Page 4 of The Hitman
I head straight to the bedroom because where else would my garbage almost-husband be? On the way, I see empty liquor bottles and takeout boxes, and I take some small comfort in knowing that his agent is going to be pissed at him for blowing his diet. I hope it costs him the movie role he shortened our honeymoon plans to take.
The bedroom door is open. I see the bed and Ryan’s body under the wreck of sheets before I’m even halfway across the living area. A quick scan of the bedroom floor tells me everything I need to know and squelches that tiny bit of hope I hadn’t realized I was harboring that what the news had reported might not have been true. The tornado of clothes scattered around the floor are a mix of Ryan’s and Trisha’s, the sheets, covers, and pillows are a rumpled mess, and Trisha’s whining crying from the hotel room door mixes with Ryan’s loud ass snoring. At least I’ll never have to hear that freight train in his nose again after today.
I take a deep breath and rush to the foot of the bed. I grab the comforters and yank them from his body. “Wake up, you piece of shit,” I yell as loud as I can.
“Yeah, girl,” Shae calls from the living room.
“Five more minutes, babe,” Ryan mumbles groggily.
“Fuck five more minutes, you shit stain. Get up. Or do you want me to let the camera crew in?”
At that, Ryan sits up quickly, red-faced, rumpled blonde hair and dazed blue eyes. God, how had I wasted so much time with this man?
“Zahra?” he says, rubbing at his eyes and looking around the room in confusion. “What’s going on? You shouldn’t be here. I’m not supposed to see you in your dress.”
I rear back in shock.
“Is this bitch serious?” Shae asks, coming to stand in the threshold of the bedroom.
I glance quickly at her before turning back to Ryan just in time to see the reality of our situation begin to dawn on him.
“Fuck. It’s not what you think, babe,” he says, scrambling out of the bed completely naked.
My eyes go to his shriveled dick, and somehow, that sight makes me even angrier. When I raise my eyes to his face, I’m shaking. “That’s what my best friend said when she opened your hotel room door, in a robe. Are you sure it’s not what I think?”
He’s speechless. Good.
“And before you answer that, you should know that you’re all over the gossip sites. You, myformerbest friend, and Candee Caine, you absolute piece of fucking garbage. On our fucking wedding day.”
“Let me explain,” he says, having the nerve to walk toward me.
I let him grovel as he approaches, but I don’t hear anything he’s saying, because I don’t care. When he’s within arm’s reach, I rear back. His eyes widen, and I silently thank him for making my target bigger. And then I punch him square in the face.
I feel the ruin of my $300 wedding manicure as my hand collides with his chiseled jaw.
“Ow, Zahra, what the fuck?” he screams, his hands going to his face.
“What the fuck? The fuck is that you cheated on me.”
“I was drunk.”
“Then go to rehab, you piece of shit. Or don’t, I don’t give a shit anymore. We’re done.” I grab the skirt of my dress and turn dramatically from the room.
“Zahra, please, let’s talk about this,” he calls after me.
When I’m back in the sitting area, I see Trisha cowering on the couch looking…not sorry, but terrified. The part of my brain that was certain that these were two people who loved me wants to think she looks shocked because she can’t believe what she’s done to me, but I’m not that foolish.
“How long?” I spit at her.
Her eyes lift to mine, and she shakes her head.
“How long?!” I scream.
She swallows. “It’s not… I didn’t… We didn’t…”
I stalk toward her with my fists clenched. “Six months!” she screams, crawling away from me. “It…was an accident.”
“The first time. What about all the other times for six fucking months?”