“Goddamnit, Brett,” Barrett screams, pounding her chest, “it’s me!”
“Exactly! It’s you…” as soon as I say it, my face implodes into a mess of sobs, “you’re my best friend and none of this was supposed to happen!”
After realizing I have nothing left to say, I turn and stalk back out of the house, slamming the door behind me. Barrett storms after me, her shouts only a muted buzz as I climb back into my SUV and resume my catatonic state.
Even when I get back home, I walk through the door in silence, ignoring everything else around me. I don’t even look at Bowen, a fuzzy silhouette in my periphery, as I trudge down the hallway to the bedroom. Maybe he said something to me, I’m not sure.
I would’ve climbed into bed right then, but I’m so goddamn particular about my routine that I can’t. I have to change into pajamas first, wash my face and rinse off my cleanser with a mixture of tears and tap water before I brush my teeth. Only then can I finally jerk the blackout curtains closed and crawl under the covers in my pitch-black cave.
But sleep isn’t an option.
How can I sleep when my life is imploding? I don’t know what else to do, so I text Katie. And to my surprise, she responds in a matter of minutes, which is totally unlike her. But I’m not an idiot. It usually takes her at least a day to respond to something specific, and this time I only asked if she could talk, so I assume she’s already been talking to Barrett. And if she is talking to Barrett, she’s at least tactful enough not to say so.
I don’t want to send her the screenshots. I can’t even look at them. I should just delete them. Why do I need to keep them—to remind me of how my most cherished friendship went to hell in a matter of hours?
Barrett was more than my best friend, she was my ride or die, the one person who would never leave, no matter what else changed in my life. And now I’m lying under my blankets in the pitch dark, barely able to even see my texts with Katie because my eyes are so swollen and blurry.
KATIE (10:43PM): I see the texts and I can’t argue with anything you’re saying. But I still can’t wrap my mind around it.
ME (10:46PM): She told him things there’s no way he could’ve known otherwise.
KATIE (10:48PM): Idk maybe I’m just in shock. I have no idea what to think about any of this. Barrett loves you. Why would she do this to you?
I don’t know. I don’t know.
Katie doesn’t even know the half of it. It’s too awful and messy and complicated. And that’s the worst part—Barrett was the one person who knew everything. She’s been my confidante in this entire tangled mess. And that went away the moment I looked at Bowen’s phone. Now it’s all just a heavy weight, a concrete block coated in gunpowder that I’m dragging around, ready to explode.
I don’t know how much time passes until I feel the mattress shift and the familiar weight of Bowen’s body settle behind me. I stay still, the realization setting in that I didn’t stick around long enough to hear whether he would say anything about Colson and my alleged trauma bond to him.
Trauma bond…does Bowen even know what that means?
He must not be too upset by it because I feel him roll toward me and rest his nose against the back of my head. After a few moments he slowly wraps his arm around the lumpy pile of blankets that is my body.
“Are you awake?” Bowen murmurs into my hair, “You want to come over here?”
Without a word, I begin to turn over, pushing through the blankets until I feel Bowen’s torso. He raises his arm and lets me roll into the warmth of his chest, pulling me against him as I wrap my arms and legs around his body. Feeling his skin against mine and concentrating on his steady breathing has always made me feel safe, but tonight he can hear my agitated, erratic breaths as I cling tightly to him, and there’s no end in sight.
Bowen curls his arm around my head, gently stroking my hair away from my ear, “I know you, Brett,” he whispers against my forehead, “and I won’t make you talk about it if you don’t want to.”
It’s the most relief I’ve had all night, enough that I’m finally able to fall asleep and escape to an imaginary place that doesn’t so closely resemble hell.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Brett
One Year Ago
There’s no such thing as a good night’s sleep when you wake up each morning remembering an integral part of your life…isn’t anymore. And when the realization sets in, sound is muted, colors are dull, and I feel like I’m watching my life from outside my body, wondering how it got to be this way. I should be happy; I have everything I need—everything I want, right?
But my best friend is gone, I feel like I’m losing touch with reality, there’s a phantom lurking somewhere in the background watching my every move, and for some reason I can’t stop thinking about said phantom.
I can’t even drag my ass out of bed to get to work at my usual time, which makes me even more depressed because then I have to shift my entire schedule. And even though I’ve been plugged into my playlists and kept my office door shut all day, I can barely concentrate. And by the time 5:00 rolls around, I feel like I’ve been trying to kill time for 10 years.
I start shutting down my computer and pull out my phone to bring up my personal email. Swiping absently, I delete a few ads and almost delete another before realizing there’s a real name attached to it—one that I recognize.
To: Brett Sorensen ∙ basorensen@gmail.com
From: Jada Marquette ∙ jmarquette@rwpublishing.com
Subj: Representation
Hi Brett!
I had a chance to read the first couple chapters you sent and I’d like to discuss representation. When would be a good time to call? In the meantime, can you please send me the rest of your manuscript?
I look forward to hearing from you!
Jada
I’m in so much shock, I don’t know what to do. I’m just staring at my phone, my eyes burning from holding them open so wide and not blinking. I spend the next couple of minutes trying to remember what I’m supposed to do next.
It’s happening.
I have to tell someone. I have to tell Bowen. And it’s not five minutes after I forward the email to him that he texts me back.
BOWEN (5:09PM): Did you send the rest of it?
ME (5:10PM): Not yet.
