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22. Through the Cracks
Jules
Les finds me sitting near the front door, feet cut up, laminate flooring smeared with my blood. I’ve been too shaken to do much else but sit here and stare at the wall since the sliver of memory from that night bled through the cracks in my armor, reminiscent of the broken mirror at my feet.
“I came as soon as I got your text. What the hell happened?”
I’m still trembling, weak with shock as my heart thunders behind my breastbone. “Chris was here.”
Her expression is pure murder as she crouches in front me. “Did that motherfucker hurt you?”
I shake my head.
“Then why are you bleeding, Jules?”
“He was drunk. He cornered me, and I-I…I shoved him. The mirror broke.” I blink, then blink again, trying to get my mind to slow down long enough to make sense of everything that just happened. I meet her dark gaze. “He got Brit pregnant.”
“Holy shit.” She lowers to her haunches next to me, back against the wall. “Seriously?”
I nod. “He says he just found out last week. I don’t understand why he came back and proposed.” I glance at Les. “Why would he do that knowing he did something so…so…?”
“Unforgivable?”
“Yeah. Even if I wanted him back, I’m not sure I could forgive something like this.” I pause with a hard swallow. “But I also feel like I shouldn’t be so hurt over it either.”
“Of course you should be! Forget the fact that Chris betrayed you, but your own sister? That’s low, even for Brit.”
“He was so angry when he found out about Perry, and yet this whole time he was screwing my sister.” I close my eyes, but every time I do, I can’t help but see Perry’s face. Swallowing a sob, I let out a shudder. I’m not ready to tell Les what I suspect my former boss of doing.
Part of me is still processing—not just the bombshell Chris dropped on me, but the one he triggered as well. I’m still trying to find a way to cope and focusing on Chris’ confession is easier than examining the glimpse I had of that night.
It’s less painful, which I guess says a lot about the state of my relationship with Chris before my supposed one-night stand with Perry tore it to pieces. The confession hurts, but it’s not threatening to destroy me the way the realization that Perry might have violated me is.
“Jules?”
I startle at the sound of Les’ voice. She’s sitting next to me, but for a few seconds, caught up in the memory of Perry’s labored breaths, of the horror swimming in that slice of memory, I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Her brows furrow. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m just tired.” Needing a distraction, I rise to my feet, ignoring the pain in my heels, and begin picking up the bigger pieces of glass. Les grabs my arm, and I jump so violently that the pieces from the mirror drop to the floor again.
“Let me help.” She ushers me through my bedroom and into the bathroom, and I’m thankful for the lack of carpet in the apartment, as I’m tracking blood with each step.
“You don’t have to do this,” I tell her as she urges me to sit on the lid of the toilet.
“It’s no big deal. Sit tight while I clean up.” She opens my medicine cabinet in search of antiseptic and gauze before setting them on the counter next to the toilet. As she cleans up the blood and glass in the other room, I pick out the small pieces that made their way into my feet. The antiseptic stings, but it’s nothing compared to the deep ache in my gut.
It’s been at least forty minutes since Chris left my apartment, but I’m still reeling from the encounter. My head is in a fog. Tears threaten my eyes but refuse to fall. I need to talk to someone about what I remembered, and Les is my best friend. She’ll listen and cry with me and offer to hunt Perry down to tear him limb from limb. But I can’t seem to find the words. The memory of that night is stuck in my throat.
She returns several minutes later. “Did you eat dinner yet?”
I shake my head, remembering the frozen meal that’s still in the microwave, untouched.
“I’m starving,” she says, pulling me off of the toilet. “How about we get out of here for a while and grab something to eat?”
“Okay.” I head into my bedroom and change out of my work skirt and into a pair of yoga pants. Wedging my feet into a pair of casual slip-ons, I glance at Les. “I need to text Cash and let him know I’ll be gone for a while. He said he’d come back tonight.”
