The only thing I felt in that moment was guilt. Guilt that I’d hidden something important from my best friend. Guilt that I hadn’t told her about Thallor…and worse that she’d found out on her own. Especially because she was probably low on trust to begin with. But the guilt wrapped around me, nonetheless. It was expected, but no less disarming. It shook at me with its cold, bony grasp and whispered unwelcome thoughts that had me worrying about losing Esme, too.
I’d wanted to tell her, I really had. Maybe not the demon part, but I had wanted to tell her about Thallor. Him, and theflurry of confusing emotions I experienced around him–ones that now existed as my new equilibrium. But every time I’d thought about it, I’d struggled to conceivably explain the series of events that led up to me having a 6’5 roommate, especially since I only had one bedroom.
The fact that I had been able to keep it a secret was due to sheer dumb luck alone. And as much as I had come to despise Jude for his obnoxious behaviour, he had done wonders to quell Esme’s never-ending offers to set me up with Isaac’s friends. Which, in hindsight, had seemed to turn out in my favour. I slipped my key into the door, noting the muffled conversation coming from the other side as I walk into my apartment.
Long blonde hair and eyes less puffy than I expected greeted me as soon as I opened the door. The moment I stepped over the threshold, Esme was on me with a ‘fucking finally’and a long overdue hug, one that smelt keenly of vanilla and lavender. And although I often protested hugs, I let myself melt into it. Into her friendship. Into all my own emotions. Into the comfort of a girl, I considered to be more of a sister than a friend.
She stepped back from me, flashing me with a weary smile that spoke more than she ever could. Even in trackies and her navy hoodie with red Aldercrest University writing, Esme was a thing of beauty.
“Hey, Ez,” I said, voice low and flashing her the same weary smile she just presented to me. “Are you okay? I am so sorry I wasn’t here when you texted.” Guilt and uncertainty and a whole swathe of other emotions bubbled up from within me as I looked at her.
“It’s okay,” she said quietly, and I could tell she meant it. “Your…uh…guy…roommate? Red, here, made me jam on toast.”
My eyes drifted from Esme to the breakfast bar where a plate of uneaten toast and glistening strawberry jam satuntouched. I looked over at Thallor, the same weary smile painted on my face met with the uncertain expression etched across his. I knew that over the last few months, I’d come to associate Thallor with feelings of safety and feelings of home. We’d developed a knack for knowing exactly what the other was thinking without ever having to say anything. In the seconds between us, a series of unspoken and comforting words darted back and forth.Thank yousandI’m glad you were heresanddid you seriously make her jam on toast?
And just like that, in all the chaos, in all the fucked-up-ness (because there was really no other way to explain it), I understood why people spoke of home in people instead of places. Because there was simply nowhere else I wanted to be, there was simply no one else I could have trusted with this than the fiery red hair and blushed cheeks I found before me. The one wearing his own oversized Aldercrest University hoodie–in contrasting colours to Esme–because he simply wanted to “fit in” with my life.
“Do you have alcohol?” Esme looked at me before tilting her head over to Thallor. “I’m not sure what toast is meant to fix, but it isn’t for mending hearts or shit talking boys. The thought is…appreciated though.”
“I’m sure there is an old bottle of something somewhere at the back of a cupboard.” I let my bag finally slip off my shoulders and pulled off my new Blundstone’s before getting on my hands and knees and pulling open a cupboard. “Will cheap Prosecco do?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
I suppose on the scale from jam on toast to dusty, out-of-date Prosecco, there was only one clear winner. I knew it would taste sour and flat like old soda, but I imagined that was exactly what Esme needed. Something that was sickly and uncomfortable and would help her forget her own sadness if only for a couplehours. I handed it to her before shifting the pouf in my living room closer toward the sofa so we could all sit down. Esme trudged over, bottle in hand, and let herself drop onto the sofa with a pained sigh that let me know she was struggling.
A tickling sensation at the skin of my hand sent a jolt of pure electricity up my arm and straight into my core as I stood, coming face to face with Thallor. We both stared down at where our fingers touched. Thoughts of tugged off clothes and frantic breathing and knocked over books careened into my mind before I pulled my hand away, hoping Thallor would ignore the pink blush that graced my cheeks.
His eyes widened slightly as if noticing something for the first time.
“It’s probably a little late to ask, but you can’t read my thoughts, can you?” I hissed at him.
“Why? Have you got something to hide?” he whispered back to me. Thallor turned his head to where Esme was looking up at us, before shifting his attention back to me, slightly cocking his head toward her. “I can go out.”
“Oh no you don’t, Red.” Esme pointed one finger from where her hand was gripped around the bottle and smirked. And I sighed.No getting out of this one then.
I sat next to my best friend, disturbing a sleeping Mortimer who settled me with an unimpressed glance before jumping off the sofa and sauntering over to settle at Thallor’s feet–an absolute, dead giveaway that Thallor wasn’t a random visitor, but someone far more important. Esme took one long swig of the warm, unrefrigerated liquid, every sip a step toward forgetting Isaac completely.
“I can’t believe you still let that cat come inside,” Esme mused before motioning the bottle toward me. I held up my hands and shook my head vigorously. Because there was no way in hell I was drinking that. “I just got dumped. As my very bestfriend, you are contractually required to drink with me. Rule number 37. Plus, you’ll need some Dutch courage to explain whyheis in your apartment. Like seriously, where did you get him? Abercrombie & Fitch?”
Earlier protests, be damned, and I acquiesced easily, taking the bottle and chugging down some of the warm liquid myself. “Do you want to talk about it? Isaac, I mean.”
Esme just shrugged. But her hiked shoulders were just a little too pronounced and her unbothered expression just a little bit too forced. Behind it all, I could see what she was feeling so easily. I could see the pain she was trying to swallow down–no easier, I bet, than the disgusting liquid bubbling in my stomach. It was sixteen years of friendship for me, sure, but it was six years of love for them. Six years of firsts. Six years of thinking they were so unbelievably lucky to have found the one that early.
But Isaac had thrown that all away without a second thought. I knew that I was hurting on the inside, but I was sure Esme was hurting more. Actually, I knew that she was. She’d loved Isaac with every bit of her soul since the moment she’d met him. Through lacrosse games, university entrance exams, and absent parents. But all he’d left her with was a heartache that seemed to creep into every crevice that made her,her.Now all that was left of her exuberant sunshine and dazzling smile was dark clouds and happy memories that suddenly hurt.
“There’s nothing much to say. He just showed up to Zeta Sigma Noctura this morning and said he didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore.”
“Ez, I’m so sorry.” I pulled her into another hug.
“Don’t be. I’m more confused and pissed off than anything else. He just started rattling off about selfishness and desire and achieving his goals.” I contemplated trying to explain the cult to her but I thought better of it. I wasn’t going to try and justify his actions. Not to her.
“Has he spoken to you?” she asked softly.
The guilt in me flared back up with a vengeance, and for a moment, I looked at Thallor, who was just watching our conversation unfold quietly.
“He actually had the same conversation with me several weeks ago, and I’ve been blocked ever since. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. You were busy with midterms, and honestly? I’m not sure I would have been able to explain it, even if I’d wanted to,” I said matter-of-factly. Because really, what else is there to say?
Esme reared up from the sofa, in shock, shaking her head in confusion and then anger–the same I’d been feeling mere moments ago. “Oh, well in that case, he’s just fucking lost his mind. He must be having a mental breakdown or something. Not to sound arrogant, but that boy is lucky to have us.”
