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Fifty-Three
Magnolia
The sound feels particularly offensive. The tyres of his Escalade screeching off as I stare at Julian’s car speeding away from me before I even have a chance to put on my coat (the shearling-trim midi coat from Prada — so lovely, so evidently wasted on him).
I don’t understand what just happened at all.
If I sound confused, it’s because I am.
We were at a dinner, he and I. It was his friend Carmelo Bambrilla’s new restaurant. We were there, everything was fine. Julian’s security friends were there, but it was just me and him at the table like a proper date — he even pulled my chair over to be close to him. Put his hand up my dress because he’s bad like that, and I told him to stop but I didn’t really mean it, grinning away. I like how I feel around him. Something about him makes me feel quite brave. I like to feel brave. Loving BJ as much as I do, it makes me feel weak and stupid. Next to Julian, I feel quite powerful.
So we were fine, everything’s fine and then there was a blackout.
He freaked out completely. Completely.
He threw himself on top me, practically tossed me into the arms of Kekoa and then was weirdly aggressive towards me in the car as we drove away.
All I did was ask him if he was okay and he flipped a switch, told me we were done on the spot, that he was sorry he cared for a minute, that he doesn’t anymore and he won’t again. Then he just dropped me home and drove off.
I stand outside for a few minutes collecting myself because I feel embarrassed. Sort of just staring after his car and wondering if he’s going to come back. It felt so chaotic that I actually wonder if he might.
But he doesn’t and its past 9 on a chilly night in February, so I go inside.
“You’re home!” My sister looks up from the couch and closes her journal. She’s surprised to see me.
“Are you okay?” She frowns.
I nod again staring at the TV.
“Which one are you watching?” I ask her, walking towards the TV. I feel a bit woozy if I’m honest.
“Oh—” She shakes her head, annoyed about it. “The silly 1800s one.”
I shrug as I sit down next to her. “I quite like that one.”
Bridget watches me closely. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She mutes it.
I stare at her for a second and then look back at the TV as I pointlessly try to flatten my dress. Oscar de la Renta, floral-embroidered mini dress. Black.
There’s a funny feeling of being discarded that I don’t like but it feels familiar. BJ, Tom, after our fight (but I suppose I deserved that one) and now Julian.
It’s quite a horrible feeling, like he used me how he wanted me, had his fill and threw me away. I don’t really want to tell her. My cheeks go hot as I think about saying it aloud.
My iPhone dings and my sister cranes her neck to see my phone, that nosey little b-word, but my heart skips a beat because I’m sure it’s going to be Julian telling me he’s sorry and he’s on his way back and I’ll be glad I didn’t tell Bridget because that would have been embarrassing too, but different.
Kekoa
9:27pm
Did you get inside fine?
what?
Did you get inside fine?
why?
