Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen

RAE

I lock myself in my room all weekend, only emerging when Zoe yells for me to get my ass into the kitchen to eat.

On Saturday, when Michael pretends that I never canceled our date and texts to ask if I’m still down, I give her my phone so she can respond, pretending to be me.

She doesn’t even force me to tell her why I’m so miserable.

I have the best best friend in the entire world.

I go into the Jade Agency office Monday because I don’t have any clients to visit. You know, because I got fired.

I barely keep it together at my desk as I edit photos and piece together portfolios for the agency website’s “Meet the Photographers” page.

“I’ve got something lined up for you next week,” Caroline informs me. “I think you’ll enjoy it. The company is redoing their—” She stops when she sees my watery eyes.

I hate myself so, so, so much. Why am I like this? I ~want~ a new assignment, but the thought of going somewhere that isn’t Quincy Ventures makes me want to cry. No, not ~want to~. I ~am~ crying. At my desk. In front of my boss.

“Take the rest of the day off,” she orders.

I don’t protest. I need to go. I’m a mess. “Thanks. Sorry,” I mumble.

“Don’t apologize, Rae. Last week was tough. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once again, I find myself crying in a stairwell. Elevators mean people, and I can’t deal with people, especially not today.

I sniffle on the walk home, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk, and when I arrive at my apartment, I dissolve into sobs yet again.

I sob and sob and sob until six fifty-one p.m., when someone knocks on the door.

Zoe’s out at happy hour with her coworkers, so I gather my courage and check through the peephole. Dark brown hair, just the right amount of scruff, icy blue eyes.

Michael is here. ~Please no~. I don’t want to see Michael.

“Rae, are you alright? I can hear you crying.”

~Am I really sobbing that loudly~? Another reason to hate myself. Now I have no choice but to open the door.

“Hi, Michael. Now’s not the best—”

“Oh, Rae. I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.” He pulls me into a hug. “I know Taylor put you up to it. She’s awful.”

“You know it was her?” I sniffle. ~Does that mean Logan does too? Must ask and find a way to kick Michael out~. “Come in.”

“It’s something she would do. Mind if I sit?”

~Oh. He just assumed. Logan doesn’t know~.

I’d rather Michael not sit, but I’m in my pajamas, clearly free of evening plans. I can’t exactly tell him I need to get going. “Sure,” I sigh.

Ignoring my unenthusiastic tone, he plops down between our sofa’s two cushions. Our couch is, well, less of a couch than a plus-size loveseat, which means I end up wedged between Michael and the arm.

I’m fully aware of what he’s doing. I cried at the bar, and he slept with me. I’m crying now, and he thinks he’s going to score another round.

“She’s just pissed you were friends with Logan,” he says softly. “They’ve been off-and-on for a while now. She gets insanely jealous of his female friends.”

“Oh,” is all I can manage.

“Yeah, I keep telling him he can do better, but he won’t stop going back.”

Michael lied about them before, but what if he’s telling the truth this time? What if Logan was so angry with me, he reconciled with Taylor?

I whimper.

Have you ever been so sad, so devastated that you’ve made yourself sick? So distraught that your stomach gurgled, that waves of nausea started coursing through your system?

If you haven’t, I’ll enlighten you. It’s a burning, stinging pain that absolutely consumes your body.

It fills your core and screws up your internal organs and heightens every sense except for your hearing. Your ability to hear vanishes, or maybe that’s just me.

Whether you can relate or not, that’s where I’m at. Michael is jabbering on about Taylor, but nothing he says registers in my brain. My mind is a hamster on a wheel.

Logan-Taylor-Logan-Taylor. Their irate faces flash before my eyes.

I’d really prefer not to end this day by vomiting on Michael, but I’m about ten seconds away if I don’t find an immediate distraction.

“Kiss me,” I say. I still can’t hear a thing, and I have no idea if I gave a legitimate command or just spit out some garbled sounds until Michael leans in.

I know he came over for this, and I don’t want to let him win, but I kind of need it too. A distraction, I mean. Logan is probably fucking Taylor right now, cursing me out between each thrust.

I don’t even want to think about where Jake is.

So, I go with it. I lean back. Michael leans forward. I pull away and make a bad joke about my roommate killing me for bringing a guy onto our couch that’s reserved for wine nights. Michael pretends to laugh.

We stand up. We migrate to my room. I shut the door. We do things that Zoe, all jokes aside, will be relieved did not occur on the couch.

***

Michael stops by Tuesday night. Everything about his personality and demeanor is repulsive and awful, but he’s an actual sex god. When he texts Wednesday to see what I’m up to, I don’t even hesitate.

I just say to come over whenever he’s free, not giving the slightest fuck how desperate I sound. His body does things my fingers can’t dream of.

That’s how I end up sleeping with Michael five times in two days.

I’m sore on Thursday, so I lie and say I have plans. He’s back on Friday. On Saturday, I actually do have plans.

Saturday afternoon, Zoe informs me that we’re going out with our new friends. I straighten my hair while Zoe and I do “baby shots,” which are half-vodka, half-mixers in—you guessed it—shot glasses.

My eyes are smoky and my vision blurry by the time Courtney and Layla arrive.

Courtney dives into my arms. I squeal and return her hug enthusiastically, completely forgetting that half an hour ago, I was annoyed with Zoe for arranging these plans.

“I made you I’m-sorry cookies!” she exclaims. A pink basket filled with snickerdoodles sits daintily on the counter.

I could cry but I proclaim my affection instead. “I fucking love you,” I declare. “Society says I should hate you, but I do not.” I stamp my foot as punctuation.

“I fucking love you more,” she shouts. “Fuck society. Fuck men.”

“Oh, Rae’s been fucking men,” Zoe yells, giggling.

I feel my cheeks burning up, which means I’m not drunk enough. “I need shots, please,” I holler back.

“Ooh! Details, please,” Courtney squeals.

Zoe groans while she pours Gatorade into a shot glass already teeming with vodka. “Oh, I can give you the details.” She clears her throat. In a deep voice, she grunts, “~Oh, Rae~. I love it when you ri—”

I clap my hands over my ears while Courtney and Layla shriek with laughter.

“Are you into him?” Layla asks when Zoe wraps up her weirdly accurate impersonation.

I shrug. “He’s clingy, but I’m having a shit week, so it’s a good distraction, you know?”

Layla nods understandingly. Courtney grips my hand. Zoe takes a swig from the bottle and hands it to me. I take a larger swig.

One more round of swigs and baby shots, and we’re out the door, stumbling toward Smash, where our friendship began. It’s also where the bouncer lets us in for free, which is pretty sweet.

After two vodka crans, courage joins the liquor in my veins. “Courtney,” I say.

“Rae,” she replies.

“Your friend Logan hates me.”

She gasps. “Why?”

I tell her the story. The full story. Even the part about having sex in his office. Fuck it. I’m drunk.

“Okay, a couple of things,” she says. She holds out a finger.

“Number one. That is so fucked up. I cannot believe Taylor would do that while Logan’s dad was announcing he has cancer. Number two. Logan will come around. I’m telling him what happened.”

“No!” I squeak.

“Yes,” she says firmly, folding her arms. “He should know. Taylor has been awful to him for three effing years. You have no idea. He’ll figure it out eventually, but I’m going to speed things up.”

She huffs and shakes her head as if she’s banishing away foul memories of Taylor.

“I had a number three, but I forget,” she continues. “Hold on.” She whips out her phone, bites her lip in concentration, and types at lightning speed. “Okay, done. I told him. Oh! Three. Be careful with Michael.”

I nod. “He’s only fucking me because I’m easy because I’m sad.” I don’t pause between each word, but Courtney hears anyway.

Her face falls. “Rae, that’s—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” ~Shit. Why would I say that out loud~? “I’m having fun too. It’s, like, mutual benefits. Beneficial, you know? I’ll get more drinks.”

I practically run to the bar and order two vodka crans. I’m already smashed (ha, get it?), but I need away from this conversation.

Courtney is smiling nervously when I return to the dancefloor. “Don’t kill me, but Logan is on his way.”

I freeze. I’m absolutely hammered, but I still vividly remember the last time I saw him. I was crying. He was pissed. “No,” I whimper.

Zoe confiscates my drinks. “I’ll stay with you. Whatever he says to you, he can say to me. Best friend rules.”

I shake my head and retrieve a drink from her hand. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

She tilts her head, scrutinizing my face. We both know I’m lying.

I do need someone to protect me. I’m twenty-three and helpless when it comes to doing anything for myself. I needed Shawn to keep me from losing it in the disastrous QV meeting.

I needed Caroline to arrange my new contract with a pharmaceutical company (ugh). I need Zoe to write socially acceptable texts for me. I needed Courtney to tell Logan what really happened.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I’m going to leave.”

“Rae, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.” I hand her my half-full drink. “I’m getting an Uber. I’ll text you when I’m home.”

“I’m coming wi—”

“Zoe, stop.” My voice is surprisingly firm, a development that definitely won’t last much longer. “I’ll let you know when I’m back at the apartment.”

“Wait inside until it gets here, at least,” she sighs.

I check my phone. Eight minutes away. “It’s pulling up in a minute. See you guys later.”

I ignore the awkward goodbyes and stalk out of Smash, smack into the man I was trying to avoid.