“Yeah. You’re doing everything wrong.” Sorry, Superhead Junior. No book deal for you.
I start to turn away, somewhat satisfied with myself, when her small, sad voice stops me in my tracks.
“Can you teach me how?”
Can I teach her how?
Can I teach her how?
I bite back my initial response—which would probably consist of me telling her exactly where she could go, how, and with what shoved up her tight, frigid ass—and take a moment to breathe before formulating a more professional response. “If you need extra help, Mrs. Carr, I suggest you make an appointment during business hours.”
“An appointment?” I can hear the confusion and hurt in her voice.
“Yes. An appointment. That’s what clients make when they find that they require more assistance than usual. When their inexperience stifles their progression. I can’t give you extra attention just because you seek it, and take precious class time away from others. That would be foolishof me, don’t you think?” I answer tersely, giving her back her own words.
Her face contorts as if I’ve just slapped her, her eyes twice their size and mouth agape. “What are you doing?” she whispers, though it’s already too late. We have an audience. And right now, these gossip mongers smell fresh shit to stir. Still, I lean in close, invading her personal space and stealing her air. I want her as uncomfortable as I am. I want her just as exposed and humiliated and wounded as she’s made me.
“I’m doing my job, Mrs. Carr. Exactly what your husband paid me for.”
BY THE TIME I dismiss the ladies for the day, I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. Everything hurts. I can’t think of one part of me that doesn’t ache with every step I take back to the refuge of my home. And it’s not just my body that feels it. I’m too tense, too edgy. I feel like I could explode at any given moment.
I know I fucked up in class at the way I spoke to Ally, but shit, she needed it. She needed to see who I am…and what she’s left of me. As much as I hate it, she caused the mess that I am right now. So, Bravo, Allison Elliot-Carr. You’ve single-handedly fucked up my day and given me blue balls. And you’ve reminded me why I despise people like you…why I hate the world you come from, and why I’ve emancipated myself from it.
Thank you, Ally. It’s bitches like you that create coldhearted bastards like me.
“Hey!”
I hear the slap of those damn sandals again, and my skin goes clammy and hot. I try to shake it off and keep walking, ignoring her approach.
“I said, Hey!You wanna tell me what the hell your problem is?”
“Make an appointment, Mrs. Carr,” I bark out without turning to address her as I fumble with the lock at my front door. Goddammit, I don’t have time for this shit.
“I don’t give a damn about your appointments, Justice. Why are you acting like this?” Her voice is right here, right behind me. I can nearly feel her warm breath at my back. With her this close, her heat mingling with mine, I can’t even respond. I’m too tired for this shit. Too exhausted to even try to make sense of what’s happened between us. Maybe I imagined it all. Maybe Ally was completely innocent and platonic with me. I could’ve misread her signals. Shit, maybe she really didlook at me as her gay BFF.
“Hey,” she says softly, placing a hand on my sweat-dampened back. “Talk to me.”
I didn’t realize how much I could miss a simple touch until I didn’t have it anymore. It’s so easy to let her back in. To let her wiggle her way back into my arms and smile up at me like she is the sun and I am every star in her sky.
When you spend your life in the dark, looking up and wishing for something better—something brighter—you don’t realize just how lonely you are. Not until the sun shines, shedding light on all the empty spaces and filling them with beautiful warmth. But when the sun abandons you, everything seems darker and colder than before.
Emptier.
Lonelier.
I force myself to push open the door and step inside, not even sure if she’s trailing behind me. When I turn around, she’s standing in my living room. I want her to stay; I want those smiles and that maniacal laugh and her cheesy jokes. But I don’t want this feeling that will return full force when she leaves again. I can only do this once, so for all intents and purposes, I’m going to do it right.
“What do you want, Allison?”
She hesitates, looking around the room to stall. I turn back around and begin to make my way to the bedroom. “Let yourself out.”
“Wait,” she calls out. “I just…please, Justice. I can’t leave things like this.”
I face her with a huff, my annoyance as palpable as the friction hanging between us. “Like what?”
“I know I hurt you and-”
“I’m not hurt.”
“Oh.” She looks surprised, like she expected to have wounded me. Like she just knew that she was that fucking important to my happiness. She nods as if she’s just realizing that she isn’t. Not even close. “Well, I know I shouldn’t have led you on to believe we…that there could be more than friendship between us.”
I take a step toward her, a mocking smirk on my lips. “Is that what you thought it was?”
“What do you mean?” she frowns.
“What—you thought I was your friend? You thought I actually liked you? That I wanted us to grow into something more?” I laugh sardonically, the sound harsh and too loud even to my own ears. “Allison, you are a client. An obligation. Not my friend. I don’t have friends, and if I did, I surely wouldn’t seek one in you.”
“What?”
I move in fast, anger and aggravation guiding each step, until I’m a meager inch from her face. Fear sparks those turquoise eyes and she gasps in surprise, those soft, sweet lips trembling. I imagine biting them, sucking them into my mouth and tasting that trepidation.
“Did I fucking stutter? You’re not my friend, and you never will be. Are you friends with your maids? Your driver? The person that walks your rat of a fucking dog and picks up its shit? You paid me for a service, and I provided it. End of story.”
She finally finds the good sense to take a step back, disgust etched in that beautifully blemished face. “Why are you acting like this? How can you say that we were never friends, Justice? I told you things. Personalthings. And you acted like you genuinely cared. You were so attentive and nice-”
“Nice? Nice?”I shout, the sound piercing my cranium. The pain is nothing compared to the ache spreading in that cold, hollow space in my chest. The space the sun no longer touches. “I’m not fucking nice, Ally. Ain’t shit nice about me.”
She squints like she’s just now seeing me for the very first time. “So it seems.”
“Good.” I turn back around, expecting to feel triumphant. Yet, that empty ache just keeps spreading until it’s in my throat, choking me. I can barely breathe, but I can’t let her see that. I can’t show her what she’s done to me… what she’s doing to me now. “You can leave,” I croak, through the pressure on my vocal cords.
I stand stock-still until I hear the click of the door behind me. I exhale, releasing a sound that’s too broken and ragged to have possibly come from me. I don’t feel like myself. I feel like an imposter has crawled its way into my body, sheathed my skin, and controlled my bones like shifting gears. He said those things to Ally, not me. Yet I’m the one left with the fallout.
The pressure in my chest and throat rage on like rising bile, and I work to strip off my clothing, desperate to wash away the remains of her on my body. The water in the shower is hot, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything, yet everything all at once, emotion and sensation overwhelming me to the point of numbing pain. It’s all too much to digest, all too much to keep perfectly contained under my cloak of detachment. I’m failing at the one thing I’ve always done so well—not giving a fuck.