Page 103 of The Other Side of Paradise
Normally I was more polite than that. Normally I’d start with likehey how’s it going, I’ve been thinking, maybe if you want some help,but I wasn’t with it right now, so that wasn’t happening. It was agonizingly quiet for a long time, and I went and got a snack before she finally responded, curled up at the head of the bed eating almonds out of a bag when she responded.
Oh, I know, sweetheart, I’ve already got a few of them lined up for you to have a look at and see what you’re up for
I scowled, typing back.What do you mean, you know?
Gavin told me you’d be in need of a good distraction for a while.
Dammit, what an asshole. Considerate asshole, though. Hated the fact that he was right. I swallowed past the thick lump in my throat and texted back,I really appreciate it, Sherry,and then,you can send me the list and I’ll let you know which ones I’ll be able to take on.
God, I’d taken this place for granted. I had plenty of people here. Brooklyn, Gavin, Sherry, and a million others who had faded into the background of my everyday life. I was grateful for them, every last one. I just wished I could have brought Stella around to every one of them. Wished she could have stayed, even just a few days longer.
Even here, sitting in the aching, gnawing emptiness without her, I was still grateful I at least got some time with her. That having a few days was better than having nothing. That regretting doing it was going to hurt worse than regretting not doing it, but only at first.
I hated when BB was right.
I guess it was the impassive, broken-down way I was too hollowed out to care anymore what anyone thought, but I didn’t even flinch this time: I opened my phone, pulled up Instagram, and I typed out a message to Isabel without any hesitation.
Hey there,
I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to reach out to you about this, but you deserve to know. On March 3rd, I was at a party for my friend Lindsey, and I met somebody there called Ellie…
It came out longer than I’d intended, but I couldn’t just sayhey I fucked your girlfriendand then walk away. I finished it, though, writing it all up, and I stared at it for a few seconds in a cool, detached haze before I hit send, my heart pounding even as it felt like it was happening to somebody else. I swiped away, anxiety thick in my chest as I pulled up the list of proposed programs Sherry had sent me, and I felt my hands quivering as I read over titles and descriptions for different programs and took in nothing, and my stomach dropped out at a notification for a reply from Isabel, with exactly what I was worried about. Not yelling at me, but a simple,lol what are you talking about?
I opened the message to see her typing, and a follow-up.I don’t know you, stop messaging me.My throat tightened, andI felt my eyes sting with tears that were not at all about Isabel and her stupid girlfriend. I wrote a reply I guess didn’t fucking matter.
I just wanted you to know.
She replied right away.lmao what do you want, anyway?And then right after,why are you spreading rumors about my fucking girlfriend?
I squeezed my phone tighter, tears burning in my eyes. I shot back a reply.I haven’t told Lindsey or any of her friends. The only people who know about it are really, really far away from you, so I’m not spreading rumors. I thought you should know.
She sent back laughing emojis.Ellie isn’t interested in you lmao,she sent, and then,you’re kind of fucking pissing me off,and,are you trying to attack our relationship?
I’m not attacking anything.I was fully crying now, tears hot on my face, and my chest heaved as I choked on stupid, ugly sobs about my stupid, ugly self that kept chasing after pretty faces no matter how many times it got me hurt. Kept thinking I could have something good even though I knew I didn’t deserve it.I didn’t say anything for months because I didn’t want to ruin your relationship, but I thought you deserved to know.
sure lmao, she replied, and then more laughing emojis, and then,stop fucking messaging me,and then,you want us to break up so you can sleep with her?and,or are you trying to hit on me? hoping I’ll be grateful you told me so you can shoot your shot?
Jesus, I was glad Brooklyn hadn’t had to go through with this with Ryan. But in this case, I kind of wanted it—wanted Isabel to put me in my place, tell me what a shitty, useless person I was and how nobody actually wanted me around. I cried loud, ugly tears while I texted back again and again, arguing my point that I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, even though I knew I shouldhave stopped—should have just left it at that—just to get her to yell at me more. And even when I eventually told her,I won’t tell you what to do, I’ll leave you alone, I just wanted you to know,I still read all her replies, laughing and telling me off again. Even when I didn’t respond, she came back ten minutes later to yell again, and I read that one too. Another fifteen minutes, and she was yelling in all caps this time, telling me to fuck off. Then later, when she sent me my own post with my picture and laughing—very clearly telling me I was way too ugly for Ellie to sleep with me—I read that too.
She kept going for almost two solid hours, on and off, messaging me the worst things, and I read them all, and it was perfect—was exactly what I needed. I cried and curled up in the bed, and when she finally stopped texting, I lay in bed with a feeling like I’d just thrown up: disgusting and sick all over, feeling dirty inside and outside, but it was out of me. That the toxin was gone.
I don’t know how long I was lying there before I found myself at Brooklyn’s house. Long enough I’d taken a shower. Not long enough that I’d washed my hair. I was still ratty and I knew I looked miserable and broken even before I saw the look in BB’s eyes when she opened the door, the way she looked at me pityingly, but hell, she looked just as bad—a hollowed-out shell of a woman who gave me a haunted, barely-there smile.
“Have you had dinner?” was the greeting I came up with, and she looked grateful that I’d gone with that instead of anything about Stella or about Ryan.
“I’ve got some pizza dough,” was how she greeted me back, and that was the best response possible. I had mushroom pizza. Stella’s favorite. Ugh, she was going to keep haunting me forever.
I came here to talk, to air it all out, but pushing the words out felt like the hardest thing imaginable, so I driftedquietly instead, between the house and the patio out back where she started up the pizza oven, prepping drinks for us both. Something with way too much sugar. It took me until we were both out on the patio, me swaddled up in the corner of the couch and Brooklyn idly poking at the pizzas in the oven, before I said, “I told her.”
“Told… who? What?” She looked back at me. I looked away.
“Isabel.”
“Who…?”
“The girl whose girlfriend cheated with me…”
“Oh, yeah. Oh. God.” She turned away from the oven, dropping down into the seat across from me, leaning forward, concern in her eyes. I guess that was what she did—hid her own feelings by looking after others’. Probably the same thing she’d done the whole time Ryan was here. “How did it go?”
