AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Never did I think I would be having a conversation about my fucked-up life while in a hallway full of tipsy students, with the smell of alcohol and a blend of perfume and cologne filling my senses. Songs from the Billboard Hot 100 spill from the speakers loud enough to make my head hurt, and I want nothing more than to escape here and drown myself in enough liquor to help me forget everything that has happened the last week.
“It’s not that simple,” I explain to Camden. “This is what is expected of me. Since I was a kid, I’ve known the path of my life: prepare to take over the family business and marry for status, not love. It’s the way of the eldest Dugray.”
Camden studies me for several seconds, and I can’t help but feel the need to continue to defend my choices under his scrutiny. When he finally speaks, I’m surprised there is no judgment in his tone. “You’re right. Nothing about this sounds simple, and I don’t understand it. Never could I imagine making my kid choose anything other than their own happiness.” Without another word, he turns and leaves the same way Emree and Liliana did before him.
My feet feel unusually heavy as I stand in the middle of the hallway, wanting nothing more than to leave, but I am grounded. My head is swirling with everything that has happened in the last half an hour. Moving past my feelings for Emree sounded easier said than done, and based on my inability to control myself tonight, I know I’m completely fucked.
16
EMREE
Hubby.The word is still ringing through my head the next day as I get ready for work. The beautiful supermodel-like woman so easily let that term of endearment spill from her lips, but consciously I know there is no way Conrad is actually her husband.
My body runs cold as the thought of him lying to me for six months crosses my mind. What if he really is married? Have I been dating a married man for half a year? While it seems crazy to me that a twenty-one-year-old college student would be married, I know it is not something that is uncommon. What would shock me would be if Conrad wasmarriedand not once in the six months we were together did I suspect another woman.
Since walking away from him last night and asking Ian to take me home, claiming a stomachache to end our date early, I haven’t been able to get out of my own head. Thoughts of my being the other woman while I was falling in love for the first time had crossed my mind and kept me up most of the night until I finally drifted to sleep after being exhausted from crying.
Blaire was up and studying for a test she has on Monday when I entered our apartment after Ian dropped me off, and I was able to keep my composure long enough to tell her about the date, making sure to leave out the part about Conrad, the bathroom, and the stunning woman who wrapped herself around him. While I know Blaire has seen Conrad over the last week since her boyfriend is roommates and friends with my ex, she has made sure to keep our conversations exclusively Conrad-free. Explaining to her my lack of willpower the first time I’d seen him since he ended our relationship made me feel ashamed, especially since I was at that party with another man.
Ian was sweet about my request to head home. He said parties like this aren’t his scene much anymore, but he wanted to hang out with me. On the ride back to my apartment, he asked if he could take me out again, and while I felt guilty for what happened in the bathroom with Conrad during my date with Ian, I told him I would love to see him again, and we made plans for next Friday. He promised it would involve no frat parties.
All day, I have thrown myself into my textiles final class project. This semester we have been learning about different materials and how they are made and work with each other. Our project is to create a piece using three different types of materials and blend them together flawlessly. The dress I have spent months on is floor length with a tight bust, almost Renaissance style, but more modern. The materials I have used are cotton, leather, and silk. While these would not conventionally work together, I have been able to blend the three from top to bottom without making them look out of place.
The skirt is a blush pink and flowy, the material a cotton and silk blend that I found at the flea market one town over. The woman there works for her family business, and they have a fabric company that her great-great-grandmother started. She likes to showcase their work at the flea market to target a different demographic and test out their new materials and designs before they go live.
The top half of the dress is my favorite. It is a corset style, except it looks more like something you would see a college student wearing rather than a woman from the fifteenth century. The mint-green leather top is cut right at the top of the breasts of my mannequin, and the straps are thick and fit snugly over the shoulders. The skirt is sewn into the bottom of the corset top in a lapped seam and the two materials meet just below the rib cage, giving the illusion that the mannequin is much taller than it really is.
As I stare at the dress I have put more work into than any other project, I can’t help but feel proud. The last touch I will be adding is a jewel design across the top half of the corset with the most beautiful blush and mint jewels I found on a random shopping trip with my mom last month at the outlet mall in Orlando.
A loud knock echoes through my bedroom, startling me as I am lost in thought. “Yeah?” I yell through the room.
The doorknob turns, and Blaire peeks her head in. “You almost ready for work?” She is dressed in her usual jeans and loose T-shirt, with her dark-brown hair hanging in long waves down her shoulders. Blaire is a natural beauty, and with her staple look of little to no natural makeup, her face is glowing, and her unique gray eyes look bright and wide with her eyelashes darkened with a few swipes of mascara.
“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, keeping my tone chipper even though my mood does not match. Tonight I decided to keep my work attire simple with a pair of high-waisted black jean shorts that are slightly frayed at the bottom and a long-sleeved sage-green bodysuit that has a long cutout along the top of my breasts. Since I love color and the green shirt is not enough, I added a splash of pop with my yellow Converse.
Blaire and I have been able to persuade our boss, Garrett, to do his best to schedule us together. He is usually good about it, especially if we have a closing shift, like tonight. Last year, there was an incident between Blaire and an asshole drunk customer who thought it was okay to touch someone against their will. Since then, Garrett has convinced his dad, the owner, to do some renovations at the bar so that the bathrooms are not secluded down a dark hallway and there is now a new guy, Silas, who works as security on the weekends. We got lucky with a boss like Garrett, who cares about the well-being of his employees.
“I can drive tonight. Also, Camden said he was going to stop by but made sure to press thatthou who shall not be namedwill not make an appearance.” Her voice tenses at the mention of Conrad.
One of the worries I had about our breakup was what it would do to our friend group, and based on Blaire’s inability to say Conrad’s name, I don’t see this going well.
Smiling at my friend, I do my best to assure her that I am, in fact, okay. “You can say his name, Blaire. I won’t crumble if you do.”
She eyes me with skepticism.
“Plus, I went on a date last night. I’m in the process of moving on, and hey, my date even ended with him asking me for a second one.”
“Maybe I’m not saying his name because I think he is a jerk and don’t want that energy in our home.”
Laughing, I walk out of my bedroom and link my arm with Blaire’s. “You aren’t a spiritual kind of person, sweetie.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s beside the point.”
“Oh yes, of course it is. So sorry for pointing out the obvious. I don’t know what I was thinking.” The sarcasm is oozing from my tone.
Blaire grabs her keys and the two of us head out of the apartment toward her car. “You, of all people, should want to cleanse our place and get all the bad juju out. Isn’t your mom a yoga instructor?”
We part and when we are both seated in the car, I answer her question. “She is, but that doesn’t mean she is that far into all things spiritual.” I pause, trying to find the right words. “My mom is more…eccentric if nothing else. She can’t quite be put into a single category.”
