The red polish on my nails is chipped and grown out, and my skin is dry and flaky. My brows are overgrown. My makeup is quickly running out. My clothes smell from having to wash them in hotel tubs. I've canceled my gym membership, my pilates passes, my monthly spa packages—every bit of self-maintenance I once took for granted.
I'm so lost in my thoughts that I almost walk right by him. Then I do a double-take and see his blonde head of hair. He's dressed in the familiar Patriots hoodie—the same one he told me I looked incredibly sexy in with nothing underneath. He's walking toward the exit as I'm walking in, and I stop in my tracks.
"Paul!" I hiss, not wanting to draw too much attention. I stomp over, the click of my heels on the floor catching hisattention. He tenses as he turns to face me, and I see a resigned sigh escape his lips, and it just pisses me off more. I fold my arms and stare at him. He's been avoiding me—his girlfriend—for weeks, and thinks he can be annoyed with me? "Oh, hello, Paul, remember me?"
"Elise," he says, glancing over his shoulder like he's looking for someone. "I... I was going to reach out—"
"Don't you fucking lie to me!" I snarl at him, and he doesn't even have the balls to look chagrined.
"I needed space, I needed some time to think."
"Think about what?" I demand, crossing my arms. "If you needed to talk, you could have talked to me. You just walked out!"
"Paul," a stern sounding voice calls from my left, and I see an older redheaded woman storming over to us. I recognize her immediately from social media pictures on Paul’s page.
Donna O'Connor, Paul's mother.
"You must be Mrs. O'Connor," I smile, dialing the charm up. An opening, a way in. He always said she was so kind and caring, a great mother. She'll love me, I'llmakeher love me. "It's so ni—"
"—and you must be the worst mistake my son's ever made," she cuts me off, mocking smile on her face. "Elise, isn't it?"
Your mother is my greatest mistake...
My mouth opens to say something, anything to defend myself, but she just turns her blazing eyes on her son. "I thought you said this was done. For good."
"It is," he nods, sounding so damn sure that it makes my mouth drop open. This is news to me. His mother just looks back and forth between us, her glare becoming more and more icy.
"Paul Francis, I swear to Christ if you've been lying to me."
"Go out to the car, Ma," Paul says, his voice gentle like she's a bomb he needs to defuse, and his mother narrows her eyes at him. "I... I gotta handle this."
"You'd better handle it," she warns, voice dropping to a hiss. He shrinks slightly away from her fury. "For. Good."
"I will," he promises her, and she stares at him for a long moment before turning to me, and I can't help but shrink back at the anger in her face, the curl to her lips, the pure hate rolling off her in waves.
"I would tell you what I really think of you, Elise, but I've already been to confession and asad, pathetic little girllike you is not worth the energy."
She slings the bag of groceries over her shoulder and walks away, still managing to smile and wave at the cashier like she didn't just skin me alive in public.
I open my mouth to speak, but Paul beats me to it. "I'm sorry, Elise."
That's not at all what I expected him to say.
I blink, "... excuse me?"
"I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice genuine and his face a little sad. "I used you. And that wasn't fair to you."
"No," I shake my head. No, he didn't use me. "You said—you said I was like air, that being with me was easy. That you had feelings—"
"I did," he cuts in gently. "I did say that, but... I didn't mean it. And that was wrong of me. I was... manufacturing feelings. Trying to force something with you. Because it was easy—you were easy. You didn't have cancer, and you stroked my ego. That wasn't fair, to you or to me. I cheated on Sophie with you because I was too much of a coward. I was so scared—terrified—to lose her, so I pushed her away first by using you.”
"I love her,” he says, sounding like it’s painful to say. His eyes glaze over, his face slack. His voice is a low murmur, “I'll always love her."
No. He was taking control of the narrative. He didn't use me. I'mElise fucking Cabot, I can not—will not—be used. Not byhim, not by anyone.
It's fucking impossible.
My temper takes over.
