❝damage control. there's a ring around her finger. last chance for changing lanes and you missed it by a mile. why won't you listen to me? this must be it.
welcome to the new year.❞
— motion city soundtrack,
together, we'll ring in the new year

♥

"I TOLD YOU, NICK."

Okay, Levi. Here it fucking comes—the infamous I-told-you-she-likes-dick speech. Because according to my all-knowing, infuriatingly clueless big brother, aaaaaall girls like dick.

I inhaled deeply before knocking back the rest of my shitty drink. I'd admit that I was white girl wasted; I'd admit that in a heartbeat. But I was nowhere near drunk enough to handle this. All the liquor in New York City couldn't prepare me for these conversations, and I knew first-hand, from too many nights with my blacked out, basic bitch of a big brother that there was enough liquor in New York City to make Levi forget his own fucking name.

But no, I already knew that I'd need... more liquor than the universe could offer to survive the shitshow that this year was going to be.

Fuck 2020.

"I need another drink," I muttered dryly. I didn't care if Scarlett was straight, queer, a super model... or a fucking astronaut. I was already done. 2021 would be better. "Or... ten."

Hopefully, I could hit blackout momentum before Levi started talking again. Maybe I'd get lucky, and I wouldn't remember any of this after I woke up. Scarlett would be a hot, hazy dream, lost in a tangled mess of memories and fantasies. Scarlett wouldn't be real.

Perfect. Yes. I needed to get fucked up. Now.

"Honestly, that's a fucking mood," Levi snickered, still staring at his phone. "I could go for ten shots right now."

Yeah, I was ready to die. I love you, Mom.

"Alright, bro, let's do it."

A blinding moment of surprise silenced him. But before I could hit myself for that, Levi stood too quickly, stumbled back, steadied himself on the wall, and then shot me a wasted grin. "Yes, Nicholas," he cried, staggering over to me. "Bitches love a guy who can hold his liquor."

I didn't give a fuck if bitches loved me. Actually, by the time I'd knocked back the third shot of tequila, I didn't give a fuck about anything.

Levi kept rambling, his words slipping and sliding together into slurring strings of sentences that I kept squinting to see. "Wait, slow down, I have no idea w—"

"C'mon, Nick, I know you want to know."

Everything was spinning, shaking, spiraling. I blinked in confusion. What? Who? Nick?

"Wait..." I tried again, twisting in the barstool. "Where is Fallon?"

"Who? What kind of name is Fallon? Who the fuck is that?"

Who?

"Fuck." My head throbbed. No. I didn't know... I... "Shit, I forgot about Levi," I cursed under my breath, stumbling off the barstool in a wild panic. "Fuck. Mom will kill me if I let Levi get alcohol poisoning and die. I have to... uh, I have to go find him."

"Nicholas."

Wait... that...

"Levi."

"Yeah, I'm right here," he said, and I swiveled to find his shaky eyes on me. Levi. "I'm the one talking to you, asshole."

"Oh."

Okay. Asshole.

"I was just trying to tell you," he sing-songed, "that I was right." Levi thrust his phone into my face, and I reeled away dizzily, tripping, twisting, tumbling into the bar. "I told you that she likes dick."

I blinked, and then I was sneaking another obvious glance at the dark-haired demon that, according to all-knowing big brothers, liked dick. I didn't know what Levi found that proved she liked dick, but from where I was swaying, staring at her through a hazy veil of smoke, it was still painfully obvious that she wasn't interested in my dick. Good. Because I could imagine my dick falling in fucking love with her, and I... I didn't need that right now.

Maybe Levi could help me find a Carly instead—quick, easy, and blonde. I could definitely be into that.

"For a self-proclaimed feminist, she's sure had a lot of boyfriends," Levi snickered, pulling his phone back innocently.

Boyfriends. Huh.

I tipped the fourth shot to my lips, letting it burn down my throat with that little tidbit of information.

Scarlett didn't strike me as the boyfriend type. Nah. Scarlett was more like the I'll-give-you-the-hottest-wildest-craziest-sex-of-your-life-and-then-leave-you-in-the-morning type of bitch.

Curiosity killed the cat, I guess. I think. Slowly, I leaned over to Levi, peering over the top of his phone to look at the upside-down Instagram profile. "Boyfriends?"

"Yeah. Boyfriends." Levi hummed, flicking his thumb across the screen before flicking my forehead.

I jerked back with a cry. "Ow."

"Yeah, I gotta say," he drawled without any remorse for the vicious attack that could've killed me. "I have mad respect for a girl who doesn't purge photos of her and her boyfriend after they break up."

That fucking froze me.

"Boyfriends. Break up."

"Yes, we've been over this. Scarlett does date men, which means Scarlett also fucks men, Nick."

"Wait, no. Levi." Something icy flooded my veins. "Levi, is she... is she dating anyone right now?"

I'd kissed her.

I couldn't be that guy.

A wary smile tugged at his lips. "Nick."

My heart sank. "Levi..."

And then Levi flipped his phone to show me a dark, dark, dark photo that embodied all my worst fucking nightmares. There she was. Scarlett looked beautiful and happy, all dark hair and flushed cheeks, leaning over a man's shoulder, smoking a cigarette with fucking stars in her eyes.

Guilt clogged my throat. "Shit, Levi, I didn't..."

"Oh, just wait, bro," he warned. "It gets better."

Of course, it could only get better.

Levi flicked his finger to the left, and the next photo slid into my blurry vision, exposing a romantic sunset photo of them—locked in a deep kiss on a rooftop, sinking into the haze of a fiery Manhattan skyline. They were tangled into a perfect portrait, his arms roped tight around her back and her hands brushing gently against his cheeks...

...a ring around her finger.

My stomach lurched.

Fuck. I hadn't even looked at her fingers. I'd... no, I had seen a lot of deadly looking rings on her hand when she... when she helped me...

A string of bile crawled up my throat. No. I was going to be fucking sick. "No, I didn't know... Levi..."

"Hey, Nick, don't worry," he said quietly, almost apologetically. "I'll be willing to bet that sorry motherfucker knows that his bitch cheats."

But she didn't. I kissed her.

"Let me... let me see that," I hissed, leaning forward to snag the phone from him with shaky fingers. My gaze zeroed in on the caption from November 30th, 2019—nothing but a few red hearts and a lone Instagram handle.

@edlopez

Nervously, I tapped on his handle, but it brought me to a private profile that only revealed his name: Edward Miguel Lopez.

"Shit," I grumbled. "His profile is private."

"So creep him, dude." Levi rolled his eyes, snatching the phone back, pulling out of Instagram, and opening a new browser in Safari. Nausea churned in my gut. "It's 2020. I could find his fucking social security number online."

Yep. 2020. It was the time to be alive.

"Levi, I shouldn't d—"

"I'm doing this for you, Nick," he cut me off. "I hate seeing you do this to yourself. Kayla... what Kayla did to you... it's not your fault."

My throat tightened. "Yeah, I... I know."

"Wait." Levi straightened. His eyes flashed. "Wait, Nick, when was that photo from?"

I swallowed hard. "November. I'm pretty sure it was November."

"Yo. Check it out," he muttered, his lips twitching in amusement. Levi twisted his wrist to show me the screen. "Looks like you're lucky."

Yeah, I was lucky. Yeah.

Because according to the fucking obituary in front of me, in blurry, black type, Edward Miguel Lopez, of Brooklyn, New York, died on Christmas Eve.

"You're not just fucking with a feminist," Levi drawled, pushing the last shot of shitty tequila over to me. "You're fucking with a widow."

—THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR OVER 2K READS! Honestly, I can't believe this story has gotten so much traffic in such little time. It's been a wild ride so far. I probably wouldn't have written this much without you guys, so thank you for letting me write about the shitty people in my life for fun. It's a good purge. 😂

I LOVE YOU ALL. ❤️❤️❤️