Chapter 42 Lexie
For hours, I cry on the floor of my apartment, feeling the shattered pieces of my soul skirt outside my body. Everything hurts.
I need to get out of here. There are too many memories of him in my room, and I can’t process, or think, or heal, or do anything but cry. I pack a small bag and take the subway to the one place that will help give me the comfort I need.
When I reach my mom’s apartment building, I drag myself up the stairs and rap on the door. She opens it with surprised eyes. I collapse into her arms and sob.
“Oh, my sweet girl…”
I crawl onto the couch that was my bed for so many years and bury my face into the pillow. Even in the July heat, she grabs my tattered childhood blanket, drapes it over my body, and runs her fingers through my hair until I fall asleep.
When I pry my crusty eyes open into the familiar, warm space, my mom’s left a note on the coffee table that she didn’t want to wake me, but there’s coffee in the pot and bread in the fridge.
I glance at my phone to check the time. I’m late for work, I’ve missed dozens of calls from Theo, Justin, Sydney, and the receptionist, Megan.
But I don’t care.
The sun beams inside my mom’s tiny studio, but everything is dark.
I can hardly drag myself to the bathroom, much less force down food and water.
I pick up my phone to call Sydney to tell her I won’t be in today.
But I can’t. My limbs are tree trunks, my fingers numb, my head weighs a thousand pounds.
I go back to sleep.
When I wake again, the afternoon sun is setting. I finally lift myself and fill a plastic cup with water from the tap, take a bite of bread, and glance at even more missed messages.
I return to the couch, drag the blanket over myself, and go back to sleep.
The door closes with a soft click, and I peek out at my mother removing her shoes at the mat. “How you doing? Did you eat?”
I shake my head. She spends the evening bringing me soup and tea, brushing my hair, and finally tucks me back under my blanket. My eyes flutter closed.
When the sun wakes me up again, there’s another note from my mother, two full glasses of water on the coffee table, accompanied by a box of saltine crackers, and another nearly twenty missed calls.
My head is pounding. But it’s mild compared to the pain ravaging my insides.
I finally reach for the phone, delete all the ones from Theo without reading, but send a group message to Justin and Sydney that I came down with something horrible and will be back to work when I feel better.
Even the effort of letting people know I’m alive makes me feel like I’ve run a marathon.
I turn my phone off completely and go back to sleep.
Maybe if I stay here, at my mom’s, under this blanket, I can pretend that none of this is happening.
That Theo didn’t lie to me for months and kill my dreams all those years ago.
Choppy, dark, fevered dreams scatter my mind, and I blink open to my mom gently shaking my shoulders. “Come on,” she says, holding out her hands. I shake my head. “It’s been three days. You need a shower, food, and to get up off this couch.”
I pull the blanket over my face.
She snaps the blanket off me and points to the bathroom.
“Now, Gemma.” The sharp tone is one I haven’t heard since I was a kid, and it makes me straighten.
I stumble into the shower like anchors are attached to my legs.
Under the hot shower, I cry some more, swear, lean my head against the wall, but finally, finally, something in me releases.
I spend the rest of the evening eating one of Mom’s classic ham sandwiches with mustard, that for some reason tastes delicious, eating a half of a package of saltines with peanut butter, and guzzling back what feels like gallons of water.
My mom drags my feet into her lap and polishes my toenails pink.
This simple act of normalcy makes me crack, and I tell her everything.
She doesn’t judge, doesn’t rage, doesn’t even say that she’s going to kill Theo for what he did to me in college.
She just listens, fans my toes with her hands, and brings me more water.
Before I settle back into the couch, she picks up my empty plate and wrappers, and glances sideways at me.
“He didn’t go about it in the right way, but sounds like Theo may have saved my baby girl back then.
” She scrapes the cracker crumbs from the table on to the plate, then dusts off her hands.
“Now, it’s time for you to get back to work.
I didn’t raise no quitter. You’re my daughter.
Strong and fierce. Time to act like it.”
The next day, I finally leave my mother’s house (I think much to her relief), go back to my studio, and force myself not to open the blinds to check if Theo’s light is on across the street.
I sleep in my own bed, I change into something other than the pajamas I’ve been wearing for days and make my way to work.
When I arrive, I make up a terrible excuse to Amanda and Megan about having the worst fever and flu of my life. At my desk, I skirt Justin’s eyes, who’s watching my every movement as I set down my backpack and reach for my laptop.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Yep,” I say, and it’s not a lie. I’m not over Theo. I don’t think I’ll ever be over Theo. But I’ve at least stopped crying like I’m being held hostage and tears are a condition of my release. “That was… um, an intense week.”
Justin’s silent. Too silent. I plug in my laptop, sure that when I look up, I’ll see his “no bullshit side eye”. Instead, a frown curves his mouth and my heart pinches.
“Want to talk about it?”
My chin quivers and I shake my head.
“Okay. I’m here whenever you need me.”
Not if, but when.
I love my friend.
My fellow co-workers move around me like nothing has changed. Soft chatter. A few laughs here and there. The steady click of keyboards. Clearly, Sydney is still deciding who she’s cutting, and I’m still clinging on to the hope of a Hail Mary—some miracle that lets us all keep our jobs.
The thought that half of these people will be gone in the next month makes my stomach turn. Against all odds, this place became my home away from home, and I’m not ready to watch the doors close.
I go back to check my schedule for today and freeze when I spot a particular meeting in my calendar.
“Actually, I need your help.” I turn to Justin.
“Annabelle and Theo are coming in soon for their appointment. Will you take it?” When his eyes narrow, I quickly add, “Who knows if I’m still contagious.
I’d hate to get either one of them sick before the wedding. ”
I think he knows I’m lying. But he nods anyway.
When they arrive, Justin leaps up to greet them and I run to hide in the breakroom. But I can’t stop myself from looking back. Annabelle’s arm is looped through Theo’s, her body pressed into his side. He leans toward her, solid and steady. The sight steals the breath from my lungs.
Before the tears can spill, I shut the door.
Inside, I pretend to focus—scrolling through emails on my phone and double checking my project plan, until the soft click of the door breaks the quiet.
I turn and Theo stands there.
“Can we please talk?” he says, taking one step towards me then stopping.
I cross my arms. “We have absolutely nothing to talk about.”
His jaw goes tight before he exhales a breath. “I am so fucking sorry for everything.”
I want to break down, to cry, to collapse into his arms, but I don’t. “Your words are worthless. You lied to me for months. Months. You had every opportunity to tell the truth and you chose not to.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair? Fair? You want to talk about fucking fair?” I snap with a harsh, hushed tone. “You told me you never met me, you told me you weren’t going to get married, and you made me feel… this…” my chin trembles but I force it to stop.
“I’m so sorry, but you need to understand why I didn’t tell you.”
“Fucking stop, Theo. Seriously just stop.” I swallow back a cry that’s inching its way up my throat, refusing to let him see me break again.
“Just leave, okay. Go be the man that Annabelle needs you to be. Forget about me. Forget about us.” I swallow and push through the next words as steely as I can. “Because I sure as fuck am going to.”
Yes, I want to hurt him, and yes, I get a small sense of satisfaction at seeing the softness in his eyes tighten and morph into anger. His flushed neck, the way he looks like he wants to say something, the way the muscle in his jaw pops. And then, just like that, he’s gone, slamming the door shut.
Goddammit. Hot tears spring to my tired eyes.
A moment later, Justin’s face falls when he steps into the room.
He holds out his arms and I take the hug.
I let my friend hold me when I’m so sick and tired of holding myself.
God, I’m such a mess and I don’t even know how to not be one.
What did I expect to happen? Did I really think getting involved with Theodore Astor would end with fucking rainbows and hearts?
I shouldn’t be surprised. And yet… the loss cuts so deep, I don’t think I’ll ever stop bleeding.
Justin pulls back and his sincere blue eyes bore into mine. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
Part of me doesn’t want to say anything.
The shame of lying to Justin for months gnaws at my insides.
But I need to purge these last few months, these last few years, from my soul.
I need to tell him about the embers that started when I was nineteen that grew into an all-consuming wildfire that ravaged me and left me scorched and charred.
And so, I take a deep breath.
After I tell him everything, he reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze with nothing but kindness and love in his eyes.
And I continue. “When I first started working with Theo, I was so focused on showing Annabelle the monster I thought Theo was, while getting my revenge. It was like a two-for-one special—ruin Theo, save Annabelle.”
Justin’s quiet look and soft eyes hit me hard. “So… similar to what Theo did to you at school. He convinced himself that what he did was to save you. Just like you thought this was for Annabelle.”
My breath stutters and catches in my throat, forcing me to drag in a sharp, uneven lungful of air.
Like the metal teeth on a zipper cinching together, everything locks into place.
This is the same conclusion my mom came to.
And even though I know her loyalty will always be to me, I told myself she’d forgiven him simply because she had grown to like Theo after he’d treated and cared for her.
Did I start doing to Annabelle what Theo did to me? Is it the same thing? Under the guise of protecting her, I almost hurt her. And if that’s true, is there a part of me that understands why Theo did what he did back then?
My elbows dig into my thighs, and I drop my head into my hands.
I don’t know… I don’t know… I had already made as much peace as I could with what Theo did all those years ago.
But he lied. For months. In a week, he’s going to marry Annabelle.
His love for her has never wavered. So, I can forgive him, sure, and maybe that would help me move on.
But what’s going to heal my heart?
The next morning, I wake in a clearer headspace—until the anger sets in again. It simmers as I replay my conversation with Dr. Astor: the snobbish judgment in his tone, the way he looked at me like I was beneath him.
No matter how fucked up Theo’s actions were, I don’t believe for a second Dr. Astor is innocent. I saw the sincerity when Theo told me about his dad, the genuine panic and fear that he thought I might be hurt. And after hearing about Olivia and the other girls, I know it’s all true.
And looking back now, replaying the moments Dr. Astor and I were alone together, I see everything in a new light.
Back then, his father touched me. A lot.
A hand lingering on my back, my arms, a brush of his fingers.
He asked about my dating life, if I had a boyfriend who would be upset about the number of extra hours I’d be working.
He offered to tutor me after hours, when campus was “quieter” and he could give me the “attention I deserved”.
And Theo was there, constantly dropping by his father’s office, interrupting the moments when I was alone with his dad.
Even though he barely acknowledged me, maybe that was the point.
Maybe those drop-ins were meant to deny his father the opportunity to hurt me.
I’d like to think that I would’ve smelled a predator a mile away.
But I’m realizing now it’s never that simple.
But Theo still took away my right to choose. He stole my future. Maybe that wasn’t his intention, but it’s reality. And he lied.
So, then, why do I miss him so fucking much?
Why haven’t I been able to force myself to wash his pillow that carries his faint, lingering scent?
Why do I keep thinking about being wrapped in his arms, the way he made my body burn alive, the way he pressed his lips into that little crook behind my ear that made me melt into him?
Why do I crave the questions he’d asked me like he was a scholar and me, his fascinating subject?
In the shower, my lip starts trembling. My skin aches for his touch.
My heart is breaking with the knowledge that what we had, as short-lived as it might have been, I’ll never feel again.
Since I was nineteen, he’s penetrated my world and impaled by heart, he’s invaded and assaulted my soul, he’s brought me unimaginable, unbearable pain.
Twice. But being without him hurts the most.
I miss him. But I fucking hate him.
All those years ago, he stripped away my future.
I knew it then, and I deluded myself when we were together that he was telling the truth when he said he didn’t remember me.
As someone who relies so heavily on gut and intuition, I pushed away my suspicions to be with him.
I made a deal with the devil, and the devil won.
So fine, I have to live with the consequences.
But there’s one thing I can do. Maybe it’s a way to reclaim something taken from me.
Maybe it’s something I should’ve done the moment Theo told me about Olivia, and the other women, and the investigation.
Fueled with the rush of a purpose, I open a new tab on my browser, take a deep breath, and type in the name of my old dorm mate.