She'd lied to him. About who she was, what she did, where she was from. The worst part was that he'd been completely fooled. It hadn't occurred to him once that her dark red hair could've been dyed jet black; he'd never once witnessed her dying it. Or that her brown eyes were being covered with green contact lenses; there was no evidence of that deception either.
"Save it!" he yelled angrily, gripping the television remote in his hand, using every bit of his will power not to throw it across the room.

"Angelo, you don't understand!" she cried, tears streaking down her cheeks, causing the once-gorgeous blonde tendrils of her otherwise dark hair to cling to them at odd angles.
He shook violently with anger, his dark curls invading his field of vision. He whipped his head angrily to move them and started in on his hostile tirade once again. "Don't tell me what I understand! I understand completely! You've been lying to me! Not just for a little while, either; for years! Merissa, the girl I fell in love with, never existed. She was just another role you played - just like you played me!"
She slumped to the floor, a sobbing wreck. "Please, Angelo!" she wept desperately.

"Please? Please!" he roared, mocking her desperation. His voice dropped back to a casual cool as his mind grasped on to the idea that he didn't care for this woman any longer. She wasn't his woman, she had lied. She belonged to someone else; at least, she had.

It was no matter to Angelo Marcus that he'd spent countless nights, naked and in bed with this beautiful woman who had turned out to be famous and had chosen him, of all the men she could've had. "You didn't just lie about your hair, you lied about yourself. You didn't just lie once or twice, you lied every time you spoke." And her games had gone on for the entirety of their four year relationship.

"But I didn't! Not really," she pleaded. "About my name, sure. About my life, only a little! But everything -everything- I told you about me was true! Is true!" But Angelo was already backing her out of the front door where her things lay strewn everywhere, remaining unpacked in his heated attempt to remove her every essence from his home.

"You dug your own grave. Now you get to lay in it. Alone." As the last inklings of fury faded from Angelo's being he shut the door in her face.

Angelo moved across the room and dropped into his chair, the remote clattering to the floor and unmuting the television.

The mocha-skinned woman repeated her story yet again. "Miranda Rhine, model, once-child star and up-and-coming singer and dancer before her eventual disappearance has now been missing for six years, as of about 3p.. Today, she would be twenty-four. Her family has asked that we rerun her story, in hopes of finding her or any information about her." The anchor continued her speel and Angelo glanced up from his hands to face the picture on the screen. The girl was young, eighteen, and smiling from behind locks of red hair.

Angelo sat back in the chair, sunlight pouring into the high-ceiling, wood-floored room from a floor-to-ceiling window behind him. He'd labored to put that thing in for weeks for a woman who'd been lying to him. Now here it remained to taunt him and remind him of the fool he'd allowed her to make of him.