Page 36 of Sadistic

"Or maybe he was just trying to fill a void."

"Stop defending him."

"I'm not." She steals my shot before I can take it. "I'm just saying—you both knew this was temporary. Maybe he was trying to practice letting go."

"By fucking Ingrid?"

"By fucking someone who wasn't you." She sets the glass down hard. "Look, I'm not saying it doesn't hurt. But you literally screwed him goodbye this morning and he’s been fucking her, so maybe let's not throw stones."

The truth of that stings. "That was different."

"Was it? Or are you just mad he started moving on first?"

I want to argue, but she's right.

We'd never defined what we were, never made promises.

Just existed in this liminal space between together and apart, both of us pretending the future wasn't breathing down our necks.

"You know what the really fucked up part is?" I say. "Doran knew. He's known for months probably. Watching me sneak around with Njal while Njal was already halfway out the door."

"That is fucked up."

"Everything about this is fucked up." I finally manage to snag another shot. "In two weeks, I'll be married to a man who's documented my entire life like I'm some rare species he's studying."

Elfe's quiet for a moment, then: "Remember when we were kids? That summer your dad taught us to ride?"

"You crashed into the fence."

"Three times." She smiles at the memory. "But you know what you told me? You said the bike only goes where you're looking. Stop staring at the fence and look at the road."

"This isn't a dirt bike, Elfe."

"No, but the principle's the same. You keep staring at the crash—Njal, the surveillance, the lack of choice. Maybe try looking at the road instead."

"What road? The one where I'm trapped in a marriage with a man who just might be a possessive psychopath?"

"The one where you're about to become one of the most powerful women in Florida." She leans forward. "You negotiated keeping your education. Your own space. That's not nothing, Rev. That's you already steering."

We talk for another hour, carefully avoiding the heavy topics.

She tells me about the new prospect who can't pour a beer without foam, about her mom's latest attempt at matchmaking, about the tattoo she's thinking of getting.

Normal things. Safe things.

But eventually, reality intrudes in the form of my buzzing phone.

Doran:

Your sister's looking for you.

Of course he knows where I am.

Me:

Be right out.

Doran:

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