by Tara Sivec
“No more eating your feelings,” she informs me, pointing the spoon at me. “Look at you. Just look at you. There’s ice cream all down the front of your shirt. And chip crumbs in your crotch. Jesus Christ, is that cream cheese in your hair? You promised you’d take a shower and start to become human again while we were at the store. This isn’t you, Ariel. You don’t get sad, you get mad.”
Belle nods in agreement, snatching the spoon out of Cindy’s hand and digging into my potato chip ice cream, the fucking traitor.
“According to an article in the New York Times, women oftentimes choose sadness over anger because it seems more refined and also more selfless, as if you were holding the pain inside yourself rather than making someone else deal with its blunt-force trauma,” Belle states around a mouthful of food.
“Oooooh, did someone say blunt-force trauma?” Anastasia perks up from the loveseat across from me. “If she’s going to hit someone with a heavy object, I get to watch. It’s only fair after you made me babysit her.”
I snarl at the teenage asshole, but the idea of grabbing a tire iron and doing some damage to someone’s face does start to perk me up.
“What Belle is trying to say is, you are not the type of person who sits around wallowing in misery because you don’t want to offend someone by getting pissed off,” Cindy says. “You have a right to be pissed off. We’re all pissed off about this situation. We’ve given you a few days to be miserable because, honestly, you needed that, and we don’t blame you. But time’s up. No more crying. It’s time to get pissed off, and it’s time to get even.”
When I showed up here at almost four o’clock in the morning when I left Eric, I knew I wouldn’t be able to tell this story more than once. While Cindy wrapped a blanket around me and sat me down on the couch, she called Belle and had her come over immediately. I spent the next hour telling them everything I should have a long time ago. How I was late turning the paperwork in, how I thought Ursula was just a judgmental assistant who worked at the courthouse, how she showed up at my house and told me our application was denied, how Ursula turned out to be Eric’s mother and basically blackmailed me into leaving her son.
To say they were livid is an understatement. Belle was so angry, she couldn’t even think of any statistics to spout, she just started screaming obscenities at the top of her lungs. Cindy woke up PJ and asked him if he’d be our getaway car because she was adamant we go over to Ursula’s house and spray paint Manipulative Bitch all over the white limestone of her home. He rolled over and went back to sleep, telling her he kept a jar containing with bail money in the garage. He’s clearly used to our crazy at this point.
Cindy and Belle are right. This isn’t me, sitting around crying and feeling sorry for myself. I just don’t know what else to do. I miss Eric so much there’s a physical ache in my chest, and the fact that he won’t stop texting me is just making it worse.
As if he knows I’m thinking about it, my phone, on the couch next to me, chimes with an incoming text.
Cindy reaches for it before I can, smiling and then laughing out loud as she reads the text.
“What does it say?” I whisper.
“It says, ‘Come home. Derrick Alfredo misses you. He refuses to lick his balls until you come back. He’s on a ball-licking strike. It’s pathetic. He just lifts his leg above his head and licks the air.’ And he attached a picture of Derrick’s balls.”
She turns my phone around to show me, and sure enough, there’s that little inside-out, ugly fucker, with his leg above his head, staring into the camera with his balls on full display.
I laugh even though it just makes me want to go into the kitchen and find more junk food.
Ever since Eric woke up that morning to find my note, he’s been texting me random shit like this. He’s never once said anything angry or mean, and he should have, since I told him in my note that after much consideration, unfortunately, I didn’t think it would work out between us. I gave him some bullshit excuse about how being with a man was messing with our business, and how I was slacking off because I was spending too much time with him, and that I just didn’t have time for a relationship right now because I needed to concentrate on the Naughty Princess Club. I told him I still cared about him, but I couldn’t do it anymore and needed space, and for him not to contact me.
Of course he didn’t listen.
His first text to me just said, “Nice try.” The second one said, “I know where you are and I know you’re overdosing on carbs without me.” I screamed at Cindy for that one when she looked guilty as soon as I read it to her. She said he called her just to make sure I was safe, and she couldn’t lie to him.
“We need to make a list,” Cindy suddenly announces, handing my phone back to me as she goes into the kitchen and pulls a small notebook out of her purse, along with a pen.
Good lord, she’ll never be able to fully escape the PTA mom, planner-of-everything persona no matter how hard she tries.
“I vote that the first item on the list is Ariel goes back to Eric and tells him everything,” Belle states.
“Negative. You know why I can’t do that. I’m not going to put him in the middle of this and ruin his relationship with his mother,” I remind her, holding up my hand when she opens her mouth again. “And I’m not going to date him in secret and just hope she never finds out. Stop trying to make secret dating happen, Belle. It’s not gonna happen.”
“I like where you’re going, Belle, and we’re definitely putting that on the list whether she likes it or not, but the first thing Ariel needs to do is string Sebastian up by his balls. I made some calls, did a little digging, and found out he’s staying at the Hilton in town,” she tells me, scribbling on her notepad.
For the first time since I walked away from Eric, my heart starts beating again. I know, I know—my fucking heart didn’t really stop beating when I left the guy, otherwise I’d be dead. It’s a fucking figure of speech because it feels like it’s not beating when I’m not with him. The idea of confronting Sebastian is finally something I can get on board with that starts to pull me out of my funk.
“That motherfucker is staying at the Hilton? Those rooms are like, over two hundred dollars a night, and he’s been here for weeks. That asshole is using my goddamn alimony to stay at a five-star hotel!” I shout, pushing myself up from the couch. “Alimony he didn’t even deserve since he never filed the fucking paperwork! That shit stick, tiny penis, mother of fucks!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Anastasia holding up her phone right at me.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m putting this on Snapchat. My followers like it when you’re feisty. They are shook right now. You are goals, dude,” she replies, typing furiously on her phone.
“Are you on drugs? Does shook stand for marijuana?” Belle asks her seriously.
“Do I look like I’m joyous enough to be on drugs right now?” Anastasia deadpans.
“People, focus!” Cindy orders, tapping her pen against the notepad. “Okay, here’s what I have. Number one—kick Sebastian’s ass. Number two—get immediate divorce from Sebastian and threaten to cut off his balls if he doesn’t pay you back every penny you sent him the last two years. Number three—figure out a game plan for the board meeting where we can get that denial reversed while also exposing Ursula for being the queen of all assholes while also trying not to ruin her relationship with Eric, even though I think it should be ruined because she doesn’t deserve him. Number four—make up with Eric so you can live happily ever after with him, get off my couch, and stop giving my daughter more material for Snapchat.”
I paced back and forth in front of the couch while she read from her notepad; now I stop moving to look at her.
“You forgot number five: Drink as much alcohol as possible and get white-girl wasted so that all of this doesn’t seem completely impossible,” I tell her.
“Oh, that was implied. I didn’t feel like it needed its own number,” Cindy shrugs. �
��What also didn’t need its own number was you getting in the shower so you stop smelling like regret and desperation.”
“And make it snappy,” Belle orders. “We’ve got a Hilton to visit and some ass kicking to do. That will perk you right up!”
“SHOTGUN!” Anastasia announces as I rush out of the living room and down the hall.
Chapter 27: I Just Want Him to Piddle His Pants
“Be firm, look him in the eye, and don’t back down,” Cindy coaches me as we get out of her car in front of the Hilton. She hands her keys to the valet and then turns to her daughter, who’s at the back of the vehicle. “Anastasia, put the tire iron back in the trunk right now.”
Anastasia rolls her eyes and tosses the tool back into the trunk, where it lands with a loud thunk, then slams the lid closed and walks over to us.
“Why did you even let me come if I wasn’t going to see any bloodshed?” Anastasia complains.
“Because, this is a good lesson for you to witness. Ariel is standing up to a bully, and she’s going to do it in a calm, concise manner, using her words and not her fists,” Cindy informs her.
“According to Forbes, people in abusive relationships tolerate being treated in ways that leave them hurt, frustrated, resentful, or undervalued. It may not seem like a big deal, but over time, we teach people how to treat us. It’s why bullies prey on those they can get away with bullying. In the end, we get what we tolerate. Don’t tolerate his bullshit, Ariel,” Belle tells me as the four of us enter the revolving door.
They’ve been giving me pep talks the entire drive here, and while I appreciate what they’re doing, I don’t need any more advice. I’ve got advice coming out of my ass at this point. I’m not going to wuss out like I did the last time I saw this asshole. He caught me off guard that day, and I was still trying to find my self-confidence. I’ve found it in spades at this point, and right now, I’m so pissed at what he did to me, there isn’t a chance in hell that Wussy Ariel will be making an appearance today.
Plus, I look damn fine, if I do say so myself. After I finally showered and washed the regret and desperation off of myself, as well as the ice cream, chips, and cream cheese, I grabbed the tightest dress I owned out of my boxes, which were piled in Cindy’s living room. A purple spandex number that is off the shoulder, long sleeved, clings to every curve, and ends right above the knee. I paired it with the sparkly purple stilettos I danced in at Charming’s. Sebastian never liked my curves. Well, he’s going to get an eyeful of these things today, and he’s going to wish he would have paid more attention to them. I put big curls in my hair and then pulled it up into a high ponytail to leave my shoulders bare, another thing Sebastian didn’t like. I was too thick for him everywhere else, and yet he thought my shoulders were too bony.
Fuck. Him.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, YOUNG LADY?!”
My feet stutter to a stop as soon as we enter the lobby of the Hilton when I hear my dad bellow from across the room.
“What the hell?” I mutter, hurrying over to him, shooting apologetic looks to the people sitting on couches and waiting in line at the front desk, who are all staring at my dad in fear.
“Dad, what are you doing here and why are you screaming in the middle of the Hilton?” I ask as he pulls me in for a hug.
“I was practicing my stern-dad voice. It’s like you don’t even know me,” he complains, pulling out of the hug. “The girls called me for backup. I’m trying to get the right timbre in my voice so Sebastian pisses himself.”
He turns to a man sitting on a chair a few feet away from us.
“Tell me, young man. If I yelled that a few inches from your face, would you piss your pants?”
Grabbing my father’s arms, I turn him away from the poor guy.
“Dad, I don’t need backup. You are not fighting my battle today,” I tell him firmly.
“Can I at least growl at him? Curl my lip and threaten him with my eyes? I just want him to piddle in his pants. Just a tiny bit,” he says, holding up his hand with his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
“Fine, I will allow a small growl, but that’s it. You stay back and you stay quiet, got it?” I look back over my shoulder at the girls. “That goes for all of you as well. Not. One. Word. I’ve got this, okay? Like Cindy said, I’m going to remain calm, and I’m just going to talk to him and get everything straightened out.”
My dad and Anastasia both sigh in exasperation, but everyone nods their head in agreement as we head to the elevators.
I sent Sebastian a text earlier telling him I was ready to talk, and he immediately replied back with his room number. Poor bastard thinks he’s going to break this news to me gently, give me some big sob story, and I’ll be so weak and pathetic that I’ll forgive him for what he’s done. Poor bastard hasn’t met self-confident Ariel. There will be no forgiveness for this shit.
When we get off at his floor, I lead the way down the hallway to his room, reminding everyone again to keep their traps shut and that this is going to be a civilized conversation between Sebastian and me, with no screaming, punching, kicking, or being arrested.
They all stand back a few feet as I knock on the door, taking a deep, calming breath and smoothing my hands down my sides. A few seconds later, I hear it being unlocked.
The door is flung, open and as soon as I see Sebastian standing there with a smile on his face, I pull my arm back and slam my fist right into his nose.
“Hell yeah!” Anastasia shouts from behind me.
“Language!” Cindy scolds as Sebastian starts screaming, his hands pressed against his nose, which is now pouring blood.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” I shout, smacking my hands against his chest and shoving him as hard as I can.
He goes flying backwards and lands on his ass, as I rush into the room and stand between his splayed legs with my hands on my hips, looking down at him.
“I cannot believe I actually loved you, you piece of shit!”
“Ariel, please, calm down!” he says in a muffled voice, his hands still covering half of his face, blood dripping between his fingers.
“I’m sorry, did you just tell me to calm down?” I ask, pulling my leg back as I look at his crotch. “Can I get a ruling from the jury? Did we all hear him tell me to calm down?”
“I heard it,” Belle says from behind me.
“Me too,” Cindy adds.
“I can’t believe you made me leave the tire iron behind,” Anastasia complains
“Grrrrrrr,” my dad growls menacingly.
Sebastian quickly moves his bloody hands from his nose to cover his pencil dick, staring up at me in fear.
“I take it you know?” he asks as I stomp my foot back down. He flinches when it lands right at the juncture of his thighs.
“Oh, you mean do I know you never filed our divorce paperwork, and I’ve paid you thousands and thousands of dollars, so many dollars that I had to sell my fucking business and lost my home? Yeah, I got that memo, asshole. You have one minute to explain yourself or I’ll let Anastasia go back outside and get the tire iron,” I tell him, pointing over my shoulder with my thumb. “She’s a teenage girl with raging PMS. I’m sure she’s got a lot of aggression to take out. Besides she’s a minor and will get off with a warning.”
“This is the best field trip ever. Mom, can I be homeschooled?” Anastasia asks.
“It was a mistake, Ariel, I swear!” Sebastian pleads, removing his hands from his crotch to hold them against his nose again, since it won’t stop bleeding. “I didn’t realize I hadn’t filed the paperwork correctly until I lost my job on the cruise ship and one of my friends who is a lawyer suggested I try and go for alimony just to tide me over for a few months until I could get another job. I had this great business opportunity that came my way that I couldn’t pass up, and I knew you were doing well and . . . my friend fudged the alimony paperwork when he found out the divorce never went through. And then the business opportunity fell through and . . . I needed mone
y to live! What was I supposed to do?!”
I immediately pull my foot back and slam it into his crotch.
Everyone behind me lets out a collective “Ouch.”
Sebastian howls in pain, rolling to his side and curling up in the fetal position with his hands back between his legs.
“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET A FUCKING JOB LIKE AN ADULT, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” I shout. “I LOST EVERYTHING BECAUSE OF YOU! EVERYTHING!”
Walking around next to him, I squat down and get close to him.
“You spent years tearing me down and making me feel like I was nothing. I finally got free of you, and I finally found my voice and found something I loved, and you did it again. You tore me down and left me with nothing. Well, guess what, chéri? Now it’s your turn. I have my own lawyer friend. You will pay me back every single penny you took from me, including interest, or your ass is going to rot in fucking jail, you spineless piece of shit. A weak, skinny, Frenchman in prison? I bet the boys would enjoy shower time with you,” I tell him with a smirk.
Vanessa and I aren’t exactly friends yet, but Sebastian doesn’t need to know that.
He stares at me with wide eyes, quickly nodding his head.
“I promise. I’ll pay you back everything. I’ll write you a check and bring it over tomorrow. I’m seeing someone now. We’re actually getting married soon and that’s why I’ve been trying to get in touch with you about this. She’s quite wealthy, and she wants this over with as quickly as possible, so it will be no trouble at all,” Sebastian explains.
“Jesus, you’re disgusting. Does your fiancée know what a piece of shit you are?”
“I can send her my Snapchat videos, no worries,” Anastasia announces.
Standing back up, I shake my head at the pathetic sight Sebastian makes, curled up on the floor with total and complete fear in his eyes and blood all over his face. Turning away from him, I start walking away when my dad grabs my arm and stops me.
