“I think he’s at the perfect time in his life to raise a baby. He’s had so much success in his career already that he’s not chasing that overworked businessman thing anymore. He had some horrible failed relationships—his last wife was such anarcissist he couldn’t even think about raising children with her. Right now, we’re just in a good place, and it feels like the right fit for both of us. Honestly, I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
It feels like a vise wrapped in razor wire is crushing my heart. I hold back tears and continue to put one foot in front of the other. We’re not even looking at each other, but the desire to rip her throat out is strong.
“That’s why I don’t believe you,” she finishes, looking at me pointedly.
I tilt my head, confused by her statement. “What do you mean? You think I’m lying?”
She narrows her eyes, taking me in without words. Every breath that passes between us feels weighted with unspoken accusations. Adrenaline spikes in my system, and the blood in my veins burns a path beneath my skin as she regards me like a private investigator would a suspect.
“Maybe not lying, but I think you saw someone else.” She finally breaks eye contact and shrugs.
The fact that she’s accusing me of lying makes my blood bubble and churn. “It was him. I saw him kissing someone else.”
“How can you be sure? You haven’t even met him.” Her guard is crumbling, I can sense it.
“Dark hair, five-o’clock shadow, and dimples, right? Does he wear a big gaudy ring on one finger?” I ask.
“Y-yes.” Her tone wavers and I know my arrow has landed square in her heart.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say anything. That’s why I’ve been quiet the last few days…” I call on empathy I don’t have and offer condolences with a palm on her arm, “My ex did this too. Men are real bastards.”
“Yeah…” She looks up at the sky. “I thought he was different.”
“They always are at first, right?” I enjoy the way we’re commiserating over the same man and she doesn’t even know it.
“I just don’t know when he’d have time to do it…he works a lot, but—” Her gaze trains on mine again. “Wait, when did you say you saw him?”
“A few nights ago,” I offer, pretending to struggle to remember. “I had a few drinks with friends, I don’t even remember the name of the place.”
“Huh.” She seems to be questioning my story again. “I thought you were new to the city—you have friends?”
I cringe at the implication in her words. But she’s right, I did tell her I’m new to Chicago. “It was a hookup—I met up with someone from a dating app, and we went for drinks.”
“Oh.” Her perfect, Barbie-pink lips round with the word. “Well, I still think you’re mistaken. Dean wouldn’t do that to me, not now.” She rubs her flat belly, and a sweet nurturing look that twists my insides comes over her face. “He loves us.”
I cover my mouth to stop myself from throwing up all over her vintage boots. Driving a wedge between them has been impossible these last few weeks. Jesika stands by her man, I’ll give her that.
I flash back to the conversation about goals with my therapist a few days ago. I know what I want now, and every moment before this one has gotten me one step closer to achieving it.
It’s time to kill Mia—I can feel it. The time is right. Everything my therapist has been saying suddenly snaps into focus. It’s as if I’m seeing the world through a new lens. And with my purpose made clear, I’m ready to act on any impulse required to fix my issues. Even if it means killing them.
“And how’s Dean healing?” It feels weird saying his name out loud with her. Before now, I’ve only ever referred to him as her fiancé.
“Great! He’s such atrooper.”
I nod, trying to focus on my breath and not my nagging sense of rage. “And what about the attack? Any leads?”
“No.” Jesika shakes her head. “No news. A random robbery attempt, I guess. Thank you for asking, though. Your concern is so sweet.”
Jesika pauses, forcing me to meet her gaze.
“What?” I ask. “Is something on my face?”
She laughs. “No. You’ve just been so good to me. I’ve never had a better friend. It’s always been hard for me to have close relationships with women, but none of that weird jealousy stuff ever comes up with you. You’re always just so sweet.” She leans in, crushing me in the tightest hug I’ve ever experienced.
I inhale a breath and take in the light scent of her lotion. The smell of her is intoxicating. The chemicals she’s doused herself in are reminiscent of flowers and vanilla, and a shot of anger rushes through me as I realize how close I am to vindication. It’s a hair’s breadth away; the revenge I’ve been seeking is close enough to taste, and the relief it promises floods my system. I deserve a reset, I deserve happiness, I deserve what is owed to me, even if it means going scorched earth on this woman.
Dean’s angry words tumble through my mind, and the shadows that cling to the buildings around me start to stretch and deepen. I feel cloaked in darkness and anxiety, the only points of light emanating from the streetlamps that line the river, now that the sun has fully set. I’m struggling to maintain my hold on reality and convince myself why it would be wrong to make life worse for Jesika. In an effort to ground myself and focus on my breath, I gaze out at the river. I smile when I realize how colorful everything is—bright-orange life preservers hang from each of the lamp posts, and against the backdrop of the green Chicago River, the entire scene mimics the Irish flag. It’s all so festiveand foolish.
