And then he appeared.
Blake.
He walked from the back, standing way too close to her, hand on her arm, then on the small of her back.
And my body?
It coiled.
Tight.
Pain bloomed sharp and angry under my skin.
I flipped open my journal and wrote in black ink:
Standing across the room from me I now see a stranger where I once saw my soulmate.
“You, little lady, will be telling me what the hell is going on—and you’ll do it now.” Carrie’s voice cracked like a whip across my thoughts.
I dragged my gaze away from Blake and the waitress—skinny, perfect, high ponytail bouncing with smugness.
“My—” I started.
“Penn.”
“Carrie,” I shot back, defensive.
“Penn,” she said again, her tone soft but solid, “you’ve got sad, poufy eyes, red rims, dishevelled hair, hiding behind those bangs. You’re wearing more oversized shit than usual. You’re late. Zoned out. And now you’re here instead of work. You think I don’t see it? The way you shake when you look at him. At her. You’re not okay.”
She saw through me. She always did.
Better than I saw myself.
Like Blake used to before he walked out and left me hollow and unravelling.
I risked a glance at her. She looked at me, then we both turned toward him. Blondie balanced the tray of coffees like shebelonged. A sexy smile sparkled from her lips like it had the right to exist here.
Blake’s eyes found mine.
I mouthed the words—soft, quiet, just for him.
I can’t pretend you don’t exist. You are my very existence.
A single tear slipped free. I swiped it fast.
“Is he cheating on you?” Carrie asked. “Withthat?”
Her venom was a slap to the room.
The waitress walked over, her cheeks red, her eyes wide.
Carrie’s words hung like barbed wire between us.
Blake moved toward her—closer, protective.
My eyes snapped to the ceiling. I would not cry. Not in front of her.
“Well?” Carrie snapped. “You going to say something?”
