Ellie is Cool Now

Chapter 19

"I wasn't supposed to pick you up until four," Mark spits out.

Stop talking.

Oh my God.

"We got done early so I got a ride, since you didn't respond to any of my fucking messages."

It's impossible to look away from the carnage.

Spilled milk spreads out in a pool, covering the entry room rug, splashing against the crushed bread bag, seeping into the slats of the wood floor. An egg carton flopped open and now sticky yellow yolk stains the side of Liz's white Keds.

It's a crime scene, and I'm a serial kisser.

Momentarily, my eyes flick to the back of Mark's head. He runs his fingers through his hair and yanks the sides so they stick out straight like a shot of electricity went through them. I can see the swirl of a cowlick at the crown, and suddenly I'm remembering all the times I sat staring at it in homeroom, all through high school, and I can't help it. I smile.

"Are you smiling?" Liz asks, her voice vibrating at a frequency of kill. She takes a single step closer to me, and Mark moves into her path. His hand stretches out to stop her, and she glares at it like her eyes can set it on fire.

"Wow." She laughs, but her lips twist like she has a bad taste in her mouth. "Protecting your big city slut." The t at the end of slut rings in my ears.

It's beneath her to use that word and she knows it. Her eyes sheen with tears she's trying to hold back. My own burn—just like the tip of my tongue—with all I'm not saying.

We stare at each other for a blistering second.

No matter what their relationship is like. No matter how much I have always wanted this. I'm a thief, Mark is a cheater, and we defiled her couch with our make-out session. Not exactly role model behavior.

She flicks her eyes from me to Mark, beaming lasers of death through him. He doesn't turn to ash, but his cheeks burn red from the heat of her gaze.

"Fuck," he breathes. I get a sick feeling in my stomach. "I fucked up."

She clutches her house keys in her hand until I am one-thousand percent sure she'll draw blood.

"You fucked up?" She lunges at him. The keys are a weapon. He puts his hands up to shield himself from her wrath unleashed.

Oh. Shit.

I slide behind the couch, hoping to use it as a shield should she maim him and then decide to come for me. She's screaming at him, all her Woodland Sprite features lit up like Galadriel when she touches the One Ring in Lord of the Rings. It's ferocious and personal. I'm embarrassed to be watching. She's saying things like how could you and is this because I haven't been in the mood lately and other secret, awful stuff I shouldn't be privy to.

"It's not your fault." Mark's voice cuts through the screaming panic of Liz's. She stops shouting and goes eerily quiet, her lip quivering as tears stream down her face in anguish. "I'm an asshole," he says.

"You're a spineless, fucking asshole," she edits. She yanks her engagement ring off her finger and throws it at his feet. He doesn't even flinch. He just watches her rage dissolve into sobs. She covers her face with her hands and he says nothing else—just calmly wraps his arms around her, and she lets him.

Jesus. I so don't want to watch this. I don't want to hear about how much he loves her. I don't want to see them kiss and make up and smooth things over. It's the most selfish I've ever been in my life, but I want him to be mine. I want to go back to a time when I could have had Mark all to myself, no fiancée or anything else to get in our way.