Chapter 62
TJ
Ididn’t want to head back inside. I didn’t want to just kiss her hand. I wanted to stay outside and console her. I wanted to kiss her until we both got dizzy. But after the dinner, in which I’m somewhat complicit, the least I could do was respect her wishes and leave her alone.
I know if I had pushed harder outside, Cornelia would have let me in—I could see it in her eyes. But as much as I wanted it, I wouldn’t take advantage of her. I would never forgive myself if I did.
I would have gone straight home if I hadn’t left my phone inside when I dashed out after Cornelia. I really wish I hadn’t, as I step back into the restaurant and see Weberly still sitting at the table, right where I left her.
Her makeup is smudged from the martini Cornelia threw at her, and a few strands of hair and part of her black dress are still damp. But she looks a bit less of a mess than when I ran out after Cornelia.
When she sees me coming back, she smiles. It reignites my anger. She’s the one responsible for the beautiful girl crying outside.
“I told you the dinner would be fun,” she says as I reach the table.
“You call that fun?” I ask, incredulous, as I grab my phone from the table and slip it into my pocket.
“Yes…” she falters. “Except for the part where she threw a martini at me.”
What the hell is wrong with her?
What kind of person goes through all this trouble and plans to humiliate others?
Who does these kinds of things for fun?
A psychopath.
I’m probably dating a fucking psychopath.
Fantastic—just what my life was missing.
It has to be that. She’s not jealous. I know she’s not, because when we first started dating, she told me she didn’t mind if I hooked up with someone else.
And even if she were jealous, this situation would just lead to Cornelia and Benedict breaking up, which would open the door for me. So that’s not it.
I know Cornelia isn’t her favourite person. I’ve always known that many people envy her. I can’t blame them—there’s a lot to envy. She’s perfection embodied. But pure envy can’t be the only reason Weberly did this.
I let out a sharp breath. “You’re insane.”
I start walking towards the door. I’m seeing red. If I stay in her presence for one more second, I’ll snap, and while she deserves every bit of it, I’ll just end up feeling like shit. I can almost hear Cornelia asking, “Is that because she’s a woman?” The answer is yes.
If a man had done what Weberly did, I would have punched him by now.
Cornelia wouldn’t make that distinction.
I’ve seen her fight, almost getting into fistfights with women and men alike, without hesitation.
It has actually scared me a few times. Some of those people could have seriously hurt her, but she never batted an eye.
But in that, we were raised differently.
I can’t treat Weberly the way I would a man, nor would society be fine with it.
Weberly runs after me, grabbing my arm midway to the exit. “Where are you going?”
“Don’t touch me,” I snap at her, hard enough that she lets go. I don’t longer care we’re in public—if people want to watch or record, then welcome to the fucking show.
I don’t want her to touch me or be anywhere near me.
I mistakenly trusted her, and I don’t anymore.
Ever since the night of the Monroe-Nodrick gala, I’ve had a hard time trusting people.
I’d gravitate towards girls who look like Cornelia not only because they’re my type—well, my type is Cornelia—but because, subconsciously, their resemblance to her made me feel like I could trust them. There’s no one I trust more than her.
Weberly was the exception, not because she was special to me, but because she was there, and I wanted some stability.
And while I never trusted her one hundred percent, her whole deal about not lying made me feel like I could trust her with…
important things. There was also the added bonus that she could make Cornelia jealous—not many people can do that.
I ignored all the rumours I’d heard that she was batshit crazy, that she would ruin my life. I dismissed them as nothing more than bitter words from jealous ex-boyfriends or people with a grudge. Now, I think I should have listened. It would have saved me from this.
She scoffs. “You’ve got to be kidding. You can’t seriously be mad at me for the video. I did you a favour. You should be kissing my feet right now.”
“A favour?” I let out a bitter laugh.
“Yes,” she says firmly. “And you’re a hypocrite, talking to me like I’m the villain when I know you’re revelling in the fact that she loves you more than she loves her boyfriend.”
I do.
Of course I do, but I wouldn’t exactly use the word revelling.
I won’t deny it’s the best thing I’ve heard in months—knowing that she still loves me. But if I could un-know this in exchange for Cornelia’s pain, I’d do it in a second. Without a second thought.
I will always put her above myself in everything.
“I won’t lie—yes, I do,” I admit, even though she doesn’t deserve my honesty.
“But what you did—showing the video like that—you did it for your own enjoyment.” I run a hand through my hair in frustration.
“If you really wanted to do me a favour, you could have shown me the video in private. But you didn’t.
You did it to humiliate her, so don’t put me in the same boat as you.
I would never have done something like that. Never.”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” She shrugs. “But it’s not like she doesn’t deserve it. She’s a bitch.”
“Don’t ever call her that,” I snap. I let it slide the first time she called her that—partly because Cornelia had just thrown a martini at her and I figured it was an automatic reaction, like when someone cuts you off in traffic, and partly because I wanted to go after Cornelia.
But like hell am I going to let her insult her and actually mean it.
“You hate her, and you don’t even know her,” I point out. “Which is good, because you don’t deserve to know her.” Knowing Cornelia, really knowing her, is the greatest privilege someone can get in life.
She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
“Don’t call me. Don’t text me.” My voice is firm, final. “I’ll have someone deliver everything you left at my flat.” I gesture between us with my index finger. “You and I? We’re done.”
I don’t wait for her reaction. I turn around and walk out.
I’m done with her, and it couldn’t have come a second sooner.