“New York.” Another pause. “You got into Pratt.” A chill runs down my spine, but I hold my ground. “You don’t know that.” “Well, I didn’t,” he retorts, and I swear I can hear the smirk in his voice. “But you just confirmed it for me.” And then, more sharply: “So, what? Now that Pratt’s a done deal, you don’t need me anymore? One last fuck, and you slip off to an entirely new state like a stranger in the night? Should I have left you cab fare on your way out?” I flinch. Of course he’s angry – he has every right to be angry.
I'M SICK!!!! SICK!!!!!
