Chapter Twenty-Eight Elise #2
"Go out to the car, Ma," Paul says, his voice gentle like she's a bomb he needs to defuse, and his mother narrows her eyes at him. "I... I gotta handle this."
"You'd better handle it," she warns, voice dropping to a hiss. He shrinks slightly away from her fury. "For. Good."
"I will," he promises her, and she stares at him for a long moment before turning to me, and I can't help but shrink back at the anger in her face, the curl to her lips, the pure hate rolling off her in waves.
"I would tell you what I really think of you, Elise, but I've already been to confession and a sad, pathetic little girl like you is not worth the energy."
She slings the bag of groceries over her shoulder and walks away, still managing to smile and wave at the cashier like she didn't just skin me alive in public.
I open my mouth to speak, but Paul beats me to it. "I'm sorry, Elise."
That's not at all what I expected him to say.
I blink, "... excuse me?"
"I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice genuine and his face a little sad. "I used you. And that wasn't fair to you."
"No," I shake my head. No, he didn't use me. "You said—you said I was like air, that being with me was easy. That you had feelings—"
"I did," he cuts in gently. "I did say that, but.
.. I didn't mean it. And that was wrong of me.
I was... manufacturing feelings. Trying to force something with you.
Because it was easy—you were easy. You didn't have cancer, and you stroked my ego.
That wasn't fair, to you or to me. I cheated on Sophie with you because I was too much of a coward. I was so scared—terrified—to lose her, so I pushed her away first by using you.”
"I love her,” he says, sounding like it’s painful to say. His eyes glaze over, his face slack. His voice is a low murmur, “I'll always love her."
No. He was taking control of the narrative. He didn't use me. I'm Elise fucking Cabot, I can not—will not—be used. Not by him, not by anyone.
It's fucking impossible.
My temper takes over.
"You think that just because you can admit your mistakes now, that makes you brave? That makes you better? Newsflash, it doesn't. You're still the same weak boy crying about his sick little fiancée. Don't forget that—"
"Don't talk about Sophie," Paul snaps, his voice low and seething. "Don't you ever fucking talk about her. Say all you want about me, Elise, but she did nothing wrong."
"Oh fuck you, Paul. You weren't thinking of your precious little Sophie when you kissed me at Haunts.
When you were fucking me in your car, in my bed, in your office.
Don't forget that you started this!" I laugh, not liking how crazed I sound, but unable to stop.
I hate this tight feeling in my chest. I hate how shaky and uncoordinated I feel.
I hate that stupid look on his stupid face.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
"You want to talk easy? You wanted me so bad that you fell right into my bed so easily, I barely had to try. You were like a feral dog begging for scraps. If anyone is easy here, Paul, it's you."
Paul doesn't blink, doesn't flinch. He just keeps those sad, broken eyes on mine and nods.
"You're right about that. I was easy. I wanted you. I wanted an escape. That's on me. But cheating on Sophie is my biggest regret."
Your mother is my greatest mistake, my greatest regret...
I flinch.
"I chose you when I shouldn't have, when I should have been choosing her, and that's something I'm..." his voice cracks, and his eyes grow glassy, and at this moment, he looks so much like my father did while talking to Claire. Broken.
"I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life," he admits, a tear falling down his cheek, getting caught in the stubble at his chin. "I failed Sophie."
You're my greatest failure.
"You're fucking pathetic, Paul."
"Yeah," he nods his head in agreement. "I know I'm pathetic, but I'm trying not to be anymore. Take care, Elise. Don't ever contact me again."
With that, I lose all composure.
"You're an asshole!" I scream, and he doesn't even flinch as he walks right out of the grocery store.
My outburst catches the attention of the store's patrons as they turn to me, before snickering and whispering about me.
There's an older woman in a Red Sox hoodie by the produce section who's snickering behind her bag of bananas.
The humiliation rises up inside of me, and I narrow my eyes in a glare, but she meets my glare head-on and mouths, "Try me, princess. "
Growling, I stomp out of the store. My breathing is coming too quickly, and I take greedy gulps of the air as I walk.
I walk, and I walk, and I walk. And I think, and I try to plan, and I come up with nothing.
I've never felt so aimless, so completely out of my depth before.
For the first time, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do.
I just keep walking. No destination in mind, I just don't want to go back to my hotel room, alone. I don't want to calculate how much money I have left until I need to leave. There's nothing left for me here in this town.
There's one store down the street with the lights still on. Rivers & Rhodes Bookstore reads the wooden sign. I can hear music playing softly as I pass, and when I glance through the large window, I freeze at what I see.
It's a couple slow dancing.
The man is...
Tall, dark-haired, bearded, and handsome. Incredibly handsome. Not my usual type—he's a little more rugged, and it feels like he would look out of place in a suit, but with a little clean-up, he could fit right in with my sphere.
From what I can see, the woman in his arms is petite, dressed in a dark green sweater and jeans.
She has a light brown hat on her head, seeming to completely cover her hair.
His broad arm is wrapped securely around her waist, and his hand practically swallows hers as they dance like a couple in an old movie.
She stands on his large booted feet, allowing him to gently guide them in their dance.
But it's his face, that soft, loving expression, that paralyzes me. It looks oddly familiar as he gazes down at the woman.
He raises their joined hands to gently twirl her and—
What. The. Fuck.
Sophie.
He's dancing with Sophie.
I barely recognize her. Before, her face had a softness to it—chubby, I remember thinking when I first met her—but now her cheeks look sunken in, dark circles under her eyes.
Her moves are sluggish, like she's tired, but the man just holds her tighter, twirls her slowly before pulling her back to him.
Then he gently dips her, making her laugh. Gently, he picks her back up and leans in for a kiss that makes me flinch.
The almost desperate way he holds her, and the way their mouths move together in sync, is passion I've never encountered before. His strong-looking hands hold her securely, and she wraps her arms tightly around his neck.
The sight hits me like a punch.
She looks beautiful, and that hurts me to admit.
Not beautiful in the way I am—was.
No, beautiful like that day when I was seventeen, at the Salvatore Hotel for the children's cancer gala. She's like Claire, beautiful from the bright smile on her face and the joy emanating from her.
The man says something that makes her tired expression melt, and he’s looking at her like he can't believe she's real.
I feel like a voyeur, intruding on some stupid romantic interlude.
And all I feel is rage.
Sophie. Goddamn Sophie. Does she have a magic pussy or something?
What the fuck is it about her that makes her so special? What the hell does she have that I don't? Paul is clearly still hung up on her, and now she has this new guy all over her while she looks like that? Balding and wasting away. She has cancer, for fucks sake. What the hell is up with these men?
I watch the man hold her and kiss her like she's a prize. No, he should be with someone better, someone up to his caliber.
Someone like me.
Unable to stand this sick scene anymore, I keep walking to head back to my hotel.
I need to do some maintenance.
I took Sophie’s man once.
I can do it again.
◆◆◆
Checking my reflection in the glass of the bookstore, I smirk to myself as I fluff my hair. She looks familiar, I think as I step into the store, the bell above the door announcing my arrival.
It’s... quaint, if you like this sort of thing.
I wore my red dress, the one that pushes my tits up and smooths out my figure. Matching heels on, I decided to go without a jacket, figuring the cold might make some parts of my anatomy... stick out. I want him to see me and see what he could have. I looked expensive. I looked like temptation.
There's no way he'll be able to resist.
That look he gave her last night, holding her like she was fragile but kissing her like he was starving.
I wanted that look. I wanted him to look at me like that, to remind me that I’m still Elise fucking Cabot. I can get any man I want, and I will. Starting with this man.
My heels click-click on the hardwood floor as I walk further into the store, and then I see him, standing behind the cash register and marking something off on a clipboard. He glances up when he sees me and—
Offers me a smile.
A small one, polite, and his eyes meet mine and stay.
No elevator eyes, no lingering glances. He looks right at my face the entire time.
I’m caught off guard by his lack of reaction, but not undeterred. Meanwhile, I take in my fill of him.
He looks good—a little rugged for my usual tastes, but still yummy.
He's wearing a white long-sleeve Henley that's rolled up to his elbows, his brown hair's a little messy like he's been running his hands through it, and my eyes are drawn to his forearms, the muscles flexing slightly as he bends to lift a box onto the counter.
"Hi. Welcome in," he says, his voice is deep with a little gravel to it. "Are you looking for anything specific?"
Yeah, you.