Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)(72)

She could hear it, and knew he could, too.

“And you know what, Tate? You were right. I did. I totally did deserve it. I deserve all of this, too, because honestly, anyone this f*cking stupid should never get some fabulous and amazing happy ending. I f*cking knew exactly what you were and still let you fool me. I honestly thought you cared for me, even after everything that happened.”

“You weren’t wrong to think I care for you, Letty, you—”

“Oh just f*cking stop it, Tate, stop. There is nothing you can say that will make me believe you. You can’t trick some bumbling professor into setting me up a second time. I won’t take off my clothes again or tell you I love you—it’s done; it’s completely done. You’ve wrung every bit of joy and life and love right out of me, and now there’s not even enough to make it funny for you anymore.”

“You don’t mean that. Come on, tell me you don’t mean that part about it all being wrung out,” he said, voice and tone and expression so full of a kind of pleading desperation that for a second she almost wavered. She had to glance away to get a grip on herself. She had to remember how good he was at knowing exactly how to get her, before she could go on.

“I’m sorry if it ruins your plans to torment me until the end of time. I really am. But it will always and forever be the case from now on. I never want to look at your disgusting face, or hear your pathetic voice, or acknowledge a stupid word you say, ever again.”

“That was…that was really harsh.”

“You think that was harsh? Oh, it’s got nothing on the stuff I came up with over years and years of sheer loathing. The hours I spent lovingly crafting insults just for you, my love. And now I have nothing left to lose, and a hundred times the ammunition.”

She stopped there, partly to calm her rising voice.

Mostly so she could push past him, while the blood was still hot in her veins. She didn’t think he would stop her, but who knew really? Who knew what this man was capable of—this man who stood there silently as she opened the door, still playing the part of a broken man?

She even saw him close his eyes as she spat her goodbye, so real it actually left her satisfied.

Like she’d really hurt him with that one last parting shot.

“Go on and give me an excuse to use it, motherf*cker.”





Chapter 23


It took a month for him to accept the game was over. A month of deleted emails and texts, of him knocking on her door in the middle of the night. One time she woke from a fitful sleep to hear Lydia screaming at him in the hallway; in the morning she showed Letty the mark on the wall where she’d thrown a shoe. I would have thrown a hammer if I was confident I would hit his massive head, she’d said, as they lay in her bed all snuggled down together.

And to her surprise, she found it helped.

Having a real friend after the fact helped. There was someone there to hold her hand when things got rough, someone there to form a buffer between herself and everything that was awful and nightmarish. When they passed him in the hall, Lydia acted as a shield. She gave Letty the strength to look right through him, no matter how much she might want to search his face for some sign of the other him.

The fake him. The him he had made up, just to f*ck with her.

It was brutal. But it got better. Or at the very least, it got easier. So easy, in fact, that when she saw Chad skulking toward the picnic table she had chosen—to avoid the cafeteria, where Tate nearly always was—she barely flinched. She didn’t look down. She stared at him the whole way, stony faced, so that by the time he got to them he knew he was unwelcome.

And if he didn’t, her tone made it clear.

“If he honestly thinks he’s going to get to me through you, I should probably let you both know: that’s the f*cking stupidest plan I’ve ever heard of.”

“That…no. No, I just saw you and thought…”

“Thought what, Chad? That I might flash a boob and let you get another picture?”

To his credit he turned crimson and looked away.

And then less to his credit, he kept trying.

Christ, why did they keep trying?

“So I guess that is why you don’t talk to him anymore. Because of me.”

“Is that really what you’re claiming he told you? That this is all your fault?”

She put just the right amount of sarcasm in her voice.

But it didn’t have any effect. He was on a roll now, apparently.

“He doesn’t tell me anything anymore. We haven’t talked since the black eye, and even then it was pretty much just you f*cking f*ck you f*ck you if you ever do that again I will turn you into a f*ck f*ck f*ck.”

“What exactly is a f*ck f*ck f*ck?”

“I dunno, but I didn’t want it to happen to me, so…”

“So you thought you’d come over here and pretend that you guys weren’t in on all of it together? You know I have to say, that was a pretty convincing attempt. It almost makes me want to hear what comes next.”

“Nothing comes next. I don’t even know what you’re talking about—there was no in on anything together with Tate. I did a dumb thing and he threatened to f*ck f*ck f*ck me, that was it. And if you’ve ever seen what he’s got in his underpants, you should totally understand why I am terrified of that. Like, I wouldn’t even be here talking to you if I thought he cared anymore, just in case this casual chat gets me a minif*ck.”