Page 128 of Backslide
She looks so small. That’s what I think as I watch Nell standing in the wake of Cara and Sabrina storming off. In the wake of this epic combustion.
Her arms are wrapped around her body like she is protecting herself. Only she can’t protect herself from the reality of what she—and I—have caused.
Her eyeliner is smudged.
I take a step toward her, thinking maybe I could offer comfort, but she backs away.
And that’s when I know—there’s no coming back from this.
The music has started up again. The crowd is beginning to disperse. Damien has skulked off to some corner of hell. I’ll deal with his ass later.
That relationship is obviously over. I wonder for a moment when it actually ended. Was it always this twisted or has the decay collected over time, eating away at layers of friendship until there was nothing left but trumped-up memories and hidden resentment?
But I can deal with that loss. It will take time, but I can sort out how I missed the truth about him, how I tolerated what I knew was unacceptable for so many years. I can even confront the role I played in the ugly thing this friendship became, letting him play beta to me for so long that he finally lashed out.
I can deal with almost anything, if Nell will just talk to me. But her face is a slammed door. And I’m stuck on the other side.
She grabs her clutch, makes her way toward the stairs. And I follow behind that little black dress that seems to droop now. I know she needs space, but we have so little time.
The sun is starting to come up. The night sky is overexposed, lifting slowly to muted violet. Even the birds have begun to awake, stretching their wings and making plans for the day.
Today, we go home. My flight is in a matter of hours. And the chance of me fixing this from a distance is slim to none. I’ve got to make her talk to me now.
So, I follow her down the stairs until we’re out of earshot of all the others. Until we are with the chickens again, but this time without the magic. I call her name. But she doesn’t turn around.
Finally, I catch up to Nell, put a hand on her upper arm to stop her.
She stills. But she doesn’t turn to face me. I can see her shoulders starting to quake, and then she’s racked with sobs. And I feel horrible, like a fucking monster. I want to wrap my arms around her, hug her close, kiss her head, her cheeks, make it better. But I know this woman well enough to know that isn’t an option.
Not right now. She won’t accept my help.
“Nell,” I say again, softly. “Please turn around.”
“Leave me alone,” she hiccups.
“I can’t,” I say.
Slowly, she turns to face me. Her eyes are pink-rimmed and flooded. And the sadness in her expression, in her wobbling chin, isalmost too much to bear, especially in contrast to the way she looked at me just hours before—with trust, need, amusement.
“What you saw with Lydia,” I say, “was literally nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing.”
“Nell, it was. I’m not interested in her. I’ve never been interested in her.”
She sniffles. “I don’t know what’s true,” she says carefully. “And I think that alone is an insurmountable problem.”
“I don’t totally understand what happened myself,” I say. “But Damien volunteered me to take a look at her injury and then… well, you know the rest.”
There is a weariness in Nell’s face that scares me more than the previous anger or the impatience. Like she doesn’t have the energy to fight for us, to push past the bullshit.
Like we’ve time-traveled to somewhere neither of us wanted to go and can’t get back to present day.
“Maybe that’s true,” she says. “But why would you even agree to that? She’s not your friend. She’s definitely not mine. You know our history. You know how she treats me. You have never truly been able to put me first; you’ve always been too worried about being liked to take that stand. And you’re not hearing me—I don’ttrustyou.”
“Nell!” I say, running a hand over my head in frustration—though some of what she says rings true. Does my need for approval—my need to people-please—overshadow my judgment? “I’m not a cheater.”
“It’s not just that,” she says, smearing the tears beneath her eyes with the back of her hand. They are only replaced by more. “It’s not just about other women. It’s bigger than that. I don’t trust you to choose me or to make the right decisions. I don’t trust you with my heart. You’re not careful with me—and I can’t just forget that. Iwarned you amilliontimes about Damien. Henny did too! And you never listened—you always swore he had your back!”
