. Fucking. Bad.
I’m half a second away from throwing open her door and barging in there when the rational part of my brain pipes up and says that might not be the best idea. Bastard’s usually MIA when it comes to Savannah, but he’s insisting—pretty loudly, I might add—that if I go in there half-cocked, I’m liable to screw things up even more.