“I just don’tgetit.” She puts the bowl down, the little ice cream left now a sad brown liquid. “What was her plan? She knows how close we are—if anything, dating me would only close the door on anything romantic happening between the two of you.”
I set my bowl down on the coffee table. “I don’t think there’s anything rational about what she did, Paige. She murdered people—actual people. For a podcast.”
“Foryou.”
I exhale, bringing my knees to my chest. “Yeah. She’s just…”
“Crazy.”
“Sick, probably,” I correct. I cup her knee. “She needs help. And you need tons of ice cream, un-romantic movies, and nights out.”
“Yeah.” She attempts a smile, but it resembles a grimace more than anything else. “I knew we were going to break up, you know?” With a pout, she sinks back into the couch. “I mean, I didn’t know all ofthis, but we’ve been at odds for a while now. Constant petty arguments… It was exhausting. Some nights I just avoided going home out of fear she might come over.”
I think back to the scene I witnessed at The Oak last week. “Iguess that explains last Thursday,” I say. “You said you were at Vanessa’s, but I went there, looking for you, and you weren’t there.”
A sniffle as she bends her legs to cradle her knees. “Yeah.”
“So where did you go?”
“To my parents’ house, at first. But they were getting worried, so Theo got me a room at the Wildflower Inn.” She sniffles again. “It was sweet.”
Oh. Sothat’swhy he had that key card. And maybe that’s why the killer—Vanessa—had one, too. To stalk her girlfriend, of all people. “Why didn’t you tell me, Paige?”
“Because.” She pauses, her gaze distant as she loses herself in thought. “You’re already so skeptical of love, and then you finally found Rafael. I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.”
I grip her hand. “Paige, that’s preposterous. I’m yourbest friend. You’re supposed to tell me about your love life. About your problems.”
“I know.” She smooths over the throw blanket next to her. I swear she looks so sad, even her curls look flatter. “Funny, though, isn’t it? I called you paranoid for thinking you were dating a murderer, and it turns outIwas.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. I hand her the remote, and as she lazily flips through channels, I can’t help but glance at the phone. Still no news from Rafael except for “Police at the scene. All good.”
Someone really needs to teach that man how to text, because none of that tells me enough information about what happened. Is Vanessa okay? Is he? Did he give the police the USB stick? Did they believe him?
“Maybe you were right after all,” Paige says, tucking the blanket under her chin. “Love is just a construct we cling to so we’ll forget that we’re ultimately alone in a flawed world.”
“You don’t believe that, Paige.”
“Maybe I do.”
No, she doesn’t. Sometimes I think she likes the thought of being in a relationship more than the people she dates. That she wants me to be in love so we’ll both experience this magic feeling she longs for so much.
“You know how you told me that the reason I never fell in love was that I kept everyone at arm’s length so I wouldn’t get hurt?”
“What do I know?” she mutters.
“No, I think you’re right.”
She frowns. “Well, now I’m conflicted. I’m mad at love, but Ilovebeing right.”
“Love is terrifying, Paige. I don’t know how you do it. How you get your heart broken, brush your knees off, and jump on that horse again and again. I mean, you give so much power to someone else. The power to break you, to destroy you. And then you trust that they’ll take care of everything fragile you’ve given them. Hope they don’t drop it or lose it along the way.”
“Is that how you feel about Rafael?”
My lips pinch. “It’s only been two weeks, Paige.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“And we haven’t even had sex.”
