Gripping the edge of the sink, she imagines the look in his eyes as he told her to go, that he doesn’t have time for this right now. How he turned away before she even finished telling him that she wasn’t sure she could do this. There was no discussion, they both knew she would do whatever he asked her to.
“I hate you.”
She takes a deep breath.
“I seriously, fucking, hate you.”
Lana looks back to her reflection in the mirror, the tired eyes and worried lips, unsure for a moment if this is directed at Dean or herself. She decides it doesn’t matter.
“You treat me like absolute shit. Do you give a thought to me once I walk out the door?”
Her grip on the counter has tightened, knuckles turning white as her voice rises.
“There is never any time to talk, never any room for just the smallest hint of intimacy. But you expect me to come crawling to you every time you want to touch me, every time you need something from me.”
She angrily brushes a tear away with the palm of her hand.
“Once you’re done with me, you can put me away, take a break, I’m not wanted anymore until you feel like using me again. Do you have any idea how it makes me feel to come when you call, let you do whatever you want, and then to have to listen to you say that you don’t want to see me again for awhile. I mean nothing to you.”
Her breath is ragged, the words hurt her chest as they force their way from her lips. She is almost screaming.
“I will not exist for you. I have had enough. I can’t do this anymore.”
She slides to the floor. Her hands are shaking. Lana lashes out, screaming, kicking the tub and slamming her hand against the wall.
She hears her cell ringing from the bedroom, most likely Reese calling to say he’s staying late at the station. He is always late. She is always alone. This house is always dark and empty.
She closes her eyes and listens to the shrill cry of the phone, lying in her purse surrounded by the bags of Dream Dean made her take.
“I hate you.”