I left the ring behind and walked out, leaving behind the scene where I felt like a total fool.
My phone wouldn't stop buzzing, each time I silenced another call.
No need to check—I was sure Sarah and her squad were trashing me, calling me the scum of the earth.
But I didn't give a damn.
Being a scumbag beats being a corpse any day.
I hit the gas, zooming down the coastal highway.
The chill ocean breeze was a slap of relief for my fried brain.
I parked myself on the guardrail, lighting up a cigarette.
Sarah's attempt on my life was a hard pill to swallow.
Yet, why would she even want me dead?
Wasn't I good enough to her?
I watched a couple of seagulls playing tag by the waves, my cig burning down to the nub.
"Shit—"
The sting from the cigarette sparked a flashback to a night, about two weeks before I died in my last life.
That evening, I spotted Sarah's comment under a post blasting mistresses.
"Yep, I'm the mistress, LOL."
I woke her up, phone in hand, demanding an explanation.
Under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, she kneeled on the bed, her face ghostly pale, tears quickly spilling over.
"Honey, I was just kidding."
I said nothing, just gave her the cold shoulder, waiting for her next move.