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fuck em all but us pt.3 | tryst (fakes) x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: part 3 of 4! after years of pining after each other, your life has changed for the better now that you and tryst are official. so, when a colossal fuck-up befalls the operation, you have to decide what your breaking point is, and if you're willing to risk the sunshine moments for what's turning out to be a very dark night. wc 16.7k title stolen from watermelon by john + jane q. public 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: tryst (fakes, 2022) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: SPOILERS FOR FAKES (2022)! oh dude so much angst, this is mostly angst, mentions of addiction/dependency issues and struggles with staying sober, discussions of mental health and manic episodes/bipolar disorder, lots and lots of fighting, mentions of death and suicide, mentions of throwing up/vomit, descriptions of injuries, engagement yippee!!, toxic tryst energy, major anxiety and panic responses on your part, SMUT: pussy eating, praise kink, degradation kink, as always if i missed a tag pls let me know so i can add it!! 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: link to masterlist! i am so sorry for taking so long to get this written and out, i graduated college and moved 10 hours away and started a Big Girl Job and life has been insane and i haven't been able to work on longer form stories until now sooooo apologies but also i'm happy to be writing again yippee!! also this gif was made by me!! i'm so happy, i think it looks great, don't tell me otherwise lol <3 hope you enjoy, follow @babybluebex-writes to be notified whenever i post a new fic!!

You truly believed, deep in your heart, that you had never been happier in your life than you were once you and Tryst put aside all your bullshit and started dating. Being his was everything you had wanted for years, and it felt special to be able to hold him, kiss him, be with him. Your routine hardly changed at all, and for that, you were grateful. You still got off work at a certain time, and he did too, coming home, sometimes going out to parties or for deals, but there was an air of contentment where there wasn’t before. You had always been comfortable with Tryst, and you always knew that he would hold you in an instant if you asked for him to, but suddenly you didn’t have to ask, and you didn’t have to feel bad for asking. It's just what boyfriends and girlfriends did. He would lay on the couch and pull you into his lap as if you belonged there, holding you tightly, reverently, making sure you knew on touch alone that he loved you.

Maybe the unexplainable air of content could also be attributed to your newfound fixation. Or rather, Tryst's newfound fixation.

Tryst, the love of your life, your best friend for 10 years, was fucking obsessed with your pussy. The first time you fucked, which happened the very same night you had first offered it to him, stumbling home from the overlook with locked lips and wandering hands, he was a babbling, moaning mess, biting your lips and throbbing inside you as he made sure that you came before he did. He loved nothing more than pleasing you, and you would be lying if you said that you didn’t absolutely eat him up too. You were certainly no stranger to sex, and neither was he (like, fuck, the dude had a kid, he knew his way around a pussy), but he made you feel young and giddy, smiling as your hands explored each other and mouths wandered over soaked skin.

“Fuck!” you yelped, your back arching up as hot flashes of lightning struck your body. “Tryst, oh my God!”

The sounds that came from his mouth, focused on licking your dripping cunt and sucking hard at your sensitive clit, were truly obscene. He was in heaven eating your cunt, and his strong hands pushed your thighs up to your chest, opening you further, to fully devour you. You tugged on his hair, earning you a wrecked moan that rumbled from his throat right into your core, and he broke away from lapping at your throbbing hole. “Yeah?” he panted, and his fingers came to replace his tongue, smoothing up and down your folds, teasing you so badly that you thought you might explode. “S’that feel good?”

“Yes!” you whined. “P-Please, baby, want your fingers, please.”

His eyes flicked from your face back to your pussy, and he bit his lip before he went back in. His tongue, soft and skilled, worked out the loudest whines and whimpers from you, and you loved how, from the first moment he fell into your bed, he just knew. He knew what would feel good for you, he knew how to wind you up and get you off as if he had done it a thousand times before— by now, he might have. The warm, wet suction of his lips on your clit nearly distracted you from the prod of his fingers against your hole, and you moaned deep from your chest as he filled you. His fingers, long and slender and so skilled; you had lost count of how many joints you had watched him roll and how much money you had witnessed him count, and you could remember, not that long ago, fantasizing about his fingers inside you, and now it was real.

Tryst never took too long to make you fall apart, and his tongue circling his knuckles as he fucked you quick was drawing you to your end. “Tryst,” you whined, your hips bucking against your will as shocks ran down your thighs, and he laughed softly into you.

“You gettin’ close?” he asked, and you whimpered out a pathetic little ‘yes’. “No, no, baby, say it to me. Tell me what I’m gonna make you do.”

You loved when he got like this. Tryst was never rough, never mean, never textbook-dominant, "yes daddy" type shit, but he had his moments, though they were mostly borne out of sheer desperation. He didn’t ask you to repeat yourself because he wanted to hear you submit to him; he wanted to hear how he was serving you and pleasing you. He really was everything you had ever wanted. “You’re g-gonna make me cum!” you whined as his fingertips stroked that spongy spot inside you, making you keen up and pant, your thighs trying their hardest to close.

And then, cruelly, he pulled his fingers from you. You gasped out, “Oh, you fucking asshole”, and Tryst laughed, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. He sat back on his knees, quickly shucking his t-shirt over his head and going for the elastic of his sweatpants, and his eyes canvassed your frame, naked and quivering, ready for him. You couldn’t help but smile at the state of his hair, all messy and parted every which way and, the moment he pushed his pants down and tugged them off, you reached forward and grabbed at the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. His mouth was warm as his tongue pressed into your mouth, and you broke the kiss with a moan to look down. He was working himself in his fist, the flushed head of his cock already weepy and wet, and your legs parted open just a bit more, inviting him in.

“Tryst,” you said, swallowing thickly. “Fuck me, baby, I can’t wait.”

“Well,” Tryst chuckled lightly, his thumb moving to rub the blunt head of his dick, and he hissed in a tight breath. “Can’t say no to an offer like that, huh?”

He slipped inside you easily, no negotiating required, and you moaned in tandem at the feel of your bodies together. It was the most perfect feeling you had ever had, the whole universe felt in place when Tryst was inside you, and he settled himself on his elbows above you to press your foreheads together as he started his rhythm. He was slow with you, took his time to draw every bit of pleasure possible from your core— he made sure you felt loved and adored and cared for. Your hand grabbed at his shoulders, a shock going through your belly at how sturdy his shoulders were, how strong he was, God, he was such a man, and you sank your nails into his freckled skin.

“Fuck,” Tryst hissed over the sound of your shitty bed creaking with every thrust he gave you. “You gonna mark me up? Scratches and shit? Fuck, you’re my dream girl.”

The hot drag of his cock inside you was ushering you towards your end once again, and every thrust straight into that spot inside you made you cry out a moan, squeezing your eyes shut. “Fuck!” you squealed, digging your heels into his ass, urging him deeper. His breaths came in puffs against your mouth, warm and sweet, speeding up as he did, and you bit your bottom lip hard as you grabbed at his firm upper arm, just next to your head. “Tryst,” you sighed. “Lemme see your eyes, baby, please, it’ll make me cum.”

“My eyes?” Tryst repeated. “You really like ‘em that much?”

You nodded quickly. “I always have,” you offered softly, and Tryst moaned deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I forgot how you used to get yourself off, thinkin' 'bout my eyes. That’s so fucking sexy.”

He pulled his face back so you could see him clearly, and his hand came to grab at your chin, making you keep eye contact with him. Your eyes welled up with overstimulated tears as Tryst's eyes crinkled with a smile, all cocky and pleased with himself. "I can't believe I get this," he laughed. A lock of blond hair fell over his forehead, and your eyes strayed from his intense gaze down his body, his firm chest and taut belly, flexing and exposing the firm muscles he had, further down to where your legs were spread open, and his hard cock plunged in and out of you. The sight of him, flushed red and ready to burst at a moment's notice, the ring of creamy white at his hilt, all courtesy of you, was enough to undo you, and a blinding pleasure popped hot in your mouth as your body relaxed in an instant.

Your eyes squeezed shut, and your ears felt full of cotton as you listened to Tryst curse obscenely, spitting filthy praise down onto you— "Good fucking girl, just like that; pretty pussy beggin' for it; so tight, sweetheart; fuck me, you're beautiful,"— and you groaned as you felt him pull out of you. Your eyelashes fluttered as your body eased up, slowed down, came back to earth, and you were just in time to watch the beautiful show Tryst put on for you— fisting his weepy cock quickly as he panted, his pale chest flushing his peachy glow as a wrecked moan tumbled from his throat. His head tilted back, exposing his creamy, marked-up throat to you, as he came, coating your belly and cunt in his spend. His hand slowed down as he finished, little choked groans forcing out with every spurt he gave you, and finally, he gave a hefty sigh and pushed his fallen hair off of his face.

"You okay?" he asked, and you smiled up at him as you nodded. Tryst smiled back at you, sweat-soaked and exhausted, and he groaned as he got himself out of your bed, crossing to your bathroom. You lost sight of him once he went in, but you only had to miss the view for a few seconds before he was returning with a wet washcloth to clean up the mess of you that he had made. "You hungry?" he asked softly, gently wiping at your stomach, and you shrugged.

Your hand searched the messy blankets for a moment, finally finding the fruity vape that you had chosen to be this month's companion (maybe it was because Tryst's favorite color and former nail polish choice was the same color as the lime-arita flavor, shut up). "I could eat," you told him, pulling at it, and you held it out to him as you added, "What're you thinking about?"

Tryst leaned forward and took a hit, blowing the citrusy smoke away from your body. "Unsure," he said. He paused for a second, looked at the vape in your hand, and he added, "Do vapes show up on drug tests? Like, nicotine or whatever?"

"Probably," you shrugged. "Why? Got a new job that's trying to drug test you?"

"No," Tryst told you. "Court's gonna drug test me on Monday so they can have the results in time for the hearing, so…"

Shit. How could you forget? After the visit with Emma weeks ago, the whole "drug whore/duckie" fiasco, Tryst had agreed with you: dealing with Sarah with civility wasn't going to work out. For the moment, he was only after visitation, and, frankly, he would take what he could get. Even an hour a week with Emma— Sarah could be there— anything regular was better than 5 minutes whenever Sarah decided to acquiesce. Family court didn't begin for a few weeks— again, how the fuck did that slip your mind, you wrote it in your work planner specifically so you'd remember— and you knew how serious Tryst was about not fucking anything up. "I don't think one hit off a vape is gonna show up," you told him gently. "Just no more of it, you fiend."

"That tastes nasty anyway," Tryst chuckled, and he turned his eyes to your nightstand as it vibrated hard one single time. He gave you a smirk, salacious and knowing, and he added, "You need to get a new battery for that thing."

"Okay, my vibrator wouldn't be on the fritz and needing a new battery if you didn't insist on using it on me, like, once a fuckin' day," you laughed. "It's getting more action now than when I didn't actually have a boyfriend. It's fighting for its life. That was probably your phone, idiot."

"Oh, yeah," Tryst nodded smoothly. "Mhm, sure, sure. Blame it all on me. God forbid your boyfriend wanna get you off on a regular basis. Good thing you're pretty, woman." Nevertheless, he paused his cleaning to reach for his phone, and he frowned at it. "Not me," he said, and grabbed your phone next, clicking on the screen. You had no secrets from him, nor him you, and you had no issue with him answering your texts as you finished up the cleaning job he had started. "Becca texted you."

"Me?" you scoffed. "What's she want with me?"

"Who knows?" Tryst asked. "Just says 'Can we talk?'"

It was your turn to frown, and you reached over for the phone to answer her. It took her a few texts to cough up enough of a reason to take her seriously, and your blood chilled at her response: sally fucked up. we need to talk to you but NOT tryst. can you meet us up here now?? Sally, the theater nerd they hired as Zoe's choice dealer. You liked Sally, though not enough to exactly wanna hang out with her or anything, but Sophie, she was not. You weren't surprised to hear that she had fucked up somehow, and your only concern was exactly what Becca meant by that.

"I need to go up to the penthouse," you sighed, already in pursuit of clean panties.

"Everything alright?" Tryst asked as he reclined in your bed, pulling one of your pillows into his chest to hug.

"Yeah," you said evenly. If Becca didn't want Tryst to know something had happened with Sally, you wouldn't blow her cover. "Becca's having a crisis about her boyfriend Clem or whatever his name is. Said she needs advice."

"Oh," Tryst mumbled. "Do you want me to come with? We can grab dinner on our way back."

"Umm, nah," you told him. You swiped his fallen t-shirt from your rug and tugged it over your head, and you added, "This feels like a girl conversation, y'know? And I'm not sure how well we'd be able to not blow our own covers if both of us are trying to give relationship advice."

"Dank," Tryst replied, his way of agreeing with you. "Hey, there's some ice cream in the freezer, if you really wanna rom-com it up."

You laughed as you finished your quick dressing, shoving your feet into your sneakers as you crossed back to the bed and kissed Tryst goodbye. You liked the way he devoted his entire body to your kisses, dropping every other thing he was doing (at this moment, the remote to your game system that he had been booting Netflix up on) to cup your face and kiss you back. Every single moment of Tryst's love was just more proof to the idea that he had waited his whole life for you and was intent on not squandering a single moment of your love. "I'll text you when I'm on my way home," you whispered into his mouth, and Tryst grinned, nipping at your bottom lip.

"Don't be gone for too long," he told you, his eyes raking over your body. "Wearing my shirt, lookin' all cute, I might need to do something about that."

"I dare you," you smiled back.

Your smile disappeared, though, as you drove yourself into the city, to the penthouse apartment that Guy set the business up in. That penthouse had given you and Tryst some ideas and, as the stashes of cash in your apartment grew, you had begun to fantasize about getting your own place together, a real place to live and not just whatever shitty apartment you rented by the month. Tryst said he had been looking into places "by the water", and that excited you and scared the shit out of you. Anything "by the water" was expensive and, even though you were sure you could finance that rent with only what Tryst had hidden in the bottom frame of your couch, that little poor kid that you had been growing up still lived inside you. You were terrified the entire fake ID situation would go up in smoke at a second's notice, but, if Tryst was confident in it, confident enough to plan a wealthy life together, you were too.

Which is why Becca's confession the second you came into the penthouse made your stomach lurch with the urge to vomit: "Sally lost an order."

"I'm sorry?" you replied immediately, kicking the front door closed with your foot. You looked further into the penthouse, to Zoe curled up on the couch by the window, looking terrified with huge eyes at you, and your eyes snapped back to Becca. "I must've just heard you wrong. She lost an order? What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means," Becca started. "She left the bag of IDs on the bus last night, and we've been running around all day trying to find them, and we finally did, but… The bus system turned the bag in to the lost and found, which got transferred to the police, and the IDs were seized—"

Your brain went fuzzy and you tuned her out the second she said police. Oh God. Here it was. The beginning of the end. The police had the IDs, and they'd be able to track those kids at the drop of a hat, they would all squeal on Sally, and, even though you only met the kid once, you knew she would give up Becca and Zoe in a heartbeat. You had slightly more faith that the girls would try to hold up a better front for you and Tryst, but, if they got to the girls, it was only a matter of time before they got to you. Your legs felt weak, and you braced your hands on the edge of a nearby table to stay upright. You heard Zoe call your name as your vision swam, and your skin went hot. You can't cry. Not here. Not now.

"Please tell me you're joking," you whispered. "O-Or that it's not as bad you're making it seem."

"We're trying to deal with it," Zoe started quickly, standing up. "We're talking to Sally to make sure she won't rat us out when she gets called in—"

"Try harder!" you gasped, whipping your head up to look at the girls. "This cannot be traced to me, or to Tryst. There-There's too much at stake, we just can't be…" You swallowed down your fear and your words, knowing you couldn't say any more without spilling your entire life to the girls. More than the fact that they didn't need to know about Guy, they didn't need to know about Emma. The less they knew, the better. "You two need to fucking handle this. Okay?"

"We are handling it," Becca told you. "We're stopping the trail at Sally, okay? But we knew Tryst would yell at us if we told him, so… Don't tell him about it."

"Fuck, Becca, what the fuck…" you whispered. "I can't not tell him this. If there's a possibility his name could come up in any investigations, he needs to know."

"Why?" Zoe asked. "He's not, like… On parole or anything, is he?"

"Jesus, what?" you scoffed. "No. It's just typically good manners to let someone know if they're about to be busted for selling fake IDs to underage kids."

"Okay, but he's not gonna be," Becca interjected. "We're handling it, we just figured… Y'know. You should know."

"But not Tryst," you said slowly. "Becca, I'm not gonna lie to him. I can't do that, that's ridiculous for you to even ask me to do that."

"Please!" Becca whined. "Please, he'll get so mad at us—"

"Yeah, and you're lucky I'm not!" you told them. "This is… Ridiculously stupid. Of her, of both of you, frankly of me and Tryst for letting you sweet-talk us into hiring Sally in the first place. Girls, I swear to God, you'd better fucking handle this, because I'm not about to go to jail or send Tryst to jail for you two. Okay?"

"I'm sorry," Zoe piped up, and you bit your lip as she shook her head. She had done her hair differently, all short and pink and curly, and it looked cute on her, bouncing as she shook it around. "I'm just… I'm sorry."

You sighed. "I'm not gonna say it's okay, because it's not," you mumbled. "This is a colossal fuck up. But I'm trusting you two to deal with it. I'm just… I'm just gonna pretend I have no idea you told me about this. I frankly do not need another goddamn thing to worry about."

"Is something going on?" Becca asked. "Like, something we don't know about?"

Jesus, was there ever. "Not that you need to worry about," you told her. "Just… Personal life stuff, y'know? Shit I don't wanna talk to two high school girls about… No offense."

"Is it about Tryst?" Becca asked. "You two have seemed… Different. Since the night of the rave when we hired Sally and Sophie."

"Have we?" you asked, and realized just how guilty you sounded, so you shrugged it off as both the girls nodded. "Nothing's changed."

"Really?" Becca asked. "'Cause you're wearing the same shirt he wore last night when he came and checked on us."

Fuck. "You know he sleeps on my couch," you told them nonchalantly. "Our laundry gets mixed up, it's whatever."

Neither girl looked convinced, but you cut off the line of questions that you knew were incoming with a swift: "Well, if there's nothing else you two would like to give me a heart attack about, I'll be on my way."

As easy-going as you tried to act about the whole thing, it made a sweat break out on your back every time you thought about it. You stayed true to your promise, for better or for worse, keeping it away from Tryst, and it only served to make you feel guilty and chew up your insides. You needed to tell him, you absolutely should, but if the girls had it handled, you didn't need to add one more worry onto his plate. At least, that was the way you tried to justify it to yourself.

That gap between the drug test (which Tryst aced; you couldn't remember a time he had gone without at least smoking weed for so long) and the actual court meeting, and Tryst threw himself into the fake ID work. The girls had placed an order for a fuck-off huge printer than didn't use ink but rather UV rays (some sort of science that was too rich for your blood to understand), but the company wouldn't deliver to Canada, so Tryst had to cross the border into Washington to retrieve the fucking thing, which was bigger than he was. You asked him if he needed help carting it up to the penthouse, but he declined; "Don't want you breaking one of your nails, baby, you stay home, I've got this. I'm a big boy."

When your big boy got home, he instantly pounced on you and smothered you in quick, light kisses. "Tryst!" you giggled, shielding your face from his attack. "What the fuck, what is this?"

"Can a man not kiss his beautiful, loving, baddie girlfriend 'hello'?" Tryst asked, feigning offense with narrowed eyes. "God forbid, I go to a whole different country all day, I figured I'd get a hero's welcome or whatever."

"How were our southern neighbors?" you asked, and Tryst settled his full weight on top of you, tugging at the bottom of your hoodie (his hoodie, really; what was yours was now his, and vice versa).

Tryst shrugged. "They had sushi at the gas station I stopped at," he told you. "Seemed weird."

"Gross," you replied, carding your fingers through his hair. Tryst hadn't stopped smiling since he walked in the door, and that continued as he mashed his cheek into your chest, and you laughed softly. "What's got you smiling so big, pretty boy?"

Tryst hummed. "I got something for you," he admitted, and you could feel his chest against your body, and his thumping heartbeat start up. Oh, now this was great.

"Pour moi?" you asked, and Tryst nodded quickly, his eyes crinkling at the corners with the force of his smile. "Whatcha get me?"

"Mm," Tryst laughed. "Can't tell you."

"Well, why not?" you teased him. "You can't tell me you got me something and then keep that shit from me. Is it a birthday present?"

"I mean, it could be," Tryst shrugged. "I don't want it to be, wanna give it to you sooner than that, but…"

"What did you get me?" you pressed. "Baby, that's not fair, telling me you got me something and then not telling me what it is!"

"Alright," Tryst acquiesced, scooting himself up onto his hands to hover top of you. He looked so gorgeous as he smiled down at you, his face all plump and peach, and he said, "I'll give you a hint… I ordered it online, had them special make it and shit, but I was nervous for UPS to get their paws on it, so I picked it up while I was down there."

"What?" you chuckled in confusion. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Tryst landed a quick, smacking kiss to your lip-gloss mouth. "That's for me to know, and also for me to ask you about later," he told you.

"What the fuck are you saying?" you asked, and Tryst just smiled at you, all teeth, before swiftly climbing off of you and making coaxing kissy noises at Tiny Homie, lingering on your kitchen counter. "Tryst, you know I'm impatient, just tell me!"

"C'mere, Tiny Homie," Tryst sang, seemingly ignoring you, but you knew his game. "Here, kitty, kitty, come to Daddy."

"Do not dodge the question!" you said, leaning over the arm of your couch and biting your lip playfully. "Tryst!"

"You're a smart girl, use the clues I gave you," Tryst said as he scooped up a wriggling Tiny Homie into his arms. "Please love me, please love me, please love me…"

You pouted dramatically. "It was something expensive," you began. "Or it means a lot to you… Why else wouldn't you trust the postal service with it? And it's something you're gonna ask me about? Like, ask me if I want it?"

"Sorta," Tryst said quickly. "Ow, hey, no teeth, bad cat, you know better than to bite me."

"What the fuck…" you whispered, your brain racing a mile a minute. Expensive, means a lot to him, doesn't want to give it to you right now but will ask you at a later date if you do want it. Your eyes widened as your synapses fired correctly, giving you one single idea that admittedly seemed both far-fetched and totally expected, and you said, "Tryst. Did you buy me a ring?"

Tryst shrugged. "I buy you lots of stuff," he said. "You deserve pretty things."

"You know that's not what I mean," you said, standing up and padding over to him. His heart had been beating a mile a minute when he was laying on top of you, and now yours was going the same speed. "Trystan. Scott. Smith. Did you buy me a fucking engagement ring?"

Tryst tried to keep up his aloof, silly attitude with a casual shrug, but the sparkle in his big blue eyes gave him away. "Who's to say?"

"Oh my God!" you gasped. "Really? Like, seriously?"

"Of course," Tryst nodded. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I wanna keep you forever, and if that includes you wearing a pretty ring on your finger and sharing my last name, then all the better."

Your lip wobbled, and Tryst let Tiny Homie thump to the floor before he cupped your cheek and gave you a gentle kiss. His lips were so soft, despite the cold, dry, December air outside, and you clutched at his hips as you kissed him back. Tryst wanted to marry you. You knew that he loved you, and you kept waiting for the shock of the surprise to hit you, that he was truly this committed and serious about being with you, but the shock never came. It just made sense that Tryst would want to marry you. He had been in love with you since he was 17. And you didn't have to consider it for very long either— you wanted him for the rest of your life. You had been there for each other through thick and thin, better and worse, sick and poor, all of that shit, and you weren't even properly dating until a little less than a month ago. More than that, you didn't think anybody in your lives would be all that surprised at it. Within seconds of being introduced to the concept, you fell in love with it: you wanted Tryst to be your husband.

"Tryst," you whimpered, your voice thin with impending tears.

"Hey, no crying," Tryst said softly. "I haven't even asked you yet."

"How am I supposed to live in this apartment when I know the ring is here somewhere?" you blubbered, and Tryst laughed. "Like, I feel like fuckin' Gollum or some shit! The ring calls to me, Tryst!"

"The ring isn't in the house," Tryst said quickly. "Because I would have been acting like a total freako if I knew it was here too. Nah, I hid it, you'll never find it… As long as you don't go to my mom's house."

Your heart melted even more than you thought it could. "Your mom knows?" you asked in a weak, watery voice. Tryst's mom was super nice, and it warmed your soul to know that she approved of you; God knows she hasn't always approved of Tryst's exes.

"She's convinced we've been dating since high school," he told you gently, his arms wrapping around your middle. "Like, on again-off again type shit, even though I told her we weren't ever together until the party. I ran the idea by her, proposing to you and all, like, the day after that, while you were at work, and she was stoked. Just so excited to have you as a daughter-in-law, she's always loved you."

"Tryst," you whispered, curling the string of his hoodie around your finger. "Baby, I… I don't know what to say."

"Well, luckily, you don't have to say anything," Tryst told you warmly. "I haven't even asked you yet. You're getting ahead of yourself." He smiled at his own joke, but still wiped your tears from under your eyes all the same. "I love you so fucking much. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You whimpered out a laugh, ducking your head to press your forehead into the hollow of his neck. "You always say that to me," you whispered, and Tryst landed a kiss on your head.

"Because it's true," he told you softly. "I love you, and I'm better because of it."

"You're so…" you began, trailing off when you couldn't decide on a word. Cheesy? Silly? Lovable? Sexy? Totally-Not-Serious? Future-Husband-Material? Okay, those last few weren't single words, but you tilted your head back to connect your lips with his, and his hand came up to cup your cheek as he held you close. "Everything."

"I'm everything?" Tryst repeated against your mouth, and you nodded as you pressed closer, deepening the kiss. "Well, that's adorable."

"I can't wait to marry you," you told him.

"Well, hey, take it easy," Tryst chuckled. "I haven't even asked you yet. Pump the brakes, baby."

"Right," you scoffed as you rolled your eyes. "As if you aren't absolutely dying to ask me."

"Yeah, yeah," Tryst mumbled. "Hey, I've got an idea: what do you say to going up the penthouse tonight?"

"What for?" you asked, and you laughed breathlessly as Tryst's hands smoothed down your body and grabbed at your ass.

"I mean, that view is pretty dank," Tryst told you. "I think fucking you to pieces against that window would be kinda hot, what do you think?"

Your body went hot at the idea, but you frowned. "I mean, yeah," you mumbled. "But I'd rather fuck you here and now. Waiting fuckin' 20 minutes to drive over there— we could be on round 2 in 20 minutes."

"Fair enough," Tryst nodded, and his hands slipped up to your waist, pushing his hands down the front of your pants to cup your pussy with his warm palm. "And you're already good to go. It would just be mean to make you wait, wouldn't it?"

That wasn't to say that fucking him in the penthouse was off the table, or that the idea of it made you forget the idea of marriage at all. You sat on pins and needles for a few days, wondering exactly when Tryst was going to try to propose to you, and your heart pitter-pattered in your chest when he called you on his way home from the mall— "Pack an overnight bag, we're staying up there this weekend." You knew that this was it, tonight was the night, and you pounced on Tryst with a million kisses when he came to pick you up. He was smiling, laughing, kissing you back, holding your hips as he pressed you against the side of his car and greeted you with a quiet "Hi there, pretty girl", doing all of the things to you that you loved. You liked when Tryst got quiet, almost shy, when he spoke to you; it was a side of him that nobody but you got to see, Tryst quiet and sweet. It felt like the ultimate prize to get to see that side of him.

His hand rubbed your thigh as he drove, pausing every so often to take your hand in his and kiss your fingers, and adrenaline pumped in your chest whenever he cast an admiring gaze at your hand. "Tryst?" you whispered knowingly. "Why do you keep looking at my hand like that?"

Tryst shrugged, a smug smile on his face. "You have nice hands," he told you. "And your nails look good too, I like that color… You should wear more jewelry, though. Some bracelets or something… Maybe a ring. Or two."

You liked how awful of a liar Tryst was, and you struggled to hide your smile as you pulled into the parking garage for the building. You held yourselves together pretty well the whole elevator ride up to the penthouse, although his hand on your back kept trying to dip into you back pocket to squeeze your ass, but you let your resolve fall apart as he reached for the keys. You landed a kiss to his neck, making him grin, and he mumbled, "Baby, there's security cameras, chill out. You wanna give Joe at the front desk a little show or something?"

"Would that be so bad?" you asked, employing your doe eyes that were your boyfriend's ultimate weakness. "Then he could see how good I am for you."

"'Good'," Tryst scoffed. "Yeah, you're acting like a fuckin' brat right now. Gimme two seconds—"

"Can't unlock the door?" you pouted. "Key can't find the hole? That doesn't bode well for me."

Tryst pushed the door open and kissed you in one motion, a firm hand clamping on the back of your neck to drag you right up into him, and you caught the quietest growl on his breaths— "So fucking bad, can't wait five goddamn seconds for me, see if I let you cum"— before you looked into the depths of the penthouse, and quickly shoved Tryst away from you as a cold sinking feeling rooted in your stomach.

Zoe. Pink curls, plaid shirt, platform boots, standing over a table of plastic ID cards. She was staring at you and Tryst with moonish eyes, obviously startled by not only your presence but exactly what you were doing, and you watched Tryst's face pale with realization: you'd been caught. "Jesus Christ," he mumbled, and cleared his throat. "Hey, u-umm, what're you doing here so late?"

Zoe seemed tired as she turned back to her table in front of her. "Figured out the Roland," she said softly.

"Hey!" Tryst grinned. "Nice! Good job. Teamwork, right?" He held out his fist for her to bump, and her eyes flicked from his fist, to his face, and over to you in a matter of milliseconds.

"I thought you two weren't fucking," she said flatly, ignoring Tryst's fist bump request, and he lowered his hand as he cleared his throat.

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Umm," you started. "Well, uh, we weren't. Back when you first asked me about it, we weren't."

"What about when Becca asked you last week?" Zoe asked.

"That was different," you told her. "And I explained it then: it's shit that I don't wanna talk about with high school kids, and that's true, you guys don't need to know about who I have sex with."

"Gross," Zoe sighed, turning back to the ID cards.

"Hey, speaking of Rebecca," Tryst started, wiping at his nose in order to give his guilty hands something to do. "Where is she? Felt like I haven't seen her around in a while."

You saw Zoe's shrug, avoidant, a sorta "How should I know?" type of gesture, and you and Tryst exchanged a look. You hadn't noticed any weirdness between the girls when you saw them last, but of course, you were all pretty preoccupied at that meeting, so if there was weirdness, you weren't surprised it slipped by you.

"Zoe," Tryst started. He ducked his head a little, trying to make eye contact with the young girl, and he added, "Seriously."

Instead of a real answer, she scooped up one of the ID cards from the table in front of her and shoved it into Tryst's hand, then did the same to you. It was pretty typical for the girls to practice new techniques on fakes for you two, and she muttered out "Perfected the hologram" as you looked at a picture of yourself. All of the details were just about right— according to the ID, you were about one inch taller and ten pounds lighter than in real life, but you'd take it— and the hologram winked at you in the light. Damn, it looked good. It looked better than good, it looked real. Holy fucking shit.

"Hey!" Tryst smiled. "That's me!"

You laughed— that's what he always said when he got a new ID— and you chanced a glance at the card in his hand to see what it looked like. A frown instantly overtook your face, though, at what you saw. It was the same as yours, completely realistic, but there was one glaring issue, something that could take down everything. "Zoe, seriously, what's going on?" you asked quickly, looking up at her. You didn't feel like playing games anymore, and you waited for her response.

"What?" she snapped, very teenage-girl.

"You're making sloppy mistakes," you told her. "Mistakes that are gonna get us caught. It doesn't matter how good the hologram is if you're getting easy, basic shit wrong."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Zoe asked. You could tell she was at the end of whatever rope she was hanging from, but you didn't care. This could be very bad, and you needed to nip it in the bud.

Quickly, you took Tryst's chin in your hand, forcing him to look at her. He didn't resist at all, even smiling at the girl, and you quickly said, "Brown eyes."

"Huh?"

"According to the ID," you began. "Trystan Smith of West Vancouver, British Columbia, has brown eyes. Does that seem right to you?"

"God, so I make one mistake…" Zoe mumbled, and anger flared in your chest.

"Yeah, you do!" you said. "You make one mistake on one card— a practice card, not a real one, thank God— so what happens when you make a mistake on a card we send out? We can't make mistakes, at all! If a kid gets caught with a brown eye ID when he has the bluest fuckin' eyes in the world, people will know it's a fake, and he'll rat on whoever sold it to him, and it'll go up the ladder quick. Zoe, you can't be sloppy ever, in any regard. This is a federal law you're breaking, that we're helping you break— you cannot be sloppy when it comes to the feds! A-And whatever you've got going on with Rebecca, whatever fuckin' issue you two have with each other, you both need to put on your big girl panties and talk it out and fix it, because whatever is going on is part of this whole thing, I know it."

Zoe was silent as you huffed out your words, and she watched you warily as you let go of Tryst's face. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't worry, Becca's gonna get this same lecture later," you told her, fishing in your pocket for your phone. "I'm not yelling at you specifically. Just… This is stressful for all of us. Sorry for raising my voice at you."

Tryst hummed softly, and he wrapped his arms around your waist as he moved behind you. "That was hot," he whispered in your ear, and you scoffed out a laugh as you went to your texts to send a similar rant to Becca. "No, baby, I'm serious, like you bein' all stern and stuff. That got me going. Can you talk to me like that?"

"Have you done anything recently that would warrant me being all mean to you?" you asked, and Tryst shrugged as his hands started to smooth up your thighs to grip your hips.

"I don't think so," he whispered. "But I can be naughty for you, if that's what it takes."

"Can you two, like, get a room?" Zoe interjected, and you rolled your eyes at the teenage angst of it all.

"Well, it's funny you say that," Tryst began. "You gotta kick rocks."

"What?" Zoe asked. "I was here first, I'm working!"

"Don't care, didn't ask," Tryst said quickly. "Get out, scoot, vamoos. Me and my lovely associate have business to attend to that is of a strictly confidential nature."

"Take some me-time," you told her, trying to soothe Tryst's request. "Eat something, sleep it off. Come back on Monday."

"Monday?" Zoe repeated. "Fuck, we'll need to fumigate this place when you two are done."

"You would do it too, if you had a smoking hot girlfriend!" Tryst said as Zoe gathered her stuff to quickly scoot out the door. Only once the front door was shut with Zoe gone did Tryst heave a heavy sigh, and he squeezed his arms around you as he dropped his forehead onto your shoulder. "Jesus Christ… Well. Guess the girls know now."

"I didn't think she'd be here," you said softly. "Fucking hell… We need to put a camera out there so we can see when the girls come and go… Avoid that happening again. Holy shit, that's so embarrassing…"

"I'm sorry," Tryst whispered into your shoulder. "That's not exactly the most optimal way to start this weekend."

You shrugged, and you turned in Tryst's arms to face him. His cheeks were flushed peachy with his own embarrassment, and you landed a soft kiss on his mouth. "I don't think I'd have it any other way," you said softly. "That just makes sense for us, right? Something always goes sorta fucky and wrong with us. Why would you assume that proposing to me would go any different?"

Tryst's smile was gentle and sweet, his eyes full of light as he admired your face, and your heart started to drum inside your chest as he went for the pocket of his jacket. "You know, you're right…" he said softly. "Even after eleven years, one single thing can't go right with us… Except for us. Every circumstance and situation we've found ourselves in has been fucked up, but knowing that I had you by my side just made everything better. You make everything better. Eleven years with you by my side have been… Baby, I think I'd be dead if I didn't have you. I-I think about those cheesy Tweets and shit I see about people saying they married their 'best friend' or whatever, and up until a few weeks ago, I always thought that sounded hokey and shitty, but now that we're here, I… I realize exactly what that means."

"You don't have to make a speech," you whispered, and Tryst laughed as his eyes wetted up.

"Yes I do," Tryst whispered back. "If I'm gonna do one fuckin' thing right in my life, it's gonna be this. I'm not about to fuck this up."

"Oh, okay," you giggled. "You may proceed."

"Right, thanks, was planning on it," Tryst quipped, and you smiled widely. "But, like, you're my best friend. I think you're the only real friend I've ever had, and it's so… I don't know how to describe it. Things haven't really changed between us— I mean, like, now I can fuck you and talk about fucking you, that's pretty cool, that's always something I've wanted, can we fuck after this?—"

"Eyes on the prize, baby," you told him fondly, cupping his cheek with your palm.

"Trust me, I'm lookin' at it," Tryst told you, and you flushed hot as his eyes trained on yours. "But, like, we're the same as we've always been. And I've never loved you more. As far as I'm concerned, we've been dating since high school, we only just figured that out. Everyone in our lives already thinks that we're lying when we say we've only been official for a few weeks anyway. You, um… You make my throat go all thick, like I'm nervous to talk to you. You make my hands sweaty, you make my legs shake… I feel like I'm that kid in shop class all over again, every time I see you. I-I was so fuckin' scared to talk to you, baby… You're so pretty, and you looked so cool, I, like, I don't know how I actually managed to strike up a conversation, some miracle or something, or why you decided you liked me and wanted to keep talking to me… But I know it's killing you to hear me ramble, and I'm dying listening to myself ramble too, and I am procrastinating a little just 'cause, even though I know what your answer is gonna be, it's still the scariest question a man's ever gonna ask in his life, it's so adult, how the fuck are we old enough to get married? But anyway…"

And then, from his jacket pocket, his hand came out, and tears obscured your vision as you watched him, all peach-faced with shaking hands, open the flocked red ring box in his palm as he slowly sank down to the ground. He broke tradition, though, settling himself on both knees in front of you, one hand offering you the ring as the other tangled in the hem of your t-shirt. You sniffled up your tears, and your hand shot out to steady yourself on his shoulder as you felt your head swim with the sheer weight of the moment. "I didn't think it would hit me so hard," you whispered on a watery chuckle. "Sorry. I… Oh my God."

The ring Tryst got for you was truly something beautiful. It was simple, a small gemstone set into a silver metal, but the gemstone itself was what was really making your emotions run wild. It looked like a diamond, and you would have thought it was, if it wasn't for the light purple glint it sent off from the lights. "Purple?" you whispered weakly, and Tryst nodded.

"Like your bra," he replied, and you barked out a laugh. "I don't know, I thought it would be cute, it just sounds sorta crass now…"

"No, no, it is cute," you told him softly. "That's so fucking cute…" You fell silent, your mind racing with a million thoughts— getting married, you'd get to change your name, no wedding but probably some sorta get-together with your families, would Tryst's siblings find their way home for that? There's no way you can wear white, maybe a muted pink or purple but not stark white, Tiny Homie officially having a dad, you should get Tryst a ring too, oh my God Tryst my fiancé, Tryst my husband, if only those shop-class kids could see us now, wait does that mean you'd be Emma's stepmom? Are you old enough to be a stepmom? Tryst had never said he wanted more kids, to be fair he didn't really even want a kid until Emma happened, that can be a conversation for later, maybe his feelings will have changed after you get married— and you finally blinked yourself aware when you realized you had left Tryst totally out in the lurch and waiting for your response. "I guess this is the part where I put that thing on and say yes, right?"

"Unless you don't want to," Tryst whispered. "Like… I'm pretty certain you want to, but if you're not a hundred percent in, that's okay, I-I can ask again later, I can put this away—"

"No, no," you said as you bent over to reach his face, and you kissed him quiet. His breath caught in his throat as his lips molded against yours, kissing you with a depth you had never felt from him before, not even with your first kiss. Perhaps this was just how Tryst kissed his wife. You smiled into his mouth, and you whispered, "I'm in. One hundred percent."

When you broke away from Tryst's kiss, your heart jolted with the sight of him: Spongebob suds-red eyes, full of tears, gathering at the edge and threatening to spill, his cheeks all peachy-orange, a smile on his lips that he quickly transformed into a bite of his bottom lip and screwing up of his mouth. "Well," he said softly, scoffing out a chuckle. "Let's, uh, let's put this on you, then. I hope it fits, I had to guess what size you wore to order it, let's hope I guessed right…"

Tryst did guess correctly, and, as he fucked you into the mattress that night, holding your hand tightly, the candle light glinted off the jewel on your finger. Every time he made you cum that weekend (which was regularly, he hardly let you leave the bed), tears streamed down your face— it was perfect bliss, the definition of orgasmic, and, even though you did feel good, it was the fact that it was Tryst, your fiancé, doing it made you fall to pieces. Tryst even shed his own tears, letting them hit your chest and cheeks as he whispered little love notes to you, and you fell asleep Sunday night wrapped in the knit blankets, skin to skin with your lover, combing through his bleached hair and smiling. His dark roots were growing out. Almost back to normal.

The next day was the day shit started to get fucked.

Your day at the office should have warned you that goings-on behind the scenes would spell the beginning of the end. All of your coworkers commented on your ring, congratulating you, and you felt on top of the world as you got to gush, "His name is Trystan, we've been best friends since high school, started dating and everything fell into place, I'm so excited"; things were too good. You should have known that nothing that good and sweet could last forever.

You came home to an empty apartment. Tryst was usually home by now. Tiny Homie was curled up in his cat tower, sounding his tiny snores; Tryst hadn't been home all day, or else Tiny Homie would be awake and screaming for dinner. Something must have happened to him. It was a leap of a conclusion, but knowing the type of people you and your fiancé were involved with now, you worried that it wasn't that far-fetched. You paced around the living room as you waited for him, or a text, or any sign of him. Was there anyone you could call? Not really. Neither of the girls knew about Guy, and that would be a hell of a way to introduce them to the concept of a rich mobster financing nearly the entire business, and there certainly wasn't anyone else to alert. You were in this alone.

Finally, just before midnight, nearly six hours of torturous silence, the doorknob began to jiggle. It startled you, making you jump in fright, and you ran to the door to check the peephole, and you quickly yelped and undid the deadbolt to throw your arms around Tryst. "Oh my God!" you whimpered. "Baby, what the fuck happened?"

"Ow, baby, stop," Tryst said quickly, his voice thin and tight. Your chest buzzed with a bad lightning at his words, and you carefully unwound yourself from him and took a step back. Now, you could really look at him, his sallow thin face and messy hair, his left arm curled against his chest protectively, like a little bird who hurt its wing— your hug had crushed his arm against his chest.

"Are you okay?" you asked urgently, following him as he moved towards the kitchen. "Tryst, what happened?"

He was quiet as he slammed at the sink faucet, and the water started to noisily gush out as he slowly unfolded his arm from his chest. That sick feeling returned full-throttle when you saw that it wasn't his arm he was protecting, it was his hand— his finger, his non-dominant index finger. You could remember, a few months ago, when this whole affair started, Tryst mentioning something about the non-dominant index finger being the best thing to break if given a choice. He had only said it to scare the girls, back when that was still operating procedure, and he had only brought it up at all because it had been mentioned in some TV show you had been watching together. You watched him silently extend his hand towards the water, and you frowned at the state of his finger, all off-kilter and swollen and bruised. "Tryst, oh my God!" you squeaked. "Did you do that?" You had no idea why that was the question you asked. You were certain it wasn't his doing.

"Baby, please," Tryst mumbled. "Got a headache…"

"Yeah, and a broken fuckin' finger too!" you hissed, lowering your voice to respect the headache he had, and you carefully reached out for his hand, taking care to make sure you didn't bump or nudge his injury. Your chest filled with fire and your eyes filled with tears as you looked at it, trying to determine what the best course of action would be. "We need to go to the hospital, sweetheart, you can't just walk around with this—"

"Not goin' to the hospital," Tryst murmured. "S'not fucking happening."

"Well, you can't just walk around with a broken finger," you whimpered. "What happened to you?"

Tryst didn't answer you immediately. Instead, he went for the fridge and pulled it open with enough force to make you step back for the possibility of the door flying across the room, and he rummaged around for a moment before mumbling, "Fuck me, I thought we had some champagne left over from Friday."

"We left it at the penthouse," you told him, beginning to gnaw on your thumbnail. You didn't like this. He had started to drink more and more recently, usually when he was stressed about the girls or his real job or Emma. "I don't think you should be drinking right now—"

"Jesus, can you not…" Tryst started, and his soft volume hurt worse. You had expected him to raise his voice at you, yell at you, anything like that, even some broiling annoyance that you even brought up the drinking at all, but he just seemed tired. "Not do that right now… I'm fine with all'a that right now, just… Please."

You took a deep, steadying breath. "Can I take you to a walk-in clinic, then?" you asked gently. "It's not the hospital, it'll be faster, if that's what you're worried about."

You were so concerned with examining Tryst's finger that you almost missed what was happening to his face, but the way his breath caught in his throat made you lock in. Your sweet boy was crying. Your heart shattered; what had happened to him? Moving carefully and slowly, you nudged your way under Tryst's arms and wrapped your arms tight around his body, and his right arm came up to clutch you tightly as he really let go, unleashing his sobs into your hair. His chest bounced as he struggled to breathe, and he sniffled loudly. "I'm so sorry," he whispered with a wet voice, his lips soaked with his tears. "Y-You don't deserve this, none of this, you shouldn't have to be dealing with this…"

"Baby," you whispered, and you carefully stroked down his hair to try to soothe him.

"I think about it every day," Tryst whimpered in your ear. "You'd be so much better off without me, if you never met me, I wish you never met me—"

"Tryst, honey," you cooed. Your heart hurt inside your chest, pitter-pattering so hard you felt like you might pass out. "You're winding yourself up, please settle down, my love. Can you tell me what happened? Please…?"

"Guy," Tryst mumbled, and your cheeks went burny and prickly as your stomach dropped to your ass. "He… I… Fuck, I don't even..."

With tears in your eyes, you gently pulled Tryst out of the kitchen and down the hall towards the bathroom. Even Tiny Homie seemed to know his dad was upset, because he sat quietly and calmly, his tail lazily flapping as he watched Tryst like a hawk; none of the usual "Daddy's home!" pestering. You enclosed the two of you in your bathroom and started up the shower, turning the hot hot enough to make Tryst's skin pink, just the way he liked, especially in the rainy cold. Carefully, you began to undress him, being delicate with his hand, which was now shaking. Why was he shaking? Scared? Cold? Afraid? You worked quietly to get him under the warm spray, then you focused on yourself, working methodically to undress and step under the water with him, then swish the curtain closed.

You felt hollow, catatonic, as you reached up to make sure his hair was getting wet, and you grabbed for your own shampoo. "What happened with Guy?" you asked as you began to wash his hair. "He did that to you?"

"Yeah," Tryst said softly. "Umm… Came and found me, took me to their warehouse or whatever… He doesn't know about the girls, and he said he likes the work we do with the IDs, asked if we could make, like, labels for knockoffs or whatever…"

You sighed. You didn't know how to work that fuck-off huge American printer, and you were certain Tryst didn't either, so you were a little bit Up Shit's Creek with that, unless you could convince the girls to show you how it works.

But Tryst wasn't done: "And apparently Sally got arrested. She lost an order of fake IDs, the police got it, those kids trying to buy from her ratted, and they brought her in."

Your hands began to shake then. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. And you knew about it the entire time and didn't tell him. How did you let the girls convince you to keep that a secret from him? You felt sick to your stomach with the betrayal that Tryst had no idea about, and you swallowed thickly.

"Tryst—" you sighed. You needed to tell him. The guilt would eat you alive.

"He broke my finger 'cause of that," Tryst said softly. "Got too close for comfort, could've gotten the whole place thing shut down… Had to punish me."

"We need to stop," you said quickly. "Like, we're way outta our league here. Having this happen to you is crossing a line that we don't need to be anywhere near. Especially because court's on Monday—"

"Fuck, I'm about to lose my daughter," Tryst whimpered suddenly. "Sarah's gonna spin this broken fuckin' finger, even if I said I did it myself, she'll say I'm irresponsible, I'm this, I'm that, I'm a fucking alcoholic who can't hold a job, I wouldn't let me take care of a kid either."

"We can…" you started gently. You let your fingernails trace his scalp as you worked the shampoo into his hair, trying anything to soothe him, but you were at a loss for words. This was incredibly bad. You didn't know what to do to fix it. You always knew what to do, and now that it mattered, you had no clue. "You're none of those things, sweetheart."

"I'm all of those things," Tryst told you. "I just hoped I'd have my shit together…"

"It'll be okay," you said softly, letting your tears spill over and sniffle. Everything was fucked up. Everything was intensely fucked up. "Baby, we'll get through it together."

"I should've never…" Tryst whispered. "Never gotten wrapped up in this shit. I'm so fucking stupid for thinking this could ever end any way but badly, I'm so sorry for fucking everything up."

You shushed him gently, starting to rinse his hair. Usually, a good shower and washing his hair calmed him down when he was anxious, but this was a much bigger panic than a tight chest. "T, baby," you whispered. "I love you so much, but we need to end this. Close up shop, wash our hands of this. We're lucky you only ended up with a broken finger; if something like this happens again, we might not be so lucky."

"We can't stop now," Tryst told you, turning to face you. His cheeks were flushed from the hot water, water droplets clinging to his light mustache and dark eyelashes, his bare chest heaving frantically. "Baby, we're in too deep now, we can't—"

"I know," you sighed. You felt defeated. "I know, I just… Don't know what to do. There has to be something we can do."

Tryst set his jaw tight, obviously thinking. Finally, on a whisper, he said, "There's something."

He never told you what that something was, despite your prodding. In fact, he hardly said another word all night long. You got some dinner into him, did a sloppy splint on his finger until you could go to a clinic in the morning, laid on his chest as you tried to sleep, but you were both too wound up to even try for that. Finally, as the sun was rising outside, you decided that now was the time to act. The thin, pale skin around his finger had gotten a darker red, edging purple at places, and you helped him get dressed as he mumbled out, "I was working on my car… Hood came down, slammed my finger... S'what happened, that's what we're telling them…"

Your whole body was raging with electricity as you lied to the clinic workers and went along with Tryst's story. You called your boss and hastily explained something about a personal emergency and how you needed the day off, but you could hardly focus on the other end of the call. Tryst seemed… Better. Thankfully. Around other people, he seemed fairly normal— smiling, joking with the nurse as they affixed a aluminum and foam splint to his left index finger, much more medical and serious than the popsicle stick and scotch tape you had found in the back of your medicine cabinet: "Yeah, you try to fix your lady's car to save her a few bucks and a trip to the shop, this is what happens, but I'd get my finger crushed a thousand times for her"— and it almost made you feel at ease. Maybe he was coming out of whatever episode had started last night. You hoped he was.

The good feeling only lasted so long, though. Once back in the car, Tryst was quiet again, his face fallen and still. He was grinding his teeth, you could see the muscle in his jaw working, and you dug your nails into your palm as he fobbed into the parking garage for the penthouse. "Tryst?" you asked. "What're you doing?"

"The ladies are here," Tryst said. His aloof persona from the clinic was gone, replaced by the cold iron bite that he had had since last night. "Doorbell cam went off about an hour ago."

"Okay, and?" you asked. Tryst slammed the car into park and yanked the keys from the ignition, and he got out without another word, leaving you in his dust. You hated every single second of whatever was happening, and you just had to follow him, walking quickly to keep up with his long-legged stride, and he scaled the stairs much quicker than you did.

When you heard his shouting start at the top of the stairs, you knew you were fucked.

You panted into the doorway just as Tryst was walking past the girls, and you watched him stalk towards the printers as the girls started their protestations, crying out as he frantically began to unplug everything. "I am not fucking around, ladies! Do you understand that?" Tryst asked, his brow furrowed and his nose scrunched in the way it only ever did when he was angry. Angry-angry. Night-Emma-Was-Born-angry. Your stomach dropped; you couldn't handle that again. But your legs weren't working, you couldn't leave. You were still, quiet, forced to watch the scene play out.

"Yeah, no one is fucking around here except for you!" Zoe exclaimed, as Becca squealed out a 'What the fuck?!' "Stop touching our shit!"

"Oh, your shit?" Tryst asked with an incredulous smile, tugging at the cords of the tabletop printers that were his first victims. "This is all your shit?"

"Leave the squad alone!" Becca breathed, protectively wrapping her arms around the equipment, and your face burned as Tryst immediately pushed his tongue into his cheek, annoyed, as he started for the Roland. The same one he had crossed the border to get, when he got the ring that sat on your hand at the same time. The girls saw the inevitable future at the same time you did, and you stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind you as a chorus of "Tryst!" and "Trystan, no!" sounded from the girls. "I swear to God," Becca started, putting herself between the printer and your fiancé. "If you even touch RBG—"

"Well, I mean, it is mine," Tryst countered. When Becca tried to protest, he added, "It has my name on it. It was shipped to me and I signed for it."

"I bought it!" Becca fought back.

"Well, you owe me 20k, easy," Tryst said instantly. He had the number ready to go, and you didn't doubt that was exactly what Becca and Zoe owed him, probably down to the cent. "Helping you set all this stuff up."

"All this 'stuff' is my stuff!" Becca cried, and Zoe placed her hand on her friend's shoulder, trying to help her settle down.

"Okay, everyone just chill out," Zoe started with a heavy sigh. "Tryst, let us just pay you back—"

"Or is there another reason why you're so fucking pissed?" Becca spat.

You watched Tryst's hands start to shake, his nose wrinkling up in anger again. His eyes were burning— if looks could murder— and his breathing was ragged. "You don't fucking listen to me, ever!" he told them firmly, and you watched his eyebrows pitch in the middle. Was he about to cry? "That's why I'm fucking pissed! This is about you and you fucking up a good thing!"

"What the fuck—" Zoe started, and Tryst laughed a little, his tongue poking at the corner of his lips.

"Oh, Zoe, I am way beyond talking," Tryst said softly. "Way beyond it. This is not your space—"

"Well, who's is it, then?" Becca asked.

"It's ours," Tryst said, his eyes flicking to you. "This apartment belongs to me and my wife, the same girl you've been fucking over as long as me, and you two need to get the fuck outta here before you get us all killed."

Your head was spinning. Before, you wouldn't have believed Tryst that the situation was life or death, but after last night, you weren't so sure anymore that he was exaggerating. The girls, though, didn't have the same knowledge you did (evidently not, because both Zoe and Becca whirled around to gawk at you when Tryst said 'wife'— to their credit, you weren't married yet, so they technically were as up to date on that as possible), and when they tried to protest about how dramatic Tryst was being, he yelled at them.

"Get the fuck out! Now!"

That was your last straw. His voice cracked on his yell, his voice deep— this was a new level to his anger. This was past Night-Emma-Was-Born-anger. This was something that truly, honestly scared you. You were frozen as the girls gathered their things and spit frenzied "Fuck you, Tryst!"s towards him, and you were thankful that their ire didn't reach you as they left, slamming the door behind them, and you finally let out your staggered panting— you didn't even realize you were holding your breath until you let it out. Tryst was breathing heavily too, the room tense with the ghost of the conversation, and he finally mumbled, "That should be fine..."

You started towards him, your face screwing up in anger. Maybe not anger— sadness, betrayal, hurt. You had never felt like this before, and no name could be placed on the heat inside your chest as you your hands flexed into tight fists. You didn't know what to call him. You didn't know what to say. A thousand insults, a thousand thoughts, ran through your head, all of them mean but not nearly what close to the venom you wanted to spit at him, and, before you knew it, your clenched fists were beating on his shoulder, nowhere near hard enough to hurt but enough to send your message. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Hey, what—" Tryst began.

"Don't even start!" you cried. "You deserve it, you know you do!"

"What're you so mad about?" Tryst asked, side-stepping you, and you huffed through your nose.

"I'm not mad!" you exclaimed. "I-I don't know what I am! Or what's going on with me, with you! That— all of that— was uncalled for—"

"Except it wasn't!" Tryst shouted. "Those two girls are going to get us killed if they keep up with this bullshit! I know you like them and feel protective over them or whatever, gal pal girl power or whatever, I don't know, but even you have to admit that the way they're behaving and working recently is going to get us killed by the fucking— the fuckin' mob that I somehow got us involved with. They're fucking up and that's my neck on the line, and once they're done with me, they're coming after you. Y'know, I did this for you!" He threw his injured hand in the hair, letting it fall back down limply to his side, and he turned on his heel, ruffling the hair on the back of his head frustratingly.

"What did you do for me?" you asked with venom. "You broke my heart every day for ten years? You dragged me into your illegal bullshit? What? What did you do?"

"I let Guy break my fucking finger so he wouldn't kill you!" Tryst spat. He looked over his shoulder coldly at you, and he watched your reaction. Any words you had died in your throat, and you felt yourself floating out of your own body. You didn't feel like a person anymore, you didn't feel real. "Didn't tell you that, did I? Yeah, apparently, they were planning on finding you. They even showed up to your office yesterday, but they asked for you by my last name, so of course they didn't find you. But they found me. Guy told me all about the Sally bullshit, the clusterfuck that this has turned into, and when it became very fucking apparent that he wasn't intending on leaving you alone, I told him to hurt me instead. Begged him to do it to me instead of you, and he laughed and laughed like I told him some A-plus fuckin' joke, and he let me choose which goddamn finger to break 'cause he said I remind him of himself. So, yeah, go ahead, yell at me or whatever you fuckin' want, but I've done so much for you that you'll never ever know."

"Then tell me!" you whimpered desperately. "What have you done for me? I can't be thankful of shit I don't know happened, Trystan!"

Tryst was quiet, contemplating his words, and his eyes canvassed you, almost as if he were gauging your thoughts. His gaze was icy and terrifying— you had never seen him like this before. You weren't sure if this was manic or not, but you didn't like it. Finally, he sighed, deflated his anger, and he squeezed his eyes shut, raking his hair off his forehead. "You remember that kid from high school?" he mumbled finally, settling down onto the couch. "The, um… Crab boy? Shrimp boy? What did we fucking call him?"

"Alex," you nodded. "Lobster. You said he smelled like lobster."

"Right," Tryst nodded. "And he did. But, um, you remember how, after the dance, he never talked to you again? And you were so upset 'cause you didn't know what you did?" You nodded slowly, waiting for the rest of his confession, even though you were pretty sure you knew where it was heading, and Tryst carefully tread forward, "You didn't do anything. It was me. I… I was jealous. I was so mad that you had eyes for him and not me, and I saw him at the mall, like, the day after the dance, and I… I don't know. I sorta cornered him, asked why he felt he had the right to take my girlfriend to the dance, and he was, like, 'oh, I didn't know she had a boyfriend', y'know, all that, and I told him if I saw him talking to you again, he'd regret it— I didn't, like, say I'd do anything to him, and, like, I was 17, I wasn't threatening at all, you knew me back then, Lobster Boy could've handed me my ass— but he listened. And I didn't think it would matter 'cause you had told me you didn't like him too much, so when you told me a few months later about… What had happened… God, I felt terrible. I immediately wished I could take back what I told him."

"How is that 'doing something for me'?" you mumbled. "You hurt me more than helped me with that one." And it was true; Alex's refusal to talk to you after the night of the Winter Formal, after taking your virginity in the back of his car (or was it his dad's car? It was so long ago, you could hardly remember), had torn you apart. You had felt so alone and, even though you had Tryst back then, the damage of feeling unwanted had been done.

"That's the first night we kissed," Tryst whispered. "When you told me he wasn't talking to you, when I told you I was going to Toronto…"

"Oh, so it's okay to tear my confidence to shreds if it means I'll pay attention to you?" you asked. "I'll give you the one thing, your finger, I'll give you that. That was selfless, and you didn't have to do that—"

"He was going to kill you, baby, he told me," Tryst interjected. "I'd do anything to protect you."

"Let me finish," you said firmly. You couldn't remember a time you had been more upset with him, and you weren't about to let him overshadow your emotions with his pitifulness. "Protecting me in that way, I appreciate that. And I appreciate so much that you've done for me, but you've also done so much hurt to me. I… I blindly follow you and I always have, even when other people were telling me to leave you in the dust. With Sarah and Emma, I shouldn't have stayed friends with you through that, 'cause it was damaging. It hurt me so badly, every part of me, to see you be devoted to someone who wanted nothing to do with you, the entire time I'm begging for you to notice me, and you never did until recently. And, yes, you're a good dad, and a good man for owning up to a mistake and trying to be good to her, but… Y'know how bad it hurt to see you with your daughter? I cried so hard, I threw up. I thought I'd never recover from that. I've loved you for as long as I've known you, and you continually break my heart, you've broken my heart a thousand times… Even things you think help me, they don't. 'Cause, yeah, you didn't let Guy hurt me, but now I have to live with the fact that we're in such a serious fucking situation that you had to let yourself get hurt. I want you to wrap all this up, scrap it, never go back. This has to be it, T, 'cause I don't know how much more I can get hurt, 'cause I-I don't think I can be fixed anymore."

You sighed, and you braced your hands on the desk to hang your head and let the sick feeling in your stomach pass. You felt drained of energy and life, like your legs could give out and splatter you across the floor at any moment, and you felt the hot sting of tears prick your eyes. "I want the rest of my life with you, but I don't want the rest of my life with you to be spent in fear of what could possibly hurt us," you whispered. "I need you to be done."

"I am," Tryst whispered. "I'm done. I promise to you, I am. I'm gonna shut all this shit down, I can't… I can't afford to lose you. If this is what it takes…"

"I want you to go back to school," you continued. "You were so close to being done, and you never told me why you quit. I want you to finish what you started, so you can get on your feet. I don't mind being the breadwinner, but I think it's about time you be done with get-rich-quick schemes."

"Okay," Tryst nodded instantly. "Whatever it takes, I promise. I'll start, like, now, okay? C'mere, please—"

"Get off the drugs," you added, finally looking up at him. "Stop drinking. All of that shit. You're done. You have to be done. That's the only way I'm gonna marry you. You have to leave this entire world behind. I'm not going to marry you if there's a potential of somebody from your past coming back. You hear me, T? That's the only way I'm yours."

Tryst nodded solemnly. His hair was messy and in his face, his cheeks pink, his eyes brilliant blue against the warmth of his skin. "I missed you," he said softly.

"What?" you asked, squinting your eyes.

"That's why I dropped out of Toronto," Tryst told you. "You were clear across the country, in a different time zone, might as well have been an entirely different world… I missed you so badly and I felt so empty without you. Right about the time I was wising up to the fact that nobody else could replace you, that you were it for me… So I left. I always thought I could go back if I wanted to, transfer over here or whatever… But… Life happened. But if you want me to go back, if that's what it takes to keep you, I'll do it."

"I hope you know that being sweet to me isn't gonna exonerate you," you told him, and you took a step away from the desk. Despite your words, you went over to where he was sitting and curled up next to him, laying your legs over his lap to kiss his shoulder. "I mean, it will, but… Y'know. Don't use it as a fallback."

"I won't," Tryst whispered, and his arms wrapped around you to hug you tightly. "I'm sorry I've done all that to you. I'll be better… I have to be."

The following weeks were uneventful, thankfully. Simple living, takeout pizzas and movies and work shifts— a normal life. "Little boy rolled around in his own shit," Tryst crooned one night, spooning your indignant post-bath kitty as you giggled and recorded a video of it. "But that's okay 'cause Daddy got you all clean! And you only scratched me once!" He didn't even glance at the side table next to your couch, buzzing from his burner phone that he had stashed away inside the drawer, as he sang to Tiny Homie. No business, all family, just as he promised.

The sex was good too. His kisses felt more special, his hands gripping your flesh more reverent than before. He promised to be better for you, and that promise showed up everywhere, even in bed. He was generous, giving, drawing out shaking orgasms with his tongue and fingers and cock, seemingly apologizing for his behavior before. I'm sorry I treated you so badly and got us into major shit, let me make it up to you by making you go blind in one eye. Sometimes, you would pretend to be asleep on his chest afterwards, though you were awake, just to see what he would do; while lightly scratching his dull nails up and down your spine, he would cry. Good. He should be crying. Otherwise, he had eschewed all other vices, including your vape.

His appointment with family court happened during this good period. Like everything else, it went well— your wild, fun-loving boy was dressed all nice, a good warm sweater and slacks, his hair clean and pushed behind his ears, clean-shaven. He passed his drug test, spoke without a shaking voice, explained to the judge that, as his daughter got older, he wanted to have more of a relationship with her, once that wasn't based on whenever his ex-girlfriend decided to let him see her. "I pay my required child support payments either early or on time," Tryst told the judge. "When I can, I overpay so there's a little extra for fun stuff, y'know, a new toy, sweater, whatever. Umm, I've been employed for 3 months— there should be a letter from my manager in the documents I gave you, talking about my work ethic— and there should also be a few print-outs of emails about how I'm trying to transfer to a community college to finish my degree after I dropped out a couple'a years ago. I-I think that I'm responsible and capable of having more often and scheduled visitation with my daughter, and I… I just wanna be a good dad. I didn't have a dad, and I wanna be there for Emma." The judgment had yet to be fully passed down yet, but you had no reason to believe that anything would go any way but well. Everything seemed to be coming up roses.

The night shit truly got fucked started normally. You got off work at a normal time, texted your fiancé and asked what he wanted for dinner, drove home. The apartment was empty, Tryst's beater car missing from out front, and a text came through just as you were kicking your shoes off inside: You choose. Sorry for being late, got roped into doing inventory. I'll let you know when I'm OMW, accompanied by a kiss emoji. Again, pretty normal. Not normal as in happens-all-the-time— Tryst had never been asked to help inventory at that Coffee Corner or whatever it's called, his latest job— but normal as in sometimes-jobs-make-you-do-stupid-shit. God knows your job made you do stupid shit. At least he was at work.

As you were examining your fridge, trying to choose dinner as Tryst instructed, you heard your phone rattle on the counter top. Maybe it was a follow up from him, deciding on food— he rarely cared about what he ate but usually had some kind of input— and you sighed heavily as your heart sank deep.

Becca Li: can u meet us at the penthouse?? pls pls pls it's important

You hadn't heard from either Becca or Zoe since Tryst's blowup a few weeks ago. They seemed wholly uninterested in engaging you or him again, and you were thankful for that— it made it easier to sever ties if they weren't constantly trying to talk to you. You didn't want to even open the message and let the receipt go through; you should have blocked her altogether way before now. Sighing, you scooped your phone up, tapping over to your contacts app to find her card and block her, but a second text dropped down from your screen.

Becca Li: it's about tryst pls we need to talk to you like rn

Your phone was nestled at your ear in an instant, trilling as you called her. You knew she was full of shit and just mentioned him to get you to respond (which, like, was working), and, as the call connected, you instantly sniped at her, "What?"

"Jesus, easy," Becca started. "We just needed to ask you something about Tryst. Can you meet us?"

"What about him?" you asked. "I mean, you're talking to me now. Why do you need to see me in person? Or, better yet, ask Tryst about himself."

"Neither of our texts are going through to him—" Becca started, and you smiled.

"So he did block you two," you nodded. "Good, I told him he should."

"Why did you do that?" Becca asked, her voice starting to go all squealy like it usually did when she was 0.5 seconds away from playing the victim.

"Because you and Zoe fucked up our lives," you told her bluntly. "We can't deal with either of you anymore, okay? We've got a wedding to plan, adults lives, all that shit, we can't be fucking around with you two and getting in constant trouble."

"Okay, wait, that was true?" Becca started. "When he said you were his wife, or was gonna be or whatever, that wasn't him just trying to scare us?"

You sighed. "Yeah, it was true," you told her. "We've been engaged for… About a month, I guess. But what do you need to ask?"

"Umm," Becca started, and your ears perked up as you heard another voice on her end of the call. It could have been Zoe, but the fact you didn't know for sure, coupled with not hearing what they were saying, you were instantly suspicious. "Y'know, never mind, it'll be okay. Is he with you?"

"No, he's still at work," you told her. "Why? What're you guys doing?"

You were shocked at the balls Becca had when she hung up on you. It also instantly filled you with dread, and Tiny Homie just chirped at you as you instantly went back for your bag and shoes. "Sorry, dude," you mumbled. "I'll be back soon. Daddy'll probably be home soon too, he'll give you lovies."

Your hands started to shake with adrenaline as you drove. What were the girls up to? You and Tryst hadn't touched the penthouse in a while, trying to cut off that entire world, and you hoped that you got there before the girls did. You knew they still had keys to the penthouse, so you were sure they had been coming and going, but whatever they were up to up there, you needed to witness it. They made sure Tryst wasn't at the penthouse, nor you; they were being bad.

You could hardly walk once you got there, your jelly legs carrying you into the building and up to the very top floor, and you dug through your bag for the keys, on a simple plain keyring that you kept hidden in the inside zipper pocket of your purse. You were gonna kill these girls. Not really, but maybe really. You weren't sure. If you were about to catch a case for double murder, you were sure the jury would understand— "People of the jury, trust me, they had it coming, plus they were really annoying and loud all the time."

What you distinctly were not expecting to see when you opened the door was your fiancé's back, hunched over the Roland printer, a well-dressed woman standing next to him. Your brain buffered for a moment, and you stood still as mere seconds stretched into years. Tryst was… Here? What was he doing here? What was he doing with the Roland? Who was this lady? You couldn't breathe.

Time went back to normal as he turned over his shoulder to look at the front door, and the pink blush flooded instantly out of his cheeks as his eyes widened. His mouth opened, gaping like a fish, and you stared in silence at each other for a moment before everything caught up to you and clicked in your brain. He lied to you. He had been lying to you. He never stopped working with Guy. Did he ever intend to? What else had he been lying about?

Your vision blurred as you turned back around and left. Where you had been silent and still in that doorway, your hands shook so hard that you could hardly control it, and you grasped your wrists in opposite hands as you tried to sniffle your sadness and hurt away. He lied to you. You heard him shouting your name as you busied down the hall, bypassing the elevator and going for the stairwell; your legs were starting to shake too, and keeping moving was the best way for you to keep yourself together. You wouldn't let him apologize his way out of this. After everything he promised, after everything you had helped him with, everything that was at stake, your entire futures on the line, he lied to you. You wanted to throw up. Your stomach churning, your chest burning and heating up your face and cheeks, every inch of your body shaking as your world crumbled around you.

The cold night air bit your cheeks as you bustled outside, sniffling and finally letting your tears streak and shone down your cheeks. This was it. This was the final straw. Tryst had pushed you too far and, after a lifetime of letting him bend you, your brittle soul was snapping. Your heart was pulsing in your throat, and it was hard to swallow, like you were allergic to the entire situation and your throat was closing up. Could you go into anaphylactic shock from your life as you knew it coming to an end?

Your eyes focused in front of you in the parking garage, and you watched a dark-colored SUV pull into a spot and jolt into park, and Becca and Zoe stepped out, only to freeze when they saw you, just far enough away for you to not hear what they were saying, but close enough to know they were talking about you. The night air stung your lungs as you sucked in a deep breath, ready to shout over to the girls, a different call from behind you made your body rage with fire. Despite the snow flurries breezing through the garage, you were suddenly so angry that a sweat broke on your forehead. How fucking dare he.

A scream ripped from your throat as you whirled around to face Tryst, and, in your anger, you threw the key ring at him. He was much closer than you anticipated, and your keys hit him square in the chest before plopping to the cold cement at his feet. "Baby, calm down!" Tryst shouted.

"Calm down?" you replied, and you began to laugh. Who does he think he is? What the fuck does he think you just saw? "You want me to calm down? How could you say that? I saw you, Tryst, I saw you in there using that fucking printer! You told me you hadn't been up here in weeks, that you didn't even know how to use the Roland, you told me— Inventory? And I believed you!" Your thoughts were scattered, your mouth motoring at a mile a minute as your thoughts unfiltered poured from your mouth. "How could you do this? Who do you…? Why…? You lied to me, Tryst. You fucking lied to me!"

Tryst looked despondent, his eyebrows furrowed and pitched in the middle as he frowned. "Baby—"

"I never would have thought you'd stoop so low!" you laughed. "Am I stupid? Of course you would! You told me yourself, you're willing to hurt me if it means I'll run to you! You'd do whatever you need to benefit yourself, and that's what you've always done! I'm fucking tired of it, Tryst, I'm done! You are the most selfish man I've ever met! How could you do this? I just… I don't understand. I don't get it." Your laughter trickled off, and you sniffled, half-turning away from him to wipe your tears. "Help me understand. You did all of this— making me promises, telling me you'd be better, telling me you'd do anything to keep me— and you were never truthful about any of it. Who was that? What were you printing? Do I wanna know, or will it just break my heart even more?"

"The labels," Tryst said. His voice was loud but weak, like it was taking every bit of energy in his body to speak. "That I told you about, the knockoff labels… She works for Guy."

Your breath was shuddery and hurt your chest. You began to cry in earnest, your heart shattering as you hung your head and wept as everything became clear to you. "I… I stood by your side for so much, Trystan. When you went to college clear across the country, when you started dealing, when you went and had a fucking baby with a girl who thinks I'm a drug whore because I hang around with you! But I stood by your side, I was there for you when you were an alcoholic after Emma was born and Sarah wanted fuck-all to do with you! You know who cleaned you up every night? You know who made sure you were eating and being taken care of? You know who stopped you from killing yourself? And this is how you treat me? Do you really even care about me, or is it just convenient for you to keep me around to have someone to drag you out when you do something bad, 'cause you don't have anyone else?"

"Of course I care about you!" Tryst frowned.

"Then act like it!" you sobbed. "'Cause, the way I'm seeing it now, I'm a bed for you to sleep in and someone to clean up messes you make. And you don't even have the decency to be honest with me! You told me you'd stop all this shit, you told me you weren't coming up here or working with Guy, you told me you were at work! I was ready to be proud of you for getting more responsibility at work, and now you're here?"

"Why are you here?" Tryst asked. "Did you follow me?"

"Becca called me and was acting all fucked up," you huffed. "Asked if you were up here, said she needed to ask me something, and I got a bad feeling that they were gonna do something up here, so I was coming to see what was up— And apparently, this is what was going on! I just… Tryst, I can't believe this. You— I love you, why would you do this?"

"I…" Tryst started, and he sighed heavily. "I don't know. I thought I was… I thought I could do it myself." He seemed defeated, like a child who had been caught misbehaving, small and weak and wrong. "Thought I'd leave you out of it altogether. Baby, I'm sorry—"

In an instant, you went for your left hand, and you worked the ring off of your finger. Tryst's words petered off as he watched you slip the ring past your knuckle, and you whispered, "I'm done. I'm just done."

"Please don't do that," Tryst said firmly. His voice was still weak, still small, but now his voice was shaky and wavering. "Sweetheart, don't—"

He was stopped altogether when you held the ring out to him, sniffling up your tears and setting your jaw. "Take it," you sniffled. "Take it back, I don't want it anymore. I don't want to marry a man who treats me this way."

Tryst stood still, watching you as his own tears fell. You felt like the smallest person in the world, weeping and shaking, holding out the beautiful ring that he had given you. It made you mad. How dare he just stand there and cry as he shattered your whole life. How dare he be upset. "Trystan, you need to take this ring," you told him urgently, shaking your hand towards him. "If you don't take this, it's hitting the ground."

He stood there. He was panting, his eyes skating up and down your frame, but he didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stood there. Did he think you were kidding? You had let him do so much shit. You had allowed him to ruin his own life, and yours. You weren't interested in running back to him again if it meant you were just going to aid and abet his bad habits even more. You locked eyes with him, daring him to call your bluff, and your hand opened just as Tryst suddenly shouted your name.

The sound of the ring hitting the cement at your feet hit your ears like a gunshot, and your face trembled into a sob as you shrugged. "Guess that's it, huh?" you whispered, and your now-free hand came up to wipe your nose. "Ten fucking years, it ends like this… Don't come home, Tryst. Don't ever come back. If I see your shitty-ass car in my parking lot, I'll call the cops. You hear me?"

You felt strange as you turned away from him. You felt a weight off of your shoulders, relief of some kind, and you walked on strong gait to the car. Your hands weren't shaking anymore, your head was clear, but still, you were crying as you drove away. You couldn't even look in the rearview mirror until you were speeding down the highway, taking the sharp turn and chugging up the hill.

You threw up on the frosty grass at the overlook.

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