Billionaire Daredevil In Love

NATASHA.

Clayton hung up on me, like I knew he would while I tried to vent.

"Fucking coward," I said, hissing under my breath. "Fucking coward!" I said again, this time, a piercing scream.

Stella, my roommate, came into the kitchen, a bowl of popcorn in her hand. I'd left her in the living room where she was watching a romcom to come talk to Clayton. As she entered the kitchen, I saw the irritation on her face. One thing is certain, Stella and I are not so keen on each other.

"Any problem?" She asked, doing well to mask the irritation she felt.

"Yeah, no..." I said. "It's nothing."

"Of course it is," she said, leaning on the doorpost, an indifferent look on her face.

I did not like her, and she did not like me. She had this attitude, that of a snob; she had graduated from UCLA with a degree in business and was studying for her master's while simultaneously running a medium-scale business. In other words, she had found her foot in the corporate world and was doing great. But she looked at me with condescending eyes every time, as if I was a lowlife because I dropped out of college.

"Clayton got married," I said with defeat.

"Clayton?" She said, stepping in, "isn't that your boyfriend, or something? Or y'all aren't dating anymore?"

"We still..." I started to say. "I don't know, Stella, I'm so confused."

The tears that I had held as she entered into the kitchen began to stream down my face.

"Sorry," she said, rubbing my shoulder. "I don't know about relationships that much, but I can tell you really liked him, and that you feel hurt right now."

"Of course, I'm hurt!" I said, louder than I should have.

She started a bit, pulled away from me, before going to the fridge and pouring a glass of water.

"And he didn't tell you?" She asked. "Just got married all of a sudden?"

"Yes," I managed to say, in between sobs. She brought the glass of water and dropped it on the counter.

"Have a sip," she said. "It'll help you."

"Thanks, Stella," I said, sipping the water. I could not understand the kind gesture. She had never given a shit about me, or Clayton, or me and Clayton. Once, when Clayton's company needed a project manager, I introduced her to Clayton, more out of a sense of obligation to him than wanting to he helpful. After talking, she declined the job, and when I asked her, she said, "I can't work with a man like Clayton."

"Why not?" I had asked. "What kind of man are you talking about?"

"A man that thinks with his fucking penis," she'd replied.

Clayton had tried to hit on her, I know, but I wasn't ready to confront the thought that he had had the audacity to hit on my roommate so I had cast the thought out of my mind. "Have you talked to him?" She asked.

"Yeah," I said, nodding, taking a gulp of the water.

"And...?" She said,

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"Nothing. He did not deny it, though," I answered.

There was an awkward silence, as if the both of us knew we were not supposed to be talking. Stella rubbed her knees with both hands, and then dipped her hand into the bowl and took one flake of popcorn. We could hear the canned laughter from the romcom playing in the living room.

"Natasha," she said suddenly, "I may not be the right person to be telling you this, I certainly don't mean to be officious, but I don't think Clayton is the right one for you. You shouldn't be grieving over someone who has this little respect for you."

She pinched her thumb and her index finger when she said "little."

"Where is this coming from?" I asked, feeling anger rise inside of me. I did not need her advice.

"I just think, you know," she shrugged, "you shouldn't cry too much about a relationship that you give so much to, but take so little."

She pinched her thumb and her index finger again, and I felt a wire spark inside my head.

"Fuck you, Stella," I said. "Who the fuck are you to tell me that shit?!?!"

My voice startled her. I saw the shock on her face, the regret that she should never have told me anything.

"But, Natasha, I was only trying to be helpful," she said, her voice carrying a plea. "I don't mean to-"

"Ohh, go watch your shit movie, Stella," I said, hitting my palm flatly on the counter. "This conversation is over!"

I left her in the kitchen and went to get dressed. I called up a friend or two, who might not have heard the news, and invited them to the bar. A drink would help me, and I was going to submerge my anguish in alcohol.

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I knocked on Nadine's room.

"Who's there?" She said from the inside. I could tell she was tired.

"It's me," I said and entered inside. She was lying on the bed, her arms splayed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"What do you want, Clayton?" She asked. There was something sharp in her voice.

I gave a small laugh.

"I came to say hi," I said, sitting beside her on the bed. "How are you enjoying your first day as a wife?"

"What the fuck do you even mean by that?" She asked, sitting up to face me.

I shrugged, and smiled as if unaware of what she was saying.

"You set me up with your snob of a mother, and you're asking me bullshit?" She said, Her eyes began to water as she spoke, but I did not feel sorry for her, instead I felt a joyful tingling inside of me, like I had accomplished something. "You're yet to do one thing, though," I said, then got up, loosened my belt and dropped my trousers to the floor.