by B. B. Hamel
She shakes her head, clearly annoyed. “We have to shoot early tomorrow,” she says softly. “You should get out of here.”
“What, you don’t want to consummate this?” I cock my head, still smirking. “Let me strip that sweater off, wifey. I’ll make you more than happy to be all mine.”
She looks away, biting her lip, and for a second I think she might take me up on it. “Get out, Jace,” she says. “I can’t take this shit right now.”
I shrug and walk toward the door. “Your loss, I guess.” I pull it open and hesitate there on the threshold to her room. I don’t know why I did that, why I signed it right in front of her and pushed her buttons the way I did.
But then she looks up at me again. “Still the same old Jace,” she says, and turns away again.
I let the door swing shut. That’s why I did it. I’m still the same old Jace, empty and alone and fucking pathetic. All those drugs, all that pussy, all this fame, none of it fills the hole.
Maybe I think she can fix it for me, but I know she can’t. I know nothing can. This little marriage thing is just another in a long line of bad fucking ideas.
But I guess if I’m making a bad choice, I might as well go all the way. Piper’s my wife now, and she’s going to stay my wife until we’re finished shooting this show. Maybe then I’ll give her an annulment.
Assuming she still wants one. If all goes well though, she’ll be begging me to let her stay my wife, and I just might let her.
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