Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

only hurting me, and it’s robbing you of a chance to be happier with someone else. This is the right move for us –”

He throws the chocolate as hard as he can at the wall of the apartment building, knocking me speechless.

“This is bullshit,” he seethes, before repeating again, “This is fucking BULLSHIT!”

I feel strangers stare at us as they pass.

I don’t speak. I watch him throw the roses down on the ground and stomp on them. He looks like a child, lost and vulnerable. Tears are flowing out of his eyes, mixed with rage. So much rage. He’s always so angry.

I want to go to him, console him, pull him away from the brink, but I stay rooted. I have to be strong. I can’t be pulled back in again. I can’t. It physically hurts to ignore my empathetic nature. I feel like I’ve been wired to stand by him. It’s all I’ve known to do. Don’t, Ivy, stay still and be strong.

“Derek…”

He storms away from me and to the doors. He disappears inside, slamming the glass door with force.

I don’t want to follow. I stand around for a while, biting my nails. I feel like I’m going to vomit from the anxiety. Then I’m on the ground and cleaning up the roses and the chocolate box. There’s a nearby garbage can that I walk to. I throw them inside, taking my time, feeling dread at the pit of my stomach.

My phone vibrates.

I pull it out and swipe the screen.

A.W.: What is my vulgar temptress up to tonight?

I swallow thickly.

I’m miserable and I want him. I want Aidan West so bad, but I know I have to be careful. I have to tread slowly. There’s an ocean of pain inside me that I haven’t even worked through.

Without responding, I pocket the phone back and slowly make my way to the apartment.

*

“I don’t get why you even came back,” Derek carries on, smashing drawers shut in the kitchen. “Why the fuck would you do that? Why make me believe you wanted this? You never did! It’s sick, Ivy. You’re sick for making me think you ever gave a shit!”

I change the channel on the television, numbly staring at the screen.

He storms around the unit, not getting the reaction he wants out of me. I’ve barely spoken to him, which is unlike me. I don’t have it in me anymore.

There’s nothing left.

He’s hiding the suitcases again. I already know he stuffs them in the closet behind all his shit. I’m not even trying to run anymore. The more he behaves like this, the more certain I am that we are no good for each other.

So, I ride through the storm.

He doesn’t let up.

He comes out of the bedroom several times, throwing things on the ground. This time it’s his old guitar – already broken from a previous fight – and random bits of garbage. He’s making a show out of cleaning out the bedroom, like suddenly he cares about the mess. Along the way, he cracks a bottle of beer open – not his first since he stormed in here – and downs half of it in one gulp.

“So you would leave me then. Leave me with the rent, the bills, everything! It’s always the women that have it the easiest!”

I’ve already explained to him multiple times I wouldn’t do that. I don’t bother re-iterating that. I’m at a total loss how he’s carrying on like we’ve been together since I’ve returned. It fits his narrative, I guess. It allows him to look like the innocent one between us.

“It was your idea to be in this apartment. It was your fucking idea because your fucking job is around the corner. Never mind that mine isn’t! Never mind the trek I have to fucking make every single morning. I did this for you. I’m living in this shoebox for you. So that you can be happy.”

Everything he says is bullshit. We got the apartment before I got that job around the corner. He wanted to be in the city, close to the bars and the night life. Again, I don’t bother correcting him. I’ve done it a thousand times.

When he begins to slur, I know my time here is done. I message Ana to see if she wants to go out for dinner. I pull out some clothes in the bedroom to change into. Derek watches me for a moment, confused, and then his face grows dark.

“You’re going to leave?” he rants. “On our anniversary?”

I don’t answer. I start to walk away, but he stops me, grabbing my arm. “Answer me, Ivy.”

“Let go,” I tell him, yanking my arm from his grip.

I go to the bathroom but he’s hot on my heels. He stands in the doorway to stop me from closing the door.

“Go away, Derek,” I tell him wearily.

He doesn’t.

So, I change in front of him, uncaring. I throw on a fresh pair of tights and a cozy sweater.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Out,” I answer. “With Ana.”

“Where?”

“For a bite to eat –”

“I had a table booked for us, Ivy –”

“For the love of God, Derek, I don’t want to go out with you!” I hiss, unable to hold back now. “I don’t want to do anything with you. We’re over! How many times do we have to have this conversation?”

“We’re over?”

“Yes!”

“That’s it? Just like that?”

“It hasn’t been just like that! It’s been like this forever now. We’ve been over for a very long time. We’re kicking a dead horse just co-existing with one another! I said this to you before –”

He walks away mid speech and disappears into the bedroom. Within seconds I hear things break apart. I feel anxiety as I approach the doorway and peer in. He’s thrown all our things on the floor. My make-up and clothes are littered everywhere.

“Then fucking leave!” he shouts, throwing boxes out of the closet now. He pulls out the suitcases and throws them on the ground. “Leave, Ivy!”

I