Lucas will be home soon, but I can’t possibly face him. Not like this. I’m too emotional, too reactive. If I see him now, I’ll fall apart all over again.
The thought alone gives me just enough strength to move. I drag myself to my feet, gripping the edge of the sink for balance. I smooth my shaky hands over my hair as I try to gather my thoughts. Deciding it’s best to keep myself busy, I wrench open the bathroom cupboard and grab a bottle of bleach. Twisting off the cap, I pour it into the toilet bowl. I scrub until the fumes sting my throat and tears prick my eyes, forcing me to stop.
I need to get out of here.
Once the bleach is put away, I move back to the lounge.
Lucas’s phone sits on the sofa, where I left it. My hands tremble madly, but I manage to pick it up, unlock it, and open the messages. I scroll through the DMs, using my phone to take photos and screen recordings of everything—photos, messages,videos, voice notes—and return Lucas’s phone to the kitchen counter.
Basil follows close behind as I take the stairs, two at a time, to our bedroom where I rummage through drawers, tossing clothing and toiletries into an overnight bag. A faint meow pulls me from my frantic packing. Basil’s sweet, inquisitive eyes meet mine, and his beautiful little face threatens to break me all over again. I crouch and thread my fingers through his lush coat, scratching under his chin. He purrs contentedly, leaning into my touch. Pressing a kiss to his tiny forehead, I whisper, “I have to go, baby. I’ll be back when I’m ready, I promise.” His gentle nudge almost undoes me. I’m leaving Basil with Lucas—also an avid cat lover—and that, at least, brings me some comfort.
I grab my toiletries, zip up the bag, and sling it over my shoulder. Downstairs, I snatch my car keys from the counter, shove my arms into my mohair cardigan, and slide my feet into the nearest pair of shoes. I fling open the front door and step into the icy afternoon air, marching to my car without a second thought.
I finally pull up outside Gemma’s flat. I unbuckle my seat belt and round the car. I lift a wobbly hand to the buzzer. A moment later, Gemma’s voice crackles through the intercom.
“April?”
“Hey, Gem,” I whisper. “Can I … Can I come up?”
“Of course.”
The door clicks open, and I push it wide, stepping into the foyer. I climb the staircase, reaching her flat on unsteady legs. It feels like I’m made of jelly. I reach the top to find Gemma waiting at the door, concern marring her face.
The moment I step inside, her arms wrap around me and it’s as though the last thread holding me together snaps. I collapse into her embrace, my body wracked with exhaustion and uncontrollable sobs.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” she murmurs, tightening her hold.
I try to speak, my words coming out strangled. “He’s … cheating.”
She pulls back slightly, just enough to look me in the eye. “Lucas?”
My body locks up as I try to keep the sobs at bay, but they spill over, anyway.
“Oh, April …” Her voice is soft and full of sympathy as she brushes a tear from my face. “Come inside. Sit down and I’ll get you something to drink.”
I sink onto Gemma’s sofa while she busies herself in the kitchen. “Would you like a tea?” she calls out.
“Do you have anything stronger?” I ask.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
I hear the fridge door, then the sound of a bottle being twisted open. A minute later, Gemma returns, placing two glasses of chilled wine and a block of milk chocolate on the coffee table. She sits beside me with her legs folded under her. She pulls out her phone, tapping away madly at the screen as I ready myself. When she’s finished, she drops her phone to her lap and fixes her attention on me.
“Sorry I was just messaging Anna. Right,” she says, shifting in her seat. “Tell me everything. What happened?”
I suck in an unsteady breath and rub my hands over my thighs. My voice thins to a wisp as I spill the details of my morning. Gemma shares in my disbelief and horror as I explain the Instagram account, showing her the messages, voice notes, screen recordings, and photos from Lucas’s interactions with Katelyn and the other women, choking out the details through a mess of tears and snot.
The intercom buzzes through the flat, making us both jump. “Are you expecting someone?” I ask.
“Gemma, open the door! I’m about to commit murder in the first degree, and I really need someone to stop me!” Anna’s voice screeches through the speaker.
“Shit,” Gemma says, leaping up from her seat to buzz Anna in.
A second later, Anna barges through the door, rattling the frame as she enters. “Thatcunt,” she spits, storming inside.
“Well, that’s one name for him,” Gemma says dryly, trailing behind her.
“I take it Gemma’s filled you in?” I choke out, staring at the phone clutched firmly in Gemma’s grip. Anna rushes towards me, pulling me into a tight hug, and I surrender in her hold. Then, with a determined expression, she glides into the kitchen, returning moments later juggling three shot glasses, a few lime wedges, a shaker of salt, and a bottle of tequila. Once she’s settled, and we’re all armed with our shots, I bring her up to speed. Then, we do what any normal group of women would do in this situation: We sign Lucas up for a Scientology welcome kit, a membership for the Flat Earth Society and, of course, we get sufficiently pissed.
