"Believe me, Jeremy, I didn't do anything!"
So, basically, I was back to arguing with my boyfriend/husband/Friend With Benefits/friend, (I actually don't know what he is to me right now, I have more pressing concerns), because he thought I did something at the hospital, again, which I did n o t.
I could hear his breath hitch from the other end of the line — something he either did when he was jacking off, or upset. Or both.
"You're lying," He said.
"How do you even know if I am or not!?"
"Michael, I know you! You've been just— just doing all this stuff and not saying anything to me—!"
"Yeah, because you don't care! You're always so cold! And if you're not being cold, you're high, which makes you act like such a dick! I can't even hold a normal conversation with you without feeling like shit after! You're impossible to date! We might as well fucking break up!"
Jeremy paused. Nothing could be heard except for the breathing on the other end of the phone. I heard him sniffle, which shot a pang of guilt through me.
He doesn't cry unless he's actually hurting.
I hurt him.
I did this.
What the hell's wrong with me? I've been telling myself that I don't care about him, and that he was just a pawn of mine. Although, I did swear I wouldn't hurt him (Which apparently, I did go back on).
Rich was supposed to be a slave that I could sell to help my Moms with their financial issues.
Jake was supposed to be another murder trial.
Brooke and Chloe were supposed to help me bail Christine out of jail. Which I am now doing by myself.
Jenna was supposed to be a pawn which I would use to get gossip and rumours from, so I would know whether I had to create another diversion or not.
But I don't know what Jeremy was supposed to be.
"Fine." Jeremy said, breaking me out of my trance. Something on the other line shifted, and I could only figure that he was standing up.
"Goodbye, Jere."
"Bye, Micha."
We hung up in sync. I put my phone down on the ground and collapsed to the ground, hot tears streaming down my cheeks and collecting again at my chin.
This isn't fair.
What'd I start?
And how do I finish it?
* * *
"So, Michael. Let me get this straight; You want me, to... set the place on fire...?" Brooke asked.
I plopped back down on the restaurant seats, grabbing my fork and downing a piece of omelette while the blonde looked at me in confusion.
"Mmh," I swallowed. "Yeah. I do."
"Why though?"
"Because... Okay, look;
I gave Christine a small piece of paper which told her what to do to get out of that hellhole. But for her to get out of there somewhat well, we have to create a diversion. You get me?"
Brooke glared at me, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. "How'd you hand her the paper without any of the guards noticing?"
"Easy," I smirked, "I kissed her and then slid the paper in her chest pocket."
"Ooh! That makes sense, I guess."
"So, Brooke, you in or out?"
"You bet your pretty Filipino ass I'm in."