Chapter Forty
Forty
I WAKE UP TO THE SOUND of some guy yelling, “I’LL END YOU, YOU FUCKING CUNT!” outside our window. And then someone else screaming back, “LIKE YOU HAVE THE BALLS! YOU’RE A LI’L BITCH-ASS LIKE YOUR FATHER!” Magical.
I lie there, super still. A jolt of heat squeezes my stomach as all of last night rushes back to me. His lips … my face … his hands … oh god, my words. All those fucking words.
Peter’s arm is draped over me, and I’m using his other elbow like a pillow.
It’s a fully clothed, active spooning situation and now that the morning light is filtering in through the curtain and all of last night’s word vomit is hanging in the air, I don’t really know what to do.
Like, do I slither out from under his bicep and pretend that things are casual?
Roll over and … like … do stuff? No. No.
Just be normal. Whatever the fuck that means.
“Are you awake?” Peter whispers.
“Yes,” I say. Great. Solid start.
I’m glad I’m facing away from him because 1) I am acutely aware of the fact that I had three beers last night and have not brushed my teeth in twenty-four hours and 2) I am not at all confident that I could maintain a neutral face in this moment.
“Do you want to get some breakfast before we go home?”
“A morning hot dog?” Ha ha. So funny. So casual. So easy. Breezy even.
Peter does me the courtesy of laughing and we start to untangle ourselves from each other and it’s kind of awkward and also kind of fine at the same time? Peter gets up, slips on his shoes, and starts collecting his phone and wallet.
My phone is facedown on the nightstand. I sit there on the edge of the bed, staring at it.
“Hey.” He comes and sits next to me, our knees touching.
“Hey.”
“You don’t have to read his new messages alone. If you don’t want to. I mean, you can, obviously. But I can also just be here too. You know, if you want.”
This is so weird. I’ve never told anyone about Charles. Not even Jules. Not a word. And now suddenly here’s Peter, sitting next to me, knowing.
“Um …” I take my phone and flip it over. There are four new messages from him but also fifteen unread messages from Jules, and I have a pretty good idea what kind of content is in those, so I slide the phone back onto my lap. “I’m good.”
Peter nods and stands back up. I walk over to the corner of the room and swipe up.
The messages from Charles are more of the same. Begging. Pleading. Promising it will be different. But it can never be different. There’s only one thing he wants from me. And I can’t give it to him.
Caroline’s face is so strong in my mind right now.
I try, all the time, to keep her at a distance.
Keep her blurry and unfocused. But I can see the edges of her now.
The green flecks in her brown eyes. The way her hair would sometimes dip into her cereal when she wasn’t paying attention.
Her fake laugh when she thought someone was being an idiot.
It’s like the loss of her has been background music in every scene of my life for the last year. Sometimes the scenes were so big I could almost convince myself that I’d forgotten the lyrics or even that the music was gone. But now everything else is quiet. And she’s all I hear.
Why are they called Froot Loops if they don’t have fruit in them?
Did you know that I can do an actual France braid?
Syd, when people die, where do they go?
My thumbs hover over the keyboard.
I feel like I should say something to him. Apologize again or ask him to leave me alone? I don’t even know anymore. But as I stand there with my thumbs suspended, I realize there’s nothing left to say. There’s nothing left at all.
All these nightmares. All this panic about Charles seeking me out again.
Well, it happened. He’s back. Because of course he is.
He always comes back. But now that I’ve said it all out loud to Peter, it doesn’t feel as big as it did before.
Or at least, it doesn’t feel like it’s going to swallow every last molecule of me.
And maybe Peter’s right. It’s like … I’ve been telling Charles all along that I can see death coming but I can’t do anything to stop it, and I didn’t really believe it myself. God, I just want this to be over. But I can’t report him—he’s been through enough.
Still, I have to let her go. I have to let him go.
I navigate over to the big red button and before I can think about it again, I press it. BLOCK CALLER.
It’s done.
My hands aren’t even shaking.
Maybe this will be good for him, even. Maybe if I stop responding, Charles will actually be able to move on too. Maybe.
I take a breath and turn around. “Peter— Oh my god, are you making the bed?”
He stops, a pillow in his hand. “Kind of.”
“You know they have to change the sheets, right?” God, I hope they change the sheets.
“Yeah, it’s just, you know, a gesture. To the staff?”
Peter looks from me to the phone in my hand and asks if I’m good, and I say yes, and I think possibly for the first time in a really long time I might mean it. Or at least, almost mean it.
And then Peter smiles at me and his smile is so warm that I think maybe I won’t ever have to feel cold again. Before I put my phone away, I send one last text.
ME:Honey
JULES:?????
ME:That’s what his mouth tastes like
JULES:OMFGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG