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She nodded.
I let go of her shoulders and left the room.
“Lucy?!” she called after me.
I turned back and went in her room, grabbing the vodka off her dresser.
“I’m sorry!”
“You are so done.”
“I didn’t mean to-”
I turned to face her. “What? Fuck this up for me? Hurt my best friend?”
“It was an accident.”
“No surprise there.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just leave me alone.” I walked across the hall and swung my bedroom door shut behind me.
Then I slumped on my bed and tried to call him again. He didn’t pick up. I fell back on my bed and dug the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. Fuck.
Just as well he didn’t answer. What would I even say? I was going to tell you that night, but you’d broken up with her anyway?
He would never believe me. He would never understand how torn up I was over it. And now it didn’t matter anyway because it was too late.
Now I was just as bad as Chelsea, keeping secrets from him and being deceitful. Except this was worse. I was supposed to be the person he could trust the most. I pretended to be anyway, and what did I do when I had a chance to protect him?
I kept my mouth shut. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn’t. Now it was so obvious. If I could just go back and do it all over again, I could’ve told him when I knew she wasn’t at the nursing home. At the very least, I could’ve called him when she popped up on Alex’s phone.
What was I thinking?
How could I do this to him? I tried to imagine the scale of his anger, or worse, his hurt. What if he’d done this to me? What if he’d let my boyfriend make a fool of me and not told me I was getting played?
It was impossible to imagine.
Because he never would’ve done that.
He would never hurt me that way. Not by omission, and not on purpose.
I rolled onto my stomach and stared at the phone, willing it to ring. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped it would vibrate in my hand. I needed to hear his voice. I needed to know he wasn’t mad at me, that he knew I never meant to lie to him.
I was so sorry I could feel it in my bones.
And I wanted to be mad at Fiona for being a ditzy, drunk blabbermouth, but it wasn’t her fault. It was mine. I’m the one that didn’t tell him Chelsea was cheating on him, and I should’ve told him as soon as I found out.
She wasn’t his best friend. She didn’t owe him anything. She didn’t grow up with him. She didn’t even know what it was like to have a friend as loyal as he was.
And now I had gone and royally fucked up our friendship just because I couldn’t say what was difficult.
Except it wasn’t our friendship that I’d fucked up.
It was our budding romance.
And now what?
