When I was a teenager, I used to show up to school with black eyes at least once a month. They were gifts from my stepdad, Chuck. We’d get into physical altercations anytime he and my mom would argue. As a little boy, I couldn’t do anything to protect her, but as a teen with a gigantic growth spurt, I became the buffer between blows. I still wasn’t as strong as him, but I’d land just as many punches, so the fights were fairer.

But after the night I swung a bat at Chuck’s head, and my mother lied to the police for me, I’ve never let another sorry sack of shit underestimate what I’m capable of doing.

So, as I have a stare-down with Angie’s ex-husband, who I know played manipulative games to put her in a mental hospital, I want to beat the ever-loving fuck out of him. He’s not as tall as me, but he towers over Angie with a cocky sneer that has her frozen. And I won’t have him intimidate her for another second.

“Get behind me, Angie,” I growl, my glare locked on fuck face. 

“Who are you?” he repeats, so I crack my knuckles.

“The guy who’s about to wipe the floor with you.”

Angie tugs my sleeve, shaking her head with eyes wide. “Miguel, no.” 

“Angie, seriously. Who is this clown?” her ex-husband says to her, and he has some nerve to call me a clown with his Chiclet-looking teeth.

“Clown? I’ll show you how I clown around!” 

Grabbing a fistful of his sweaty shirt collar, I’m prepared to launch his ass across the room, but someone shoves between us, and I’m being pushed in the opposite direction. My boots slide against the hardwood floor as I shove back, but Jackson is in my face, hissing at me to calm down. 

“This isn’t the time!” Jackson says, and I try to weave around him, but he locks my arms with his. 

However, I don’t hear a word of whatever else he says. Instead, I focus on Angie’s deadbeat ex-husband and the distance between us. I’ll climb over Jackson if I have to and have at him like a wolf devouring a carcass. 

“Calm your ass,” Jackson growls. “This isn’t the right time.”

“Nah. This is the perfect fucking time! Get out of my way.”

“Don’t be stupid,” he says in my ear, and behind him, Angie stands frozen, her gaze on the floor like a scolded puppy. Even her flesh has turned white, and her fingers tremble at her sides as Alma tries steering her away. “Think about Angie. Think about how he might retaliate if you fight him now. We gotta stick to the plan.”

“You should go home, Angie,” her ex-husband says. 

“Fuck off,” Alma huffs. “All you assholes are the same.”

“Shit.” Jackson’s shoulders drop. “Not her too.”

Letting go of me, he turns around and pulls Alma into him before she goes off. So, I take Angie by the elbow and place myself in front of her, but Jackson is right. Fighting this shit stain isn’t the way to go, but I can still be petty, so I spit at her ex-husband's feet, and he jumps back. 

“Get moving,” I say.

“Real nice, Angie,” Her ex-husband snarls. “The company you keep looks toxic. I’ll bring that up in our next meeting with your psychiatrist.”

“You won’t be doing shit,” I laugh. “In fact, you have two choices. You can exit the club on your own or have me and a gang of bouncers hurl your ass onto the street. Either way, you need to leave.”

“Ooh, scary,” he mocks, so I get in his face. 

“I can show you scary. All you have to do is look at Angie the wrong way, and I will fuck your whole world up—leaving you sipping food through a straw. Test me. I dare you.”

“No need, Rambo. I’ve seen all I need to see…” He adjusts his shirt collar and holds out his elbow for a redhead who hooks her arm through his. “By the way, Angie. Have you met my fiancé?”

My jaw drops at his audacity to flaunt her in Angie’s face. The girl appears half his age, so she’s definitely a mid-life crisis for him, and now that I see her, I remember letting them into the club earlier. Had I known who they were, I would have said to get lost.

The two of them brush past us, with the cherry bomb looking down her nose at Angie. Her emerald dress is stunning against her fire hair and fair skin, yet everything about her is hideous as she sizes up my Angie with an air of superiority.

Who the fuck does she think she is? 

That little tart is a seven at best. Whereas Angie is a damn twelve, so if her ex thinks he upgraded, he better try harder.

As they disappear into the crowd of swaying bodies and flashing lights, Angie follows them with her gaze, then spins to clobber my chest with her fists.

“You’ve just made things worse, you big, cocky asshole!”

“Whoa!” I grab her wrists. “Take it easy.”

“Why couldn’t you just let it go?” she shouts. “I was leaving, but no. You had to puff out your chest and have a dick-measuring contest with Jeremiah!” 

Pointing in their direction, I furrow my brows. “You think I’m going to let that piece of shit intimidate you? Hell no. Over my dead fucking body. Guys like him do not get to win, so this changes nothing.”

“He’s going to use this against me.” Angie turns away. “I’ve got to go.”

Her arm slips through my fingers as she gets swallowed by dancers, and despite being as tall as I am, I can’t spot her weaving through the crowd. Alma chases after her, but Jackson stays behind and squeezes my shoulder. 

“Looks like our night of fun is over. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I should get back to work anyway,” I say, rubbing the back of my head.

“Listen, don’t worry about Angie. Everything will be fine.’ He winks. “You know how moody she gets.”

“Yes, I do.” I motion in the direction of the grand staircase. “I’ll walk you out.”

We skim the perimeter of the crowd like sharks circling the tank, our eyes peeled for Alma and Angie, but then Jackson taps my arm and points to the top of the stairs. Angie is clomping up the steps, taking two at a time, with eager strides. Alma is on her tail, and I’m surprised neither of them has twisted an ankle. Their stilettos make their legs look incredible, but they were not made for running. We pick up speed to catch up, but by the time we make it outside, they’re halfway down the street.

“How do they walk that fast?” I ask.

“I don’t know, but I better hurry after them,” Jackson says. “We parked far, and they shouldn’t be wandering alone in the dark.”

“Hit me up tomorrow.” 

“Indeed.” He throws a peace sign over his shoulder.

With the whirlwind of hurricane Angie out of the way, I get back to work, but for the rest of the night, I keep thinking about her ex-husband. 

He isn’t what I imagined with his sleek businessman looks, ash blonde hair, and piercing snake eyes. Angie is so different with her rough edges and raggedy fur coat. It makes me wonder what she saw in him and, therefore, what she saw in me? We’re opposites. He’s also older and what my mother would call a cradle robber since it’s obvious he likes his ladies young. Perhaps in his sick mind, they’re easier to control and manipulate.

By the end of my shift, I’m still thinking about that asshole and the smug look on his pretty yet haggard face. So, I text Mindy to let her know I’m heading home—hoping she’ll come over, but I leave out the part about wanting to fix myself ten fucking fingers of whiskey to drown my thoughts.

The apartment is dark when I enter, with a sliver of amber streetlight trickling through the curtains. Mindy hasn’t texted back yet, and it almost feels like I see and hear less from her now.

The Sisters have her busy, which I’m still on edge about, and I’d usually talk to Gwen about it, but after storming out of her office, I’m a bit embarrassed to see her. It’s midnight, so not as late as other nights when I get off work, and I should probably sleep instead of drink, but I head across the living room to the little buffet table where I keep the liquor.

Waving my finger over the bottles, I snatch the vodka. It’ll burn my throat and send me into oblivion the way I want, so I pour a generous amount. As I’m about to take a sip, a knock at the door has me pausing with the glass mid-air. My gaze shifts from the drink to the door and toward my room, where a gun is hidden under the bed. I should grab it. The last thing I need is for Kay to be on the other side with whatever bullshit is on the agenda next. 

Unless it’s Mindy?

Creeping towards the door, I try not to make a sound as I press my eye to the peephole and... fuck.

It’s not Kay.

It’s not Mindy.

Or even Angie.

It’s my ex.

Opening the door a crack, I look at her with brows furrowed. Her head tilts back, and her eyes look a little red. Judging by the white hoodie, black leggings, and red converse, she must have come here from her apartment. 

“Celia, what are you doing here?”

“I ran into your mom today.” She barges in, forcing me to step aside, but I leave the door open to be safe.

“Celia, what the fuck. You can’t be here. You have a restraining order against me, remember?”

“Whatever. It’s bullshit anyway.”

“Are… are you drunk?” 

“Fuck off.” Her knees sway.

“Yeah, you are. You need to leave.”

“No. I ran into your mom today!”

“So?” 

“So she loves giving me shit anytime she sees me.”

“Yeah, so?” I shrug. “Can’t handle her venom? Truth hurts, huh.”

“She never did like me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is!” Celia barks then brings her hand to her face. “Can I sit?”

But she doesn’t wait for my permission. Instead, she plops onto the yellow sectional and props her converse on the coffee table, crossing an ankle over the other. The cast of light from the windows skims her black leggings, accentuating the muscular tone of her legs as she stares at me with tiny, drunk eyes. Even after her betrayal and lies, she still does something to me. There’s so much history between us going back to when we were teens.

I still love her. 

But I’ll never say that out loud.

“Get your shoes off my table,” I say.

“Don’t change the subject. Your mom hates me.”

“Yeah, well, you ripped her son’s heart out of his chest…” I close the door, lean against it, and fold my arms. “Why are you here, drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!”

“Jesus…” I drop my head in my hands. “It’s like a damn broken record.”

“Can I have water?”

“No.”

“Ah, come on, Miguel.”

“You showed up here, drunk, after getting a restraining order on me, and now you want me to cater to you? Hell no. You’re delusional. I should call Ramona to pick you up.”

“It’s Sapphire!”

“No, her name is plain ol’ fucking Ramona, and you left me for her.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Things between Sapphire— 

“Ramona!” I correct.

“Sapphire,” Celia growls. “Things between her and I have always been complicated.”

“You mean controlling. Manipulative.”

“No.”

“Yes.” I walk over to the couch and sink onto the coffee table, forcing Celia to retract her legs. “When we were in high school, she always got in the way and would make you feel guilty for being with me. But now I know why. Because she was in love with you, and you guys fooled around off and on for years. I wish you had told me you’re a lesbian sooner.”

“I’m not a lesbian!”

“Then what are you?” I bark. 

“I just…” She shrugs, shaking her head. “I’ve only loved two people. You and Sapphire—”

“Ramona!”

“Miguel!” Celia clenches her fists. 

“Fine. Whatever. Call her a fucking gemstone.”

Celia composes herself with a deep breath. “There’s familiarity with her, and it’s safe. Comforting.”

Scoffing, I fold my arms. “Yeah, and how did it feel with me? Like hell?”

“No, Miguel. I loved you.”

“But not as much as you love her.”

Celia leans forward, and her face is inches from mine as she stares into my eyes. “When we broke up at the beginning of our senior year of high school, it was because something inside you died along with Chuck. You were withdrawn, snippy, cold, and stopped smiling. You became a shell. So I went on with life and went to college, but you stayed in your shell to take care of your mom. Even though she was the adult and should have taken care of you.”

“So what changed when we ran into each other three years later at that concert? Why did you sleep with me that night? Why did we get back together.”

“Because you seemed better.” She studies me, licking her lips, but I can’t tell if it’s because she wants to kiss me or if she’s parched. “That night at the concert, you were like the old Miguel again—sweet and funny, and I knew right then I was still in love with you.”

I can’t with this shit. 

This woman tore my heart into shreds and has kept secrets from me. Not to mention the affair she had with her dad’s coworker when she was seventeen. So now I’m wondering how long after we broke that, it began.

“Why are you here, Celia?”

“Because sometimes I miss you.” She cups my cheeks. “And when I ran into your mom, she lit my ass up, and for the rest of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about all those old memories of us.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t think about them.” 

She searches my eyes, her hands still on my face. “Sometimes I think about when we went to Big Sur and made love in the woods.” 

“You did always have a thing for fucking outdoors.”

“Remember that night when we were twenty-one, and we went to that bonfire out on Ocean Beach? How we found that cave?”

“Yeah… I remember.” I drop my head, causing her hands to slip away. That night used to be one of my favorite memories. Why is she bringing it up? What is the point of this shit?

“We fucked against the rough cave wall, and I could feel the rocks digging into my back. Afterward, I had little cuts everywhere, but I didn’t care because you made me come so hard it echoed in the cave, and I thought everyone might hear us.”

I scoff, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I remember Ramona getting pissed off because we disappeared.” 

“Can we not talk about her right now?” 

I huff. “Touchy subject?”

“No. We’ve just been fighting lately.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about.”

“No…” she sighs and lifts my chin. “We had good days, didn’t we? We were happy more than we were miserable.”

“You tell me, Celia. You’re the one who left me.”

“I told you. It’s complicated. We’re toxic together.”

“The only thing toxic in our relationship was Ramona, poisoning your mind against me.”

“I still love you, despite everything,” she says, and as Celia stares into my eyes, pouring her soul, I think about the abortions she kept hidden from me. 

How can she still love me yet do everything that indicates the opposite?

“You don’t love me, Celia…” I drag her hands away from my face.

“I do.” She tries to bring them back up, but I bat them away and stand.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have had—”

But I slam the breaks on finishing the sentence. I’m not ready to tell her I know her dirty secrets. That’s a fight for another day.

“Miguel.” She stands and drapes her arms around me. “I don’t know how to stop loving you.”

“Fuck.” I look away, my heart twisting and my chest aching as the words spill from my mouth, “I don’t know how to stop either.”

Every beat in my chest tells me I need to flee from the apartment—get the hell away from this Jezebel. Yet, my hand drifts to the back of her head, taking a fistful of her chestnut waves and mash my mouth to hers. Kissing Celia is like dancing to my favorite song. I know all the moves and the right time to change steps as our lips synchronize to a rhythm we’ve known since we were teenagers. 

But it doesn’t stop there. 

We remove our shirts, and I push her pants down while she fumbles with my belt between hungry kisses. My jeans fall to my ankles, and she’s sliding off her underwear, so I roll my boxers to the floor and kick them away. Celia giggles, and it’s a laugh I haven’t heard in so long it makes me forget that not long ago, I punched a whole through bitch-face Ramona’s coffee table.

“I’ve missed you.” She yanks me by the neck and clamps her mouth on mine. 

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know the electricity between us is one that feels etched in my skin like tattoos.

So I place my hands under her ass, I lift her, and she wraps her legs around me as I search for the nearest place to make her orgasm into another dimension. 

Remembering the cave, I walk us to the nearest wall and brace her against it. Celia wastes no time reaching between us and guiding my dick into her soaking pussy.

“No one else can make me come as you can," she breathes, our mouths skimming each other. "I want you to fuck me hard.” 

So I do. I slide deep inside her with a powerful thrust, causing her to gasp, and she bites down on my shoulder to muffle it. However, I don’t want her to be shy. We are far beyond that, so I thrust and thrust, forcing moans like I’m punishing her for all the wrongs she’s done to me. Celia closes her eyes, but I need her to watch as I fuck her in a way that dickless Ramona could never fuck her.

“Look at me!” I demand.

So she does, and stares directly into my eyes with heavy lids and holds on tighter, her nails digging into my flesh. But somewhere in my head is a voice shouting at me to stop. It doesn’t matter that being inside Celia feels like home and that I want to stay here forever. 

But what the fuck am I thinking? 

She betrayed me and is the biggest liar I have ever met in my life. Suddenly, her warm, wet pussy is like acid on my dick, and it becomes flaccid from the thought of her. So I pull away and don’t even bother to set her down kindly. 

Her feet smack the floor, and she’s livid. “What the hell, Miguel! I wasn’t done.”

“Well, I was.” I grab my shirt from the floor and wipe her juices off my soft dick. 

Why did I allow myself to put mini Miguel inside her infested, disloyal cooter? 

Nostalgia. 

That’s why.

“You want to know what the problem has always been?” I tug my pants on. “It’s that I was never going to win with Ramona always around. You love her. Not me. You chose her. Not me. Now get the fuck out.”

Scooping up her clothing, I chuck them at her, and she misses as she tries to catch them. She sucks back a sob and bends to retrieve her clothes. 

“Fuck you, Miguel.”

“Been there, done that.” I walk to the buffet table, where my drink is still waiting for me. “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.” 

“I hate you. I so hate you!” Celia shouts as she pulls her clothes on. 

“Sure you do.” I plop onto the couch and raise my glass. “Thanks for the fuck.”

The door slams behind her as she exits my apartment, but instead of feeling triumphant for telling Celia where to go and how to get there, I feel like the glass of vodka I just emptied.

It scalds my throat as I swallow, and I deserve it.

I deserve this emptiness.