“What?” he says.
I repeat, “Did you tell her to throw me off Brooklyn Bridge?”
He looks at me like I’m speaking in tongues, his mouth opening and closing, grasping for words. “Julie, I… I’d never do that. What are you even talking about? Your mother said you attacked her.”
My jaw drops. “Attacked her?”
“Wasn’t that what happened?”
“She tried to throw me off the bridge, Ryan! What language have I been speaking?”
His face falters. He steps forward, trying to reach for my hand. “Julie, I’m sorry… I didn’t know—”
I yank my hand back. “Sorry? You don’t get to be sorry, Ryan. Sorry implies you care. And if you did, you wouldn’t have sent that witch to me in the first place. You know how much I despise it when you do that. Yet you do it every time to piss me off. Is this one of your kinks
