Spinning

"You're a fucking asshole."

His jaw tightens immediately and he bites the inside of his lower lip, focusing those eyes hard on me, "You don't even know the whole story."

My jaw drops, "You're kidding!" I say with a bitter laugh, "You've got to be fucking kidding me. I don't even know the whole story? I saw the entire show! Are you honestly going to stand there and lie to my face?"

He sighs heavily and puts a hand on the back of his neck, "No, Carly, you don't know why--"

I whip the keys off the table and turn abruptly on my heel and down the dark hall. My shoes are still on and the tall heels sound deafening against the wooden floors.

"Carly!"

I stop in my tracks, spinning around and jabbing a finger at his chest, "Mr. Patrick Kane, you may be a huge bigshot out there, but you're an asswhole in here."

"Car..."

I shush him and furrow my brow, internally fighting myself to avoid crying, "You are such a fucking hockey player! This is typical, isn't it? Why don't you just shut the fuck up for once and stop lying to me?"

And with that, I pull open the door of his stupid apartment and slam it behind me, walking down the hall to the elevators and out of the lobby to where I parked my car.

And then, I burst into heavy tears.

I hate him. I hate him more than anything. He's a self-absorbed asswhole who doesn't care about anyone but himself. Apparently a year and a half of dating doesn't mean anything as soon as someone prettier comes along. And then he has the nerve to tell me a kiss doesn't mean anything. Well, then sex must not mean anything! Or an entire relationship for that matter!

I lean back in the seat, wiping away the mascara-stained tears from my cheeks and breathing deeply. Forget it. It's my fault for thinking this was going to work out. I'm not even skinny. Why the hell did I think it would work between us? He's a hockey player. I should have known. Everyone told me I should be careful. But I didn't listen. Why the hell did I even try? I'm a fucking intern. I should have never gotten involved with one of my patients.

There's a knock on my car window, and I nearly scream.

"Carly, open the door."

I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip hard. I want to open the door. Why do I want to open the door?

Because you love him.

I can't love him. He's doesn't love me, so how can I love him?

"Carly, please. Just open the door."

I put a hand over my mouth and a choked sob escapes my throat. With tears filled of make-up streaming down my face, I shake my head and turn on the car, speeding down the road without a second glance behind.