I’d been so afraid to fall for him because what if he learned what I’d done? What if it all came out, and I had to run? I’d believed he wouldn’t run with me.
But now I knew he would.
Now I knew why he hadn’t donatedallthe money he’d inherited. In case he had to leave the country and start over.
Putting David in that same grave was his way of saying, “If you need to run, we can run together.”
Those butterfly wings had razor blades on them again.
I was halfway home when I remembered why I had gone to his house in the first place. That deep ache in my chest returned.
When I got back to the ranch, I brought Honey inside and sat on the couch. It was almost 6 a.m.. I didn’t have work today, thankfully. Within a few hours, I would be exhausted.
So far, though, I wasn’t. My eyes were heavy, and my chest hurt, but I wasn’t tired. I was nothing. Everything thathad happened in the last twenty-four hours felt like a shot of Novocain over my entire body. Each finger, toe, and limb were numb.
Simone was probably at work by now. She worked early on Saturdays.
Rhiannon was up, I imagined, but I didn’t want to bother her with all this. I couldn’t tell her about Sebastian anyway.
Delilah was someone I would’ve liked to go to with this. I could be vague enough in my descriptions. I wouldn’t have needed to go into every detail. But she would give me advice. She would smile, and she would make me do the same, and I would make us breakfast, and we would laugh while we ate it.
That wouldn’t happen anymore. That would never happen again.
In the past, if I had thought of her while I was home, I would shoot her a text and ask what she was up to. She would say she was getting ready for the day and ask if I wanted to walk with her to the cafeteria, or the rec center, or somewhere else in town. I would say of course, then walk down Main Street, up to her apartment, and wait for her to finish her makeup before we headed out.
Maybe if I did that, if I walked to her apartment, if I sat inside that silent living room where she usually sat at the mirror in the corner, dusting on her blush, it would feel real. Maybe if I was there, while she wasn’t, it would sink in.
So that was what I did.
I left Honey at the cabin and walked down Main Street.
As I made it to her apartment building and climbed the steps to the fourth floor, I detached from the world. Like I had last night. This was just the average day. I was walking to my friend’s apartment, and we would laugh while she got ready and everything would be okay.
As I made it to her door, for a split second, I thought that the last twenty-four hours had been a dream. Now, I was waking up. Everything looked a bit brighter. Beams of sunlight glowed out the cracks of the apartment door. Because on the other side of it, the shuffle of feet sounded. Someone was walking around in there, and it had to be her. Delilah wasn’t dead. She was right there, on the other side of the door, and everything that had happened in the last day was the dream.
I walked in, and the warm beams of sunlight vanished. A dark cloud fell over the studio apartment.
Standing at the window was not Delilah. It was Rhiannon.
She jumped at my entry. One hand, she pressed over her heart. The other, she wiped her face with. A practical, not at all legitimate laugh escaped her. “Acting like I have the right to be startled when I’m standing in somebody else’s living room.”
Rhiannon had the right to do anything she wanted in this place. It was hers, after all.
But why was she here?
She spoke before I could ask.
“How you doing, kid?” She wiped her glistening cheeks, forcing a smile. “Did you go to Sebastian’s last night?”
Squinting, I cocked my head to the side. “How’d you know?”
“Basic deduction skills. I saw your key card was used to leave. That’s good. Relying on him a little bit for support when you’re struggling with something.”
All I could manage was a nod. Maybe if I didn’t say much else, she wouldn’t ask why I was back so early.
“How are you handling it?” Rhiannon asked. “It’s fresh, so I understand if you don’t know how you feel, but if you are feeling something, if you need help working through it, I’m here.”
“I’m sad. And I’m angry.” I didn’t realize I was speaking until the words left me. My voice quivered, not with anxiety, but because of the lump forming in my throat. “Mostly, I’m sad I’mnever going to see her again. I’m sad that she wasn’t here when I opened the door just now. I’m sad we’re not going to breakfast together. I’m sad she’s gone. But I’m angry. All night, I’ve been trying to figure out why my chest feels so tight and aches like this, and it’s because I’m angry.”
