It's all laid bare.
This is Elise.
The real Elise, not the charming version I got to know. Not the easy, flirty woman that I spent time with, time that I should have been giving to Sophie.
I had gotten a couple of peeks at this Elise—her mask dropping after she was fired, at Rhea's apartment, at the supermarket—but I had thought that was just stress.
Nothing could prepare me for this.
She's a fucking nightmare.
Fuck, and it just makes me feel like shit. I don't feel vindicated from learning that Elise is this vile person. I don't feel any satisfaction, I don't feel victimized. I was a participant. I was conscious.
"The woman you destroyed your relationship for," Maude says dryly, gesturing to the tablet with her glass. "The real person. I was curious and did some digging to see what kind of woman willingly sleeps with a jackass whose fiancée has cancer. Reading that? It all made sense."
"How did you even find this?" I ask.
Maude gives me a dry look, "Please."
I shake my head and hand the tablet back to her. "It doesn't matter. I made my choice, I fucked up. She could have been Mother Fucking Teresa, and it would still have been wrong. It's on me,only on me."
There's a long pause in the group.
"Hm," Maude hums, taking a long sip of her drink and narrowing her eyes at me. Not acceptance, not softness,definitely not forgiveness, just like she's seeing something new. "Sit. Watch. Enjoy."
That, I do smile at.
She just rolls her eyes at me, but Brian and Chris smile, the latter kicking out a chair for me to sit in, and Brian pulls Maude close for a kiss like he's thanking her.
With that, I sit down and order a beer from the passing waitress.
We fall into a conversation that's stilted and awkward at first, but after a few beers, it's like muscle memory takes over—watching football, having drinks, sharing jokes. Adriana asks frequent questions about the game that Chris always answers patiently, Maude curses the refs out with language that makes a couple of people glance over in shock, and I laugh harder than I have in a long time.
After a couple of hours, Chris pays the bill before anyone can argue, and I quickly Venmo him money for my drinks. I'm not drunk, not even buzzed, but I feel like I am. I feel lighter—both from the therapy session and from being accepted back into my friend group.
Is it deserved? Maybe not yet.
Will I continue to show them that I want to change? Absolutely.
"We'd better get home," Chris says, standing from the table and holding out Adriana's jacket for her to put on. He smiles at her and pulls her hood up over her curls, "There's a bad storm coming. Might last a couple of days."
I stand with them, walking to the door, and see that the rain has started. I wave to my friends as they walk to their car, before Chris' voice stops me, "Paul?"
I glance back to see all four of them looking at me. Chris nods,"I'll text you tomorrow."
Feeling something click back into place inside of me, I smileand nod my head, lifting my hand in a wave.
???
Mom's in the kitchen making chilli, a Sunday tradition we've had since I was in diapers, when the lights flicker and then go out.
I glance up from my spot at the kitchen island, where my laptop sits open in front of me. Job listings are still pulled up, the tabs cluttered with in-state and out-of-state positions. I still have the option to return to work in December once my probation period ends, but I'm considering starting fresh somewhere other thanStarling Cove.
Yesterday, I had sent an email to Joe—apologizing, taking accountability, and thanking him for the wakeup call—and I actually received a good response from it this morning. But the thought of sitting at that same desk, walking the same hallways, seeing the same people who watched me implode my life...
Fucking hell.
A new beginning somewhere else sounds incredibly tempting, and maybe it is just what I need.
