Page 92 of The Grosvenor's Ghost
She shakes her head again. “I don’t mean because of that.”
I lean back on my shoulders, tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Can’t tell you.”
My heart speeds up. “What can’t you tell me?”
Licks her lips, sighs, turns over with her back facing me.
I sit up, panicking a bit. “What have you done?”
“It wasn’t my fault.” Her voice is small, scared. “But if things were different, I’d be with you, you do know that, don’t you?”
I nod, swallow, rub my eyes. “Yeah, of course—but what can’t you tell me, Phoebs?”
I watch her hair sway as she shakes her head yet again. “I can’t tell you because we’ve hurt each other enough.”
I’m about to ask again but then there’s a knock on my bedroom door followed by, “Everyone decent?” From Connie.
He pokes his blonde bed head through the small crack in the door, gives me a small frown. I give him a ‘I’ll tell you later’look. He nods. “Digby’s here, Phoebs,” he says before popping back out.
Phoebe swings her legs over the side of the bed, stretches her arms out in front of her and picks her shoes up from the floor. I stand up, as well.
“What’s Digby doing here?”
She’s sitting on the bed, slipping her heels back on, not looking at me. “I called him to pick me up.”
“Why?” I say but I think it comes out more like a demand.
“Because I need to go home.”
She reaches for the doorknob, I follow her out, well aware that I’m just in my pants but so is Connie and if Digby don’t like our Saturday morning house rules, he can fuck off.
“Can’t you just stay for a bit?” I ask, following her down the hallway, my heart pounding, afraid that when she walks out of the front door, she’ll never come back. I literally feel like I’m clutching at straws here.
Digby gives me a look when he spots me chasing after her. Phoebe doesn’t respond nor look back at me, just goes straight to him.
“Is she okay?” Digby looks me up and down.
I roll my eyes. “She’s untouched.”
Connie stands in the kitchen, blowing on a mug of coffee.
“Phoebe?” I reach for her but she doesn’t acknowledge me, just nods when Digby whispers something in her ear.
That’s a bullet in the foot, I think but then Digby reaches down, clutches her face and kisses her while locking eyes with me and then I think fuck that—that’s ten bullets to the heart.
With sweat coating my back, my heart slamming against my chest and my hands shaking, I watch as Digby puts his armover Phoebe’s shoulders and walks over to the door. No bye, no thanks for keeping her safe, nothing.
He slams the front door shut so hard that the 1950’s wood mirror that Connie hung haphazardly on the wall falls, the glass shattering all over the floor.
“Bellend,” he mutters, going over to pick it up. “I knew I should’ve had that fitted, fuck sake.”
But I’m stock still, can’t help but think it was more than that mirror that shattered when he closed the door.
She ain’t coming back.
I go back into my room, drag that box from under my bed out, lift the lid, hold the ring I stole from her the night I left.
