Chapter 2
Mari - Present Day
Freya’s outstretched hand sits in front of my face, her long, acrylic nails wiggling with eagerness.
“Stop being secretive. Are you reading monster fucker stuff?” she asks loudly over the ceramic clatters echoing around the café.
“I don’t think you’re being loud enough,” I hiss. My eyes dart around our small, circular table, ensuring no passerby has heard Freya say the phrase monster fucker . “This is a historical romance about some time-traveling nurse in Scotland.”
It’s been a personal struggle to get into romance, so I’ve decided to focus on the historical side of things.
“I’m familiar with the ol’ bodice rippers,” she muses, looking at me with a playful smirk. “I thought you would be reading some of that—”
“Not those, okay? I told Mel to lay off on the explicit stuff because I’m not a fan,” I interrupt with a whisper.
My manager at Mel’s Studio will not stop lending me her books. What started with classic romance novels has slowly morphed into books packed with smut-filled chaos.
“Oh.” Freya pouts. “Well, did you ask to borrow it again so I could read?”
Freya combs her fingers through her newly dyed blonde hair and primps the shoulder-length ends as I retrieve said book from my tote.
Her eyes widen in excitement and she wrenches it from my hand. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” With a brief acknowledgment of the cover and an impressed pout, she dramatically traces the tip of her finger over the suited male model adorning the front. “Oh wow, someone’s eager,” Freya whispers to a page that practically opens on its own. She scans the text and a smile grows on her face. “Her thighs quiver as he licks them. He edges closer to her—”
“Freya . . .” I warn.
She pauses, throwing an annoyed look at my interruption. After clearing her throat, she continues. “—edges closer to her dripping slit.” Freya squeezes her brown eyes shut and releases a fake moan after reading the sentence.
“What are we reading, ladies?” Violet’s voice sounds from my right, and Freya’s moan is cut short by her shocked gasp.
Violet looks behind her to ensure that she doesn’t sit on her obscenely long, raven hair; it’s grown so much over the past year, and the spontaneous choice to add layers that frame her oval-shaped face was a good one.
“So, you know that guy I’m kind of seeing?” Freya says. “We like to try and reenact the scenes in smutty books to see how feasible they are IRL.” She shimmies her shoulders in playful delight and winks at us.
I press my lips together so I don’t bark out a laugh loud enough to scare the group of elderly women at a nearby table.
“Oh?” Violet says with a smile and takes the book from Freya’s hands to look at the cover. She flips to the same page the book naturally falls open at. “Oh?” she repeats with a slightly confused tone. Violet tilts her head and squints at the page.
I listen to Freya and Violet discuss the book for a while until Violet’s attention zones in on me.
“It’s like the fictional men come out to play whenever you and Isaac are on bad terms,” she says, fanning herself with Freya’s newly obtained book while nodding to mine laying face down on the table with its pages spread.
God forbid a woman—me—likes to read about half-decent men when the ex—Isaac—she has to live with is anything but. Plus, I can close the book when I’ve had enough of reading about nonexistent men. I can’t throw real men out of my life and pop them on a bookshelf to collect dust when I’ve had enough.
“I’m forcing myself to read romance. If this is now the only form I can get it in, so be it.” My voice is one tone away from becoming a bratty whine.
Freya snickers as a waiter takes her and Violet’s orders. When he’s out of earshot, she leans forward and lowers her voice. “On the topic of coping mechanisms, I’d like to make it known that I have gathered us here today for a minor intervention.”
Violet looks at me with gentle eyes, and I look between them in confusion.
“For me?” I point at myself, burying my finger into my sternum.
“For you,” Violet confirms.
“It’s about living with Isaac,” Freya tells me. “As your nearest and dearest friends, we’ve noticed that you’re not ... how do I say this, Vi?”
“Happy,” Violet finishes.
Freya nods. “Yeah, we’re concerned.”
We all glance at my clothes, a black T-shirt and black yoga pants. I’m dressed as if I’m going through a self-mourning period. Admittedly, breaking up with Isaac and still living with him for the six months following hasn’t been the best, but it has been tolerable. It’s why I plan on staying at his apartment until I physically cannot bring myself to live with him anymore.
Unhealthy? Kinda.
Practical? Yes.
The girls are adamant that it’s a terrible idea.
“We came up with a plan called ‘get the fuck out,’” Freya says. She sweeps her hand through the air in an arc shape when she announces the term.
“Get the fuck out,” I echo dryly.
“The main source of your lack of motivation isn’t necessarily the breakup, but the toxic living situation as a result of it,” Violet explains, dragging her red-painted nail across the chipped, wooden surface of the table. “Which is why our first goal is to get you the fuck out of Isaac’s apartment.”
She and Freya share an excited grin.
My nails clink against the ceramic mug, cutting through the quiet tension as they await my reaction. “I’m not lacking motivation, I’m chilling. There’s a difference.” Their eyes narrow, and Freya shakes her head unbelievingly. The waiter returns with their drinks and I wait for him to leave so I can continue. “You know I’m living there until I earn enough to rent my own place.”
“Which is why you should move into one of Devon’s rooms for minimal rent,” Violet says, placing her long, inky hair into a French braid.
Freya mouths minimal rent with two thumbs up like some sort of charismatic car salesman.
“He has an en suite bedroom and plenty of storage for your things,” Violet adds.
I absentmindedly stir my tea, trying to mask the warmth seeping into my bones at their concern. “Guys, that is practically the same offer as staying at Vi’s.”
They sigh defeatedly.
In the past, Violet offered me to stay with her for a few months. I would’ve said yes if things were really bad with Isaac. Living with Violet would mean living with her little brother, Ash, and her parents. It’s not a family dynamic I’m willing to intrude on when I can stay exactly where I am.
“Well, the offer is there and we want you to consider it. The second you want to leave Isaac’s, there will be a home for you,” Violet assures.
Freya pours five sugar packets into her coffee by folding them over so they rip down the middle. “What’s that saying? Never look a gift horse in the fucking mouth?” She looks up at me as she stirs her drink, sending some brown liquid splashing over the edge. “You’re not just looking the gift horse in the mouth, Mari. You’re staring at it, saddling it up, and riding it into the sunset.”
I exhale aggressively at Freya’s dramatics and Violet giggles. Both of them make a persuasive pair. Violet maintains her calm, realistic approach without trying to make me feel like I’m making the wrong decisions, and Freya, well, she should’ve become a saleswoman.
“Thanks, guys, I’ll think about it. Isaac’s hardly home these days.”
My chest aches at the thought. There’s something a little soul-crushing when you’re reminded of an unsalvageable relationship. A bitter reminder of wasted time and effort.
“Well, the GTFO agenda means we need to get you out of the house more often. Isaac is bad vibes.” Freya visibly shivers as she talks.
“Narcissistic, emotionally immature, and an Aquarius man,” Violet adds. “That’s genuinely some of the worst traits a guy can have.”
I know deep down they want to grab my collar and shake some sense into me. And who knows? Maybe one day they’ll get the luxury of doing so, but for now, I’ll just accept that meeting them halfway is inevitable and mission Get the Fuck Out is commencing whether I like it or not.