2. Cathy
2
CATHY
T he cold night air hits me like a slap, but I keep walking, my footsteps hard and fast against the empty sidewalk.
I feel raw despite my exhaustion, as if my skin’s been stripped away, leaving only the pulsing ache of betrayal beneath. It’s funny, though—part of me isn’t even surprised.
It’s almost comforting in its predictability, like I was just waiting for this final confirmation that trusting someone is a luxury I can’t afford. It’s not just Jimmy, it’s everyone. You can’t trust anyone in this world. Sooner or later, they’ll all let you down.
Mom used to say it whenever I asked who my father was. All she’d tell me was that you can’t trust anyone. Never even told me his name, told me I’d never find out who he was so I should stop asking. It would only hurt me to know.
She got really drunk one time and let slip that she met him while she was working in New York, before she moved out here. That’s the only clue I have to his identity.
The first stories I wrote were about New York, me traveling there and finding him, learning he was some prince who’d been looking for me all this time, moved me into his palace and we lived happily ever after. Mom found the stories, of course, and ripped them to shreds. Beat the ever-loving shit out of me.
Pushing my thoughts back down where they belong, I spot the flickering neon lights of the only bar in town. Tony’s.
I step inside, the warmth of the place wrapping around me, muffling the cold bitterness I can’t seem to shake.
Sliding onto a stool at the bar, I pull out my card, ready to drown this night in something strong. “Evening, Tony,” I say with a nod.
“Been a long time since you’ve been in,” he replies, setting his hands on top of the bar. “How’s the wedding prep going?”
“Oh, fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just peachy.”
“What’ll it be?”
“Whiskey. Neat,” I mutter, not caring if it burns.
He comes back a moment later, glass in hand, but when I hand him my card, his face tightens.
“Sorry, Cathy. It’s declined.”
“What?” I frown, certain he’s made a mistake. “Try it again.”
He gives me a skeptical look, but he runs it through the machine one more time, and there it is—the quiet beep, the rejected transaction, as final and uncaring as the end of a bad relationship.
I fumble for my phone, my pulse picking up as I log into my bank account. The screen loads slowly, the little spinning icon taunting me, until my account balance finally appears. Not even zero. Nope, way below that. A great big minus figure.
I blink, not believing what I’m seeing, and scroll down through the transactions, trying to find any trace of where it’s gone.
And then I see it—a withdrawal just now for nearly everything I had. My rent, the little money I’d been saving, all of it gone in the time it’s taken me to get from home to here. A hollow, sinking feeling tightens in my chest, like I’m watching my life unravel, one piece at a time.
Jimmy.
I feel the pieces slotting together with a sickening clarity, the way he’d looked at me just before I left, so sure of himself, so smug. He knew he had me cornered, and now, he’s made sure of it.
God, I’m an idiot. I remember, “Give me access, just in case something happens to you, Cathy.” And I did. I believed him.
Tony is watching me, a hint of pity in his eyes as I stand up, stumbling a little in my rush. “Have it on me,” he says. “We all get short at the end of the month.”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I tip back the drink. “I better go sort this.” I have nothing left for pride, nothing left but the fury rising in my chest.
I head outside, dialing Jimmy’s number with shaking fingers as the cold night air presses down around me. He answers on the second ring, and I can hear the smirk in his voice before he even says a word.
“Finally realized you’re lost without me, huh?”
“Where is my money, Jimmy?” I don’t bother with pretense, my voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it.
He laughs, low and satisfied. “Oh, that? I just borrowed it for a little while. Needed to make sure you’d come back to talk this through like a grown up. Can’t have you thinking you can just walk out on me. We’ve got a wedding coming up, remember?”
His voice turns falsetto. “Oh, Jimmy, I can’t wait to get married. I always wanted to get married. My mom never got to get married. I can’t wait to be your wife.” He laughs. “Remember that?”
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. “You stole all my money? How could you?—”
“Oh, Cathy. Don’t be so dramatic,” he says, voice smooth and cold. “You’ll know you’ll get it back, assuming you’re willing to be reasonable. But if you think you’re just going to run off into the sunset, you’re doing it penniless.
“Where are you even going to go? You have no family, no one who’s going to help you, and don’t even get me started on that ‘career’ of yours. As if writing ever made anyone any money. You’re a fucking waitress and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
My grip tightens on the phone as his words twist deeper into me. I won’t give him the satisfaction of breaking down. Not now. Not anymore.
I take a deep breath, struggling to keep my voice steady. “I want my money back. Tonight.”
Another laugh, condescending and sharp. “I’m parked out by the bridge. Come down, get in the car, and we’ll figure something out.”