“Baby you’re overthinking it.”

He says, denying all of your accusations of him cheating. He’s been coming home for weeks now with hickeys on his neck, lipstick on the collars of his white shirts and cheap perfume on his skin. He was cocky about it too, not bothering to hide the marks or clean the lipstick up or keep spare cologne in his car. At this point you’re just begging for him to admit it to your face.