Noah was lying on the couch, sound asleep. My heart sank. Next to a plate of oxidized, yellowed apples was a fruit knife. For a moment, I felt dizzy, thinking that if I ruined myself, I wouldn't let them get away with it either.
The vibration of his phone brought me back to reality. Someone had sent him a message.
The password was my birthday. I opened his WhatsApp and immediately saw Ava's profile picture.
Noah had set me as his top contact. The message I had sent asking him what time he would be home was right next to Ava's message. [Can we not get married?] It was both ironic and laughable.
He rolled over heavily and muttered, "Honey."
I didn't know if he was calling me or Ava.
Back in our freshman year, when he first started pursuing me, the only thing I didn't dislike about him was his face. Even though he called me by my nickname after calling me Honey, it only made him more detestable.
Love and hate can happen in an instant, but hate lingers, deeply ingrained.
Fortunately, this wasn't our wedding night.
"Honey, I'm so thirsty."
I put the lipstick back in his pocket and poured him a glass of water.