Love And Vengeance

Deal With It

She ended the call before he could say another word.

The screen went dark, her reflection faintly visible on the black glass. Georgia’s fingers stayed around the phone, trembling slightly. For a moment, she couldn’t move. The silence in her room pressed down heavy, almost choking.

Her heart beat too fast, too loud. It felt like it was trying to break out of her chest.

She blinked a few times, trying to steady her breath, but it came out uneven. “Deal with it,” she whispered to herself, repeating the words Lucian had said. Her lips quivered as she tried to laugh, but no sound came. “Right. Of course.”

She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, her eyes burning. She didn’t want to cry, not again, not because of him. But the tears came anyway.

They rolled slowly down her cheeks, hot and quiet.

She sat there on her bed, still clutching her phone, staring at nothing. The room around her felt cold, too big, too empty. The faint light from her night lamp painted everything in pale gold, soft and sad.

After a while, she placed the phone on her nightstand and wiped her face with both hands. “Get it together,” she muttered under her breath, forcing herself to sit straighter. “Don’t do this again. Don’t fall apart.”

But her chest hurt, a dull, deep ache that didn’t stop.

She leaned back against the headboard and let out a shaky breath. Her mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything. His flat tone. His words. The pause before he said he hadn’t thought about her.

He hadn’t even thought about her. Her throat tightened.

Georgia turned her face toward the ceiling, blinking fast, trying to push the tears back. But it was useless. They kept coming, slipping down the sides of her face.

She pressed her palms into her eyes. “I’m so stupid,” she whispered. “So damn stupid.”

Her chest rose and fell quickly now. She wasn’t sure what hurt more, his words, or the fact that she had still wanted to hear something else, something kind.

She’d told herself she wouldn’t expect much from him. That he wasn’t like other men. That maybe he just didn’t know how to say what he felt.

But now, sitting alone in her quiet room, it all sounded like excuses.

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on top. Her hair fell over her face, hiding most of it.

The night outside was silent. The sound of the wall clock ticking filled the room.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Every second stretched too long.

Georgia finally reached for her phone again, unlocking it with shaky fingers. No new message. No call back.

Nothing.

She stared at his name on the screen, waiting, as if maybe he’d call and apologize, tell her he hadn’t meant it, tell her something that would make the sting fade.

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

She dropped the phone beside her and lay back on the bed. The ceiling blurred above her eyes.

“Why does it always end like this?” she whispered into the dark. “Why does it always have to hurt?”

Her voice cracked halfway through, and she bit her lip hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang of blood.

Lucian had been different, or so she’d thought. He wasn’t like Slyvester, her ex-husband, who had cheated and lied without blinking. Lucian had been calm, controlled, caring in quiet ways. The kind of man who made her feel safe even when he didn’t say much.

At least, that’s what she had believed.

But tonight… something inside her broke a little.

She turned her head toward the window. The moonlight spilled through the sheer curtains, soft and cold. She remembered how she’d driven all the way to his house earlier, how she’d stood there outside his door, hoping to see him.

And instead... that girl.

Wearing his shirt.

Her chest tightened again.

She closed her eyes, forcing the image away, but it stayed. That loose shirt. The girl’s sleepy eyes. The soft voice asking, “Who’s there?”

Her hands balled into fists on top of the blanket.

Maybe she should’ve stayed and asked who she was. Maybe she should’ve waited for Lucian to come home. But she couldn’t. The sight had cut too deep, too fast.

Now, after that call, she wasn’t sure what hurt more, the misunderstanding or his coldness.

She swallowed hard and whispered, “I shouldn’t have called.”

Her phone buzzed beside her. Her heart jumped, just for a second, before she saw the notification. It wasn’t him. Just a message from Naomi.

She sighed, typing a quick reply. Then she set the phone face down again.

The silence came back, heavier than before.

She sat up, running her fingers through her hair, pulling slightly at the roots, not enough to hurt, but enough to stop the tears. She couldn’t cry all night. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself.

But the more she tried to stay calm, the more anger started to build.

She pushed herself off the bed and started pacing. Her bare feet moved softly against the rug, her breath quick and uneven. “Deal with it,” she repeated again, this time louder. “That’s what you said, right?”

She shook her head, laughing dryly. “You know what, Lucian? Maybe I will.”

Her voice broke at the end, but she didn’t stop. “Maybe I’ll finally stop waiting for you to care. Maybe I’ll...” She stopped, pressing her hand to her forehead. Her throat ached, and her vision blurred again.

“Damn it,” she muttered. “Why does everything have to be so hard?”

Her thoughts spiraled, to the hospital, to the pain she’d felt lying in that bed alone, waiting for him to show up. He hadn’t. She’d told herself he didn’t know, that her father had kept it from him to avoid press attention.

But now she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Maybe he’d known. Maybe he just hadn’t cared enough to come.

That thought hit like a knife twisting deeper.

Her hands trembled as she rubbed them down her face, trying to breathe through the ache in her chest.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. “Stop overthinking. Stop caring.”

But it didn’t work.

The tears came again, hot, fast, angry. She grabbed the nearest pillow and buried her face in it, letting out a muffled scream. The sound was raw, painful, but it helped, even just a little.

When she finally dropped the pillow, her breathing was uneven. Her hair was messy, sticking to her damp cheeks. She sat on the floor beside her bed, leaning against it, her knees pulled up, her fingers tangled in her hair.

Her voice came out weak, almost like a plea. “Why can’t things just stop falling apart?”

A knock came at her door.

“Georgia?” It was Mark. His tone was careful, like he wasn’t sure if she was asleep. “You still awake?”

She froze, wiping at her face quickly with the back of her hands. “Yeah,” she called, trying to sound normal. Her voice came out shaky, so she cleared her throat. “Yeah, I’m awake.”

“Everything okay?” he asked gently.

She hesitated. Her eyes darted to her phone lying on the bed. “Yeah,” she lied. “I’m fine.”

There was a pause from the other side of the door, then a quiet sigh. “Alright. Try to get some sleep, okay? You’ve been through a lot lately.”

“I will,” she whispered.

His footsteps faded down the hall.

Georgia leaned her head back against the edge of the bed and closed her eyes. The room was quiet again. Her phone screen glowed faintly beside her, lighting up with Lucian’s name for half a second, but she didn’t see it.

She was too tired. Too hurt.

By the time she crawled back into bed, the call had stopped ringing.

She pulled the blanket up and curled into herself, her body trembling from exhaustion and leftover anger.

Her lips moved softly, barely a whisper. “You told me to deal with it, Lucian,” she murmured, eyes wet again. “Fine. I will.”

The tears slipped out once more, but this time, she didn’t wipe them away. She just let them fall until sleep finally came, slow and heavy, pulling her into a quiet darkness that didn’t hurt as much as being awake did.