Page 10 of The Editor’s Choice

I do as she asks, lying back against the pillow next to her, allowing her time to figure out what she needs from me. Just when it seems as if maybe she’s fallen asleep, she starts talking again, her voice thick with unshed tears and barely bottled rage.

“I just can’t believe I didn’t see what was going on, you know? It’s so obvious now,” she starts, shaking her head and allowing the tears to slide down her cheeks freely. “They were always laughing and play fighting. All the stupid cliché things. I sincerely thought it was only because we were all so close. We had been friends forever.”

With less than an ounce of grace, she flips over onto her side, facing me. Once the dramatic sigh has been fully released from her lungs, she continues her tirade.

“Who the fuck even does that anyway?!” she nearly shouts. “Yet I’m the one lying here feeling guilty as hell for being angry with a dead girl. Make it make sense.” I can’t see her well in the dim light, but I guarantee she just rolled her eyes again. I bet those things are in great shape from all the exercise she gives them.

“You have every right to be mad at her,” I start gently. I’m not quite sure how to soothe the situation, but I do my best to de-escalate it a bit. “Honestly, it’s going to sound harsh, but just because she’s dead doesn’t change what she did with your ex. She still betrayed you. You didn’t lose the right to be upset about what they did just because something traumatic happened afterward.”

The sob that ensues as soon as the words are out of my mouth is baffling. I’m pretty confident I did not de-escalate the situation in the slightest. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel worse,” I say, unsure of how to proceed.

“No, you’re totally right. Reality hits different when it comes out of someone else’s mouth is all. The reality that my best friend is dead. The reality of what they did. My feelings about what they did and who they are to me now. All of it,” she sniffles, choking against the words. It seems almost painful for her to push the words past her teeth. All the alcohol probably isn’t helping that either.

Suddenly, she’s bouncing up off the bed and the lamp is illuminating a small portion of the room. I slowly push up onto my elbows before sitting up all the way, wary of the situation. “You okay?” I ask cautiously.

“I just had a thought. Ya know, thinking about reality and all. I know my friends were deceiving me, but what about you?” she begins. I can see the wheels turning in her head now but can’t see the direction she’s heading.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you just showed up out of nowhere. I saw you at the gym, the day I found out about Emily and Dawson,” she starts, pacing across the floor, counting on her fingers. “Then, you’re doing maintenance at my brand new apartment? Only for you to later throw it out that I sent you my manuscript as well?! The one I finally got the guts to send to some random editor?” She’s panting now. When she looks at me, there’s a storm of emotions swirling behind her eyes.

I know she’s only saying all of this because of the alcohol, but honestly, she’s right. There have been a lot of run-ins lately. I hadn’t even realized how weird it all sounds until she laid it out like this.

“Damn. You’re right,” I start, trying to figure out how exactly to explain myself. “Let’s start with the gym then, shall we? I’ve been going to that gym for years. Obviously. Have you seen my physique? This masterpiece doesn’t just happen overnight,” I smirk. She scoffs but I catch her eyes doing a quick once over nonetheless.

“As for the maintenance, I’ve been working as a maintenance tech in this building for years. When I first moved to town, I didn’t have a penny to my name and nowhere to go. I happened across this building and basically begged the old lady for a place to stay for a week in exchange for doing some work here. I’ve always been good with my hands, and she was down on her luck with a maintenance guy. One week turned into a month. A month turned into a year and here we are,” I pause, waiting to see if she has any questions up to this point. When she doesn’t say anything, I continue.

“The editing thing is a little harder to actually explain I guess,” I say, being entirely upfront with her. “I have a huge passion for books. I always have, ever since I was around eight years old. I didn’t have a good childhood and reading was an escape for me. I would take new books home from school every week, and that was how I survived my homelife. So, when I grew up, I started writing and editing. That’s my main income stream at this point. Although, I have to admit, I’m offended by being called “some random editor”,” I poke, a smile pulling at one corner of my mouth.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that in a bad way!” she spouts, covering her face with both hands. I can see the flush creeping up her neck, knowing my comment embarrassed her at least a little.

“It’s fine,” I laugh. “I was just joking. I’m not actually offended.” Once she allows her hands to fall from her face, I continue. “I truly don’t know how to explain all of those freak occurrences though, other than the truth. I hadn’t even put all the pieces together until you brought it up just now.”

“Hold up. You said you’ve been going to that gym for years, right?” she questions. I nod my answer. “How come I’ve never seen you there? I’ve been going four or five times a week for years now.” That distrust is back in her eyes again, shadowing any of the trust we had started to build.

“I’ve been going about three times a week normally, just depending on the work volume. Most of my editing work and maintenance need to be done during the day, so I hardly ever go to the gym before dark. Plus, I’m not the biggest fan of interacting with other people,” I supply, knowing it sounds weak.

“I guess that’s fair.” With that, a bit of the warmth returns to her eyes, though she’s still far more guarded than she was before the thought popped into her head.

“Any other questions, madam detective?” I prod, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

She taps her forefinger against her delectable lips, as if she’s digging deep for another one. “Actually, yes, sir,” she mocks. “Why haven’t I seen you around here before now?”

Her innocent eyes pull me in until I feel as if I’m drowning. Breaking eye contact is damn near painful, but I do it to regain a bit of my focus. This woman has an insane pull and that sounds like an addiction waiting to happen.

“I try to stay to myself. Like I said, I’m not much of a people person,” I shrug. “I’m normally cooped up in here working all day, then hit the gym when everyone else is sleeping. There are only about 2,300 people in this town and it seems as if my old life created enemies everywhere I turn, so I don’t go out anymore really.”

“Your old life?” She’s crawled back into bed now, covered to her waist, yawning as she leans against the headboard.

“Yeah, I was a debt collector once upon a time,” I reason. It’s not the entire truth, but I did collect on debts of sorts. I just hardly ever collected money is all.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she soothes. “I can see why people wouldn’t like you though. Nobody likes debt collectors.” Her eyes are getting heavy as she fights to stay conscious. Between the alcohol and the warm covers, it’s a losing battle.

Flipping off her lamp, I quietly pad out of the bedroom, doing my best not to wake her. “You have no idea,” I say to the darkness.

Chapter Six

Jade