Brandon nods in my general direction but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, and I realize that he’s playing some kind of video game. I stare for a moment, my lip pulling up in confusion. Where the hell did that come from? I’m pretty certain that it wasn’t there when I left this morning.
“Umm … hello? Brandon,” I say, raising my voice, more than a little pissed off that I was ignored the first time. “What do you think you’re doing here? I asked you not to come over when I wasn’t here. How’d you get in anyway?”
“Key,” he grunts, still not taking his eyes off the screen. “It’s fine. Chill out, babe. I haven’t touched any of your shit.”
A key? What the hell? Are you kidding me? Who the hell does this guy think he is? How can he not see how badly that violates my privacy?
I let out a huff and walk through to my kitchen, needing to dump my shit on the counter and take my shoes off before I deal with his dumbass. Only, there’s nowhere to dump my bag because there is shit everywhere. Nearly all of the contents from my fridge are scattered across my counter, there are plates and cups piled high in the sink, and the water has been left running for who the hell knows how long.
I dart across the kitchen and quickly turn it off before noticing a stack of boxes thrown in the general direction of my trash can. I clench my jaw. I pride myself on not being one of those crazy bitch girlfriends, but I’ve had enough. I won’t allow some guy to waltz into my home and take advantage of me.
I go to walk out of the kitchen when the boxes steal my attention again, and I look a little closer.
PS5.
My stomach clenches. That better not be a PlayStation 5 box, especially because just last week, the fucker said that he didn’t have the cash to take me out for dinner. I was made to go to the store after a long day, slave over the stove for two hours to cook him a nice meal, only for him to say that he didn’t like it. That rat bastard.
I’m not going to pretend to know anything about Playstations, but I’ve heard enough to know that this is the latest version, and they weren’t going cheap.
I grab the box and storm into my living room. “What the hell is this?” I demand, putting myself right in front of my TV and being obnoxious about getting his attention, but fuck it, he doesn’t deserve for this to be easy.
Brandon lets out a huff and leans to the side before finally hitting pause on his bullshit game. “What the fuck is your problem tonight? You’re acting like a bitch. Chill out and have a good time. Why don’t you crack open a bottle of wine or something?”
I see fucking red.
I throw the box right at his chest. “What is this?” I demand. “You’ve been in my apartment all freaking day, trashed my kitchen, and eaten all my food. I don’t even want to know what my bathroom looks like because I can guarantee you’ve destroyed that too.”
“Fuck, babe. Chill out.”
“I swear to God, Brandon. Tell me to chill out one more time. I dare you.”
“Geez. Alright. I’ll help you clean up.”
“Help?” I laugh. “You’ll clean it all and then you’ll get out of here.”
“What’s your problem? You’re being so uptight tonight. Did you have a shitty day or something?”
I stare at him blankly and watch as he raises from the couch and grabs two of his discarded empty beer cans, then leaves the other six. He waltzes into the kitchen as though I'm not about to lose my shit at him and laughs at the destruction he’s caused. “Yeah, I guess it’s fucking bad, huh?” he says. “But chill, seriously. It’s a good day. We should be celebrating your new job and my new PS5. Thanks, by the way.”
My brows take a dive. “Thanks?” I question as my stomach clenches again, giving me one hell of a bad feeling.
“Yeah,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “Though, if anything, you should be thanking me for taking that task off your hands. I had to wait in that line for fucking hours.”
“What are you talking about?” I rush out, annoyed that I don’t already have my answer.
“My PS5,” he clarifies. “My birthday is next week, and you said just yesterday that you didn’t have a present for me yet because you didn’t know what to get me. So, I went and did it for you. Now you don’t have to worry about getting me something.”
“Present?” I shriek before taking off like a bat out of hell. I race down to my shoebox of a bedroom and fly over the top of my double bed. I drop down onto the worn floorboards and throw my head to the ground, peering under my bed.
I shove my hand right under and start feeling around for the small box. My fingers curl around it, and bile rises in my throat, finding it without the lid.
I tear the box out from under my bed and pissed off tears of rage instantly spring from my eyes as I find it empty. There was nearly a thousand dollars of savings in there that I’d been working my ass off for, and he fucking took it to buy himself a goddamn Playstation.
My blood boils as I scoop up the box and storm right back out of my bedroom, finding Brandon in my kitchen, going through my fridge once again. “WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK IS THIS?” I demand, instantly straining my vocal cords and feeling my throat burn with my tone. “YOU TOOK MY MONEY. MY FUCKING MONEY. YOU HAD NO RIGHT.”
He looks at me as though he can’t possibly understand what my issue is. “Yeah, we just went over this. You were going to buy me a birthday present, and I took the job out of your hands. What’s the fucking problem? If you wanted to surprise me, it’s fine. I can close my eyes and pretend.”
“There was nearly a thousand dollars in there,” I say, my voice dropping to a low threat. “We’ve been together for like three seconds. I was going to get you some shitty sweater, not a fucking PS5. That was my fucking rent for next month. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I’m a student living on my own. I can barely get by as it is.”
He gapes at me, completely offended by the shit spurting out of my mouth. “A fucking sweater? That’s what you were going to get me?”
“Yeah,” I grunt, “And you deserve much less. You’re a shitty boyfriend who can’t respect my privacy. I told you not to come into my apartment when I wasn’t here.”
“I’m your fucking boyfriend. I shouldn’t be told when I can and can’t come into your apartment. I have every right to be here.”
‘“THE HELL YOU DO,” I screech, reaching my boiling point. “You have no right to be here right now. Get your things and get out of my apartment, and NEVER COME BACK. I’m so fucking done with you. KC was right, you’re the worst boyfriend I’ve ever had. I’d prefer to date a brick wall. Now get out.”
Brandon clenches his jaw before his hand snakes out and swipes every last thing off my kitchen counter, smashing my cups and plates as food and scraps fly across the room. “This is bullshit,” he roars before storming into the living room and dropping down in front of the PS5. “I’ve done everything for you. I’ve sacrificed so much for you that you don’t even realize.”