9. Wendy
“I’m sorry for ruining the party,” I said, helping Blair clean up plates of confetti, throwing out half-eaten servings of ice cream cake, and picking up anything else knocked over by throngs of screaming toddlers.
“Don’t even. I’m sorry. I’m married to the biggest lying asshole,” replied Blair, tossing crumpled napkins into the black garbage bag Zachary held. They hadn’t made eye contact or exchanged words since the big Vincent surprise. Blair’s eyes caught the red handprint painted across Zachary’s face—a miracle not one parent had asked Zachary what happened to his face during the party. “You didn’t ruin a single thing.” Blair walked to the freezer, grabbed an ice pack, and pressed it against Zachary’s sour face, but he didn’t resist the cold against his skin.
His eyes softened as he cupped the icepack and mouthed, ‘Thank you’ to Blair. She merely nodded, her face a mask of stone.
“I, uh…” Zachary started, clearing his throat. “I made a mistake telling Vincent you were back in New York.”
My eyes froze on Zachary. As much as I didn’t want to blame him for earlier, how could I not? Again, I lost my ability to form words, which quickly became a pattern when Vincent was involved, and collapsed onto a wooden dining room chair. Blair joined me seconds later and draped her arm around my slumped shoulders.
“Why would you do that, Zachary?” Blair hissed.
“He promised me he wouldn’t be here or anywhere nearby.” Zachary closed his eyes, dragging the ice pack away from his face as he realized his big fuck up.
“And I thought you stopped talking to him,” Blair nearly shrieked, glaring at her husband. “You lied to me.” She gnashed her teeth.
I grimaced, watching Blair’s knuckles turn white from gripping the table’s edge.
“Blair, let’s just talk about this.” Zachary stepped forward, but Blair’s death stare stopped him.
“Maybe start by apologizing to Wendy.” Blair pulled me in tighter, protecting me, but it was too late.
I couldn’t erase the image of Vincent just staring at me. As if he was waiting for me to make the first move. But what did he expect? Did he want me to run across the street, straight into his powerful arms, and tell him I forgave what he did to me? How he just left me there? In the fucking bed, covered in his cum, my juices? He didn’t know how I struggled to pull myself out of the cold bed that night. Or how I didn’t sleep for weeks and cried, sitting with the aches and permanent mental scars all caused by him. No one knew what happened between us in that bedroom on that last night. I sat with all the sordid details. And what made my stomach twist, my heart ache, and my mind scream? I would have done it all over again in a second. The degradation. Telling me how dirty and good I was being simultaneously. Using me for his pleasure while I chased a release. It wrecked me to think how much I wanted to be used and fucked. And I wanted to be used and fucked by him.
But how could I still even think that way? He left me in a raw state without reason.
“I... I'm so sorry, Wendy,” Zachary finally said after a long silence. His eyes were sincere as he looked at me, but it did nothing to calm my racing mind.
“I trusted him,” I murmured, my voice echoing in the silent room. I could still see Vincent's face; his anguish mirrored mine. He had lost weight since I'd last seen him. There were lines around his eyes, creased from the time lost, never to regain. Why did I even care if he hurt?
I hurt. All the time.
Blair let out a heavy sigh beside me. “Don't blame yourself for this,” she told me softly.
“It’s not that I’m blaming myself.” I swallowed. “I just never thought...” I trailed off, shaking my head to fight away the memory of that night. What I really wanted to say was how much I wanted that night back, and it left me twisted, unsure of who I was. How could an inch of me still possibly want a man who betrayed and cut me to the raw, jagged bone?
Zachary broke the silence first. “I'm going to fix this.”
“No,” I replied sternly before Blair or Zachary could say anything else. “No more fixing things for me.” I stood, my knees wobbling. “I'll handle Vincent myself.”
A gasp escaped Blair's lips, and even Zachary looked taken aback.
Blair stood, locking eyes with me. “Don’t go see him.”
“I’m not. I mean, how can I even?” I pinched my temple. “I don’t even know where he’s staying.” Sucking in a sharp breath, I walked to the kitchen’s exit before spinning around to face my silent friends. “Did Vincent even say what he wanted? Start from the top.”
And Zachary did. Telling me how Vincent called a few weeks before Sadie’s party. He had always been in touch with Vincent sporadically since our breakup. Still, he swore the conversations were superficial and nothing more. “I caved, Wendy. And I am so sorry. I’m unsure why I told Vincent about you being in New York. It was so wrong. I made a mistake.”
“Yes, you did.” My emotionless voice cut the tension in the air. My heart ached from Zachary’s confession while, if I could guess, Blair’s blood boiled at her husband’s betrayal. Like Blair, Zachary was my friend, just trying to do what he thought was right. But he wasn't the one who had lived through it, who had experienced the deceit. He couldn't possibly understand how much I suppressed every single day.
“Did he say why?” I croaked out, my gaze shifting to focus on a black spec on the opposite wall.
Zachary was silent for a moment, searching my face. “He said he just needed to know if you’d be in New York,” he finally admitted, looking away as if he couldn't bear to meet my gaze. “I swear that’s all he kept asking. I didn’t tell him where you were staying or anything like that.”
My eyes darted to Zachary’s face, glaring. “He already knows.”
“Knows what?” Blair asked.
“Everything he needs to know. He knows where I’m staying. It’s Vincent. This is what he does. All he needs is one clue, and then he runs with it. And gets what he wants.” Closing my eyes and shutting myself off from the light, I still saw Vincent. Even in the dark, I saw every part of him just as vividly and knew I was fucked. “I’m going to leave,” I declared, my eyes popping open.
“What? No.” Blair bolted to my side and planted her hands on my shoulders. “Stay here tonight. The guest bedroom is already made up. It’s yours.”
“No.” I pulled myself away from Blair's grasp. “I need space. Just a little time.” I saw hurt flash in her eyes and reached out to touch her arm. “I already paid for the hotel room. I might as well use it.”
“If it’s about the money, we’ll pay the bill,” Zachary said, his eyes shifting to Blair rather than to me. Something told me Zachary’s offer was meant to make Blair happy instead of comforting me.
“It’s not about the money,” I said, smiling. “I just need to be alone right now.”
Blair gave a defeated sigh. “Alright, Wendy. But promise me you'll call if you need anything.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice enough to offer a solid answer. A hug was shared, tight and protective from Blair's end and somewhat awkward from mine. Zachary didn’t offer a hug, but he wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry again,” Zachary apologized before tossing the melted ice pack onto the marble counter.
“Let us drive you back to the hotel.” Blair stepped forward and raised her eyebrows. “Please?”
“I’ll be fine. Seriously, I’m a big girl; you don’t have to worry about me.” I backed away from them, steps closer to the freedom my mind craved. Coming back to New York wasn’t a mistake. I was glad I did this. But I didn’t belong here. Not anymore.
I slid my brown, worn leather jacket over my shoulders, preparing to brace the cold New York air. It was different than New England’s weather. Here, everything hit harder. The punishment ran deeper as the wind whipped my skin. As I let myself out of Blair’s apartment, the closing door muffled a fresh wave of arguing between the two.
The bright lights of New York City twinkled like an ocean of stars in the black tar sky above me. But it wasn’t home anymore. No place could ever be home as long as Vincent was in it. At least, that was what I kept telling myself. But why was my heart suddenly fighting the logic? He hurt me. What Vincent did three years ago was unforgivable. I didn’t think anyone could break me the way he had. How he left me alone, vulnerable, needing help and comfort. I had none of that and never would.
But why did my heart still harbor space for him? Did I want to be hurt? Did I enjoy being punished?
No. I didn’t. Not that kind, at least. Not the kind that warranted abandonment. I didn’t crave that at all.
What did I really want? I guess…love?
The type of love Vincent and I shared up until the last words he uttered to me. That I believed. He told me he would be right back, but he lied. The last words he said to me were a lie…or were they? Because he was back. Just three years later.
Look at how pathetic I became. Rationalizing a sociopath's behavior because while I wanted to be loved, the only person’s love I still yearned for was Vincent’s.
My chest tightened suddenly, and a cold sweat erupted across my skin, fighting against the bitter air. I wrapped my arms around my body, cursing myself for not dressing appropriately for the weather. An emptiness echoed through me, bouncing off my ribs and rattling my heart. The only way to settle this loneliness I grew to know all too well was to leave. It was the one thing I still knew how to do without a hiccup.
I hailed a cab and got in, letting my head fall back against the seat with a heavy sigh. As we drove through the cityscape, neon lights and bustling crowds blurred into a chaotic dance of colors and shadows. It was hard to believe somewhere in this chaos was Vincent. Shit. I needed to stop. Just please stop thinking about him, I begged myself, but I was going to lose. Anything having to do with Vincent was a losing battle.
The cab halted abruptly, dragging me from my reverie. I handed over the fare and stepped out into the biting cold. The hotel's grand exterior seemed daunting, but it was just a building irrelevant to my twisted love life.
Once back in my room, I found myself pacing restlessly. Back and forth, back and forth—like a caged animal trapped within four walls lined in pretentious denim wallpaper. All these years, I asked myself when the pain would go away. When would my heart heal?
And after seeing Vincent a mere few hours earlier, the answer was clear: it wouldn’t. The only person who could cure me was the one person who broke me, and I just couldn't deal with this harsh fact anymore. My eyes darted to the clock. If I left now, I could return to Newport by 1 AM.
I grabbed my bag and started throwing my things in. There was no point in staying a moment longer. Every minute in this city was another minute my twisted heart could find an excuse to see him again. Something in me kept clinging to the hope that maybe there was this reason larger than life with why he left the way he had. But was it excusable? Could I find it in my heart to forgive him despite never being able to forget? We had so much between us. So much trust, until it was broken without warning.
No. I needed to leave. Now.
I hurriedly changed into leggings and a burnout sweatshirt for the drive, zipped up the bag, and turned off the lights as I exited the room. The hotel lobby was surprisingly quiet, and I checked out swiftly without exchanging a single word with the receptionist. I walked out of the revolving doors into the cold night as if in a trance.
The chill seemed harsher now as it whipped through my clothing. Shivering slightly, I threw the valet a few dollars, got into my car, and bitterly kissed this city goodbye for a second and final time. It was decided. I was never going to return. Not for Blair. Not for Sadie. For once, I was going to put myself first and not falter.
Once on the road, the loneliness seeped back in like a poison, slowly spreading in my veins with each mile that took me farther away from New York—from him. As much as my mind screamed at me to forget Vincent, my heart begged otherwise. Hours passed like minutes as I drove through the darkness, guided only by the dimmed headlights of the car and occasional flashes of high beams.
His voice echoed around my head, saying those four words that had once meant so much but now held nothing but pain: “I'll be right back.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips—how ironic it was for him to be back when I was finally leaving everything behind.
Finally crossing over into Newport, I let out a sigh of relief. The familiar surroundings, less crowded and more serene than the bustling city, comforted me somewhat. I pulled over and sat there awhile, my eyes welling up with unshed tears.
As much as I wanted to forget Vincent, even hate him for what he did, I knew deep down that he still held a piece of my heart. A piece I wasn't sure I’d ever get back.