Chapter 22: Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves

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I thoroughly enjoyed my evening with Vanessa. We even joked around and teased each other for a good part of the night. I couldn't help but make fun of how emotional she got over the ending of 50 First Dates, but secretly, I thought it was cute the way she teared up and tried to hide it.

She always appears to be so strong and put together, but I know that deep down, she has a soft heart. Her pending divorce seems to have taken a seat on the back burner during our time together, and I can't help but be happy in that aspect.

It's so easy to talk to her; I feel as if I've known her my whole life, and before I knew it, three hours had gone by like they were nothing.

I smile to myself as I walk to the elevator in my apartment lobby. While I wait for the lift to arrive on the ground floor, I think about Vanessa some more.

She looked even more gorgeous tonight than I've ever seen her before. Her large Tupac tee, gray cotton shorts and naturally swollen lips sort of stirred something in me.

God, she's beautiful.

I smile to myself again, and the elevator doors open. Dawn's face stares back at me, and I lose the grin immediately. Her arms are crossed in front of her, a sign that she's pissed off.

"Where the fuck were you? It's almost one in the morning!" she shouts, obviously not caring about the scene she's making in front of Carl, the security guard.

"Lower your voice," I tell her. I wave apologetically to Carl as I step onto the lift. He just rolls his eyes at me, and continues to scroll through his phone, probably as disinterested and annoyed as I am by the incessant shouting.

"I will not!" she yells, making me cringe from the shrill pitch of her tone. Thankfully the doors close, and we're left alone.

"What is your problem, Dawn?" I say as calmly as I can. "I'm a big boy, I can be out past bedtime."

If looks could kill, hers would stab me to death.

"Don't you think you should at least let your wife know where you're at in the wee hours of the night?!" She's still screaming, and it takes every ounce of control for me not to put my hands over my ears like a child.

I look at her incredulously. "We're not married anymore, Dawn!" I exclaim, but my voice isn't as loud as hers.

The elevator doors open then, and we both step out onto the seventh floor. I walk towards my unit at the end of the hall, and she follows.

"What are you even doing here?" I ask her, ignoring the fuming look she darts my way.

"Well excuse me if I wanted to spend the night with the man I love!"

"Your tone suggests otherwise! Stop yelling at me!"

I'm sure we've woken the whole floor up by now, so I rush inside my apartment after quickly unlocking the door.

"Maybe you should be more responsible! I don't like you hanging out with Cole. He's bad news," she explains, her opinion sounding like a fact.

Little does she know, I wasn't even with Cole.

We're in the living room now, and I take a seat on the leather sectional after throwing my coat over the back of it. With my head in my hands, I begin to rub my temples. This woman is going to give me an aneurism.

"Christopher. Cole is not who you think he is," she says after a blissful second of silence.

I groan aloud, annoyed with the constant bickering and yelling. I just want to have one good conversation in this relationship, but I'm beginning to think that that's impossible.

"What are you talking about, Dawn?" I sigh, rubbing my temples some more.

She takes a seat on the other end of the sofa, preparing to rain hell down on my emotions and dignity.

"Cole is a shit person! He doesn't want to take responsibility for anything, and he thinks he can just sweep everything under the rug. That's why I got an abortion in the first place!" She clamps her hands down over her mouth to stop the words from tumbling off of her lips.

But it's too late. They're already out in the open.

I look up at her, slowly. "What did you just say?" My voice is low, and quiet. Even I'm afraid of what I'll say next.

Dawn shakes her head back and forth vigorously, the horrified expression etched permanently on her face.

She uncovers her mouth. "I mean, I — I didn't mean that," she stammers, trying so hard to take back what she said.

"No. Finish what you were going to say," I demand, angry now.

"No." She purses her lips together, refusing to speak.

"Don't tell me that now you're going to give me some peace and quiet," I say, disbelief clear in my tone. "Tell me."

Her lips remain shut.

"Now, Dawn!"

She jumps a little, and I instantly regret yelling, but it doesn't outweigh the information that has just surfaced.

"You need to tell me the real reason you had an abortion," I say as calmly as I can, defeated.

Maybe it's because she feels sorry for me, or maybe it's because she's just callous and always has been, but something makes her change her mind, and she finally gives in.

She sighs.

"It wasn't your baby, Chris."

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CSR: Privilege by The Weeknd

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