Simp No More

The girl in Charles's arms was young.

Still a college student, most likely.

She had those wide, innocent eyes that blinked at me like she hadn't figured out yet how the world worked. Prettier than the one who'd poured drinks down my throat the night before, or at least a little gentler, I thought absently.

But I was wrong.

When she took the bag of ice cream from my outstretched hand, she gave a delicate little shiver. Her hand "slipped." The ice cream splattered onto her thighs with all the predictability of a stage cue.

"Oh no!"

She shot up from the sofa like a startled rabbit. The ice cream bucket tipped with her, crashing downward and soaking me in cold.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! It's just—it's so cold, and I know you didn't do it on purpose either, I'm totally fine—really."

Her eyes, big and glossy, teetered on the edge of tears.

"Please don't blame her, Charles," she added sweetly. "It's my fault, not hers."

By the time she finished talking, there wasn't a word left for me to say.

I just stood there, drenched in melted ice cream. Half of me mourned the ruined fabric. The other half thought—she didn't need to go this far. Charles would've found a reason to punish me anyway.

After all, I'd smiled at the door just now.

He couldn't stand to see me smile.

And sure enough, the next second—

Charles shot to his feet, kicking the glass coffee table with a sudden fury. It skidded across the floor, smacking into my legs.

I stumbled and fell hard. And even as pain shot through my knee, all I could think was: Good. Let this be the last time.

"Mindy! You ungrateful wretch, you did that on purpose, didn't you?!"

He stormed forward and yanked me up from the ground like I weighed nothing.

The force of it crushed my breath. My face flushed crimson from the pressure.

"Say something. Cat got your tongue? What were you smiling at, huh? Who told you you could smile?"

The others in the room—his friends, his girls, his entourage—went still. Most of them had never seen this version of Charles. The kind with his claws out. The kind that didn't bother pretending.

No one made a sound.

"S...sorry," I choked out, barely able to breathe.

I didn't bother to explain. He wouldn't have listened. He never did.

"Go apologize to Rhyn," he barked. "Grovel at her feet. Say it like you mean it. Or you can pack up your shit and get the hell out of my house for good!"

My fever had blurred everything by now. The air felt heavy and unreal.

But that last sentence cut through it all.

Like music.

I steadied myself. Pulled against the grip he had on my shirt.

He thought I was heading toward the girl, so he let go easily.

"Alright," I said, smiling at him. "Then goodbye, Charles."

And with that, I turned, straightened my back, and walked out of Room 1808, without once looking back.

Behind me, his voice rose in a final roar, the sound of it muffled and buried the moment the door clicked shut.

"Mindy! You'd better not regret this!"