Page 18 of Savage Hate
I’m so tired that I’m not even hungry, but the day’s events keep replaying in my head, so I grab my phone out of instinct. My thumb hovers over Wright’s contact, and I have to force myselfnotto text him. What would I say, anyway? There’s nothing left between us, no unfinished business other than closure on my part. Instead, I open Instagram for the first time since I left New York, and my feed is full of Wright and his friends—andher.
I grind my teeth as I sit up in bed and stare at the pretty, petite redhead in Wright’s arms at a bonfire last night. Clicking over to her profile, I see she has a picture of herself at the penthouse from a few days ago. My throat constricts as I realize the duvet she has wrapped around her is the one I bought Wright for Christmas, and when I look closer, I can see that she’s wearing the robe he boughtmethree years ago on Valentine’s Day. I’d left it all there—anything and everything that reminded me of him, aside from the bare necessities. But now, as I hug my knees to my chest and my lower lip wobbles… I can’t help but think that maybe I made a mistake.
Those aremythings, too.
I had a life there, full of pots and pans that I carefully selected, and dish towels that I commissioned from a local linen vendor. The art, the curtains, the giant twelve-pound candle that I painstakingly made one winter out of boredom…
Those aremythings. And Wright gave them away to the next girl.
I erased an entire ten years of my life, and now I have no idea where or how I’m supposed to start over.
Tears spring loose from the corners of my eyes, and my body shakes with sobs as I hug my knees tighter. This wasn’t how my life was supposed to end up—alone, in a studio apartment, working for three guys who would rather see me dead than alive. I cry harder, louder, letting every emotion escape until I’m practically wailing. I promise myself that I will go back soon for the things that mean the most—the candle, the artwork, my baking supplies, and anything that’s irreplaceable. I still have a key.
Wiping my cheeks, I get up and grab a tissue, then crawl back under the covers. I close my eyes, shivering, and fall asleep with my arms wrapped around myself.
twelve
Lennon
“Oh my God,” Mindy croons, sipping her wine on my couch. “I haven’t had a proper night away from the kids in years.” She laughs before hiccupping. “Not to say that Gabriel isn’t great—he is. But I’ll be honest and say that I just don’t have a lot of friends,” she says bluntly, and we both laugh.
“Ihada lot of friends, but none of them were actually friends, you know?”
I lean back on my sofa as Mindy nods. She’d gotten here about an hour ago, breast pump in tow, and she is now two glasses into the nice bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I bought with Silas’s money. My stomach flips when I think about that. About him, and the way he, Damon, and Jude all seem to hate me—but not enough that I have to worry about money. It’s confusing, infuriating, and overwhelming.
“Honestly, I think that’s worse,” she muses, finishing her glass. “You think they have your back, and then they don’t. Ugh.” She looks at me and smiles. “At least I know I’m a loner and can prepare for it.”
I laugh. “Agreed. I’d much rather be a loner.”
Mindy smiles and rests her head against the back of the couch. Even as a mom of three, she’s wearing jeans, heels, and a green silk blouse that makes her golden skin glow. I, on the other hand, am wearing baggy mom jeans and an old band t-shirt. I stand and walk over to the kitchen, pouring us both the last of the bottle.
“You’ve changed,” Mindy says softly.
I sit back down and hand her glass over to her as I cock my head. “How so?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re a lot less… jaded.”
I raise my eyebrows and look down. “Jaded?”
She leans forward. “Well, yeah. I mean… I know high school was rough for you. And forgive me for saying this, but I think you acted out against… you know.”
My parents.
My neglect.
I pull my lower lip between my teeth as I ruminate on her words. She’s not wrong, but I guess I’m surprised she was able to deduce what was happening. Maybe I shouldn’t be. Maybe it was totally obvious to anyone paying attention, and I just ignored it. She’s a bright, astute person. It’s no wonder she figured out my situation, even when I tried my very hardest to ignore and deflect.
“Lots of therapy,” I joke, giving her a small smile.
She reaches over and grabs the hand I have resting on the back of the couch. “Me too. For different reasons.” She pauses as her eyes rove over my face. “I hope you know that I’m proud of who you’ve become.”
I squeeze her hand. “A twenty-eight-year-old who lives in a studio apartment that her mom owns?”
She pulls her lips to one side. “You know what I mean, smartass. Starting over. Taking a risk. Leaving your douche canoe of a fiancé.”
I laugh. “He is such a douche canoe.”
“Seriously, though. I know your life is chaotic and crazy right now, but you seem to have come into yourself these last ten years. And I want you to know that you can always count on me as a friend.” She smiles. “Arealfriend.”
