Like I was a liar.
Like I was some opportunistic little bitch who climbed into his house and his bed and his daughter’s life because it was convenient.
Like I wasHalsey.
My lungs lock up.
I bend over beside my car, one hand braced on the hood, and suck in a breath that doesn't feel like it gets all the way down. My mascara is probably halfway down my face by now. My nose is running. My chest hurts. Somewhere behind me, a car door slams, and I flinch so hard I nearly drop my keys.
I cannot do this here.
I fumble the car open, get in, and just sit there for a second, gripping the steering wheel so hard my palms start to ache. Is this why he wanted to drive separately?
“Okay,” I whisper, even though there is nobody there. “Okay. I’m okay.”
I am very much not okay.
By the time I pull up outside Zoe’s place, I’m crying hard enough that I'm struggling to see clearly. I barely remember the drive over. My head is pounding from the hangover, my throat burns, and the zipper at the side of my dress feels like it’s cutting into me.
I don’t even knock properly. I slap at the door once, then again, then Zoe yanks it open with a confused little laugh already forming on her mouth that dies the second she sees me.
“Oh my God.” She grabs my arms. “Carly? What happened?”
And that’s it.That’s the end of my thin, trembling little thread of composure.
I make some horrible sound and fold in on myself.
Zoe gets me inside, shuts the door, drags me to the couch, and I’m crying too hard to explain any of it. Full-body crying,struggling to breathe, my face hot and my hands shaking and my chest spasming like my heart is trying to claw its way out.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Zoe crouches in front of me and pushes my hair back from my face. “Breathe first. Talk second. Come on.”
I try. I really do. But every breath comes in too fast, too shallow. My vision starts going spotty around the edges.
“I c-can’t?—”
“Yes, you can.” Her voice sharpens, stern but gentle. “Look at me. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Again.”
I do it badly, then slightly less badly, and then badly again because the words smash into my mind like a truck.
He thinks I used him.
Zoe’s brow furrows, her hands dropping to my arms, squeezing. “Did Grayson do something to you?”
I shake my head so hard it makes me dizzy. “No. No, he—” My voice cracks and I start crying harder. “He t-thinks I?—”
“Carly.”
I drag in one ragged breath, then another.And I tell her.I tell her everything in ugly, broken pieces.
About Grayson being weird at the church, about him sitting beside me on the pew like a stranger, about me asking what was wrong and him saying,Let’s just get through this. That’s what you want, right?
Zoe’s face gets darker and darker as I go.
I tell her about the reception, about him saying he saw my phone last night, the apartment text. I tell her about how he decided from that one thing that I’d been using him all along.
“F-for the house,” I say, my voice wobbling so hard I can barely hear myself. “For a place to live. A-and for the wedding. Like I just—like I just let him think all of this was real because it was useful to me.”
Zoe’s mouth drops open. “Are you kidding me?”
