I ambled over to my best friend, resolving to tell her she’d been correct all along–a sentiment that would be as enjoyable for her as it was painful for me. The beaming smile I sent her way wasn’t reflected back at me the way I expected it to be. In its place, I saw an expression crumbling before me, caught in the landslide of her heartache.
I paused with the box still clutched in my hands, following her gaze across the street to the three men standing on the other side of the road.And here I was, hoping never to see you again. The fifty-year-old man with thinning hair on the face like a well-worn shoe came into view first. After spending a year with Caldwell, which was 364 days, 23 hours, and 59 minutes too long, I was convinced that something inside that man had died.Something that was festering from the inside out. I wasn't sure what it was, but something about his demeanour was so rotten it could make you lose your appetite for days.
Caldwell was flanked by the same impeccably dressed man from the television. The one with the dark, slicked-back hair and the energy that could freeze blood.He makes Charles Manson look like a bedtime story.
But my eyes shifted to the man with messy brown hair and sun-kissed skin who held Esme’s gaze. There was a forced casualness to his nature. I could see the vulnerability etched on her face as she finally broke from her trance, turning toward me.Keep walking,I thought, looking over Isaac. Begging him. Begging the universe. Begging anyone who was listening.
In a small town like this, running into people was expected. Inevitable. And yet, the more I thought about it, the more apparent it became that the only people I ever actually crossed paths with were the people I wanted to see the least. Maybe it was bad karma. Maybe it was the universe’s way of continuing to build up my character in combatance to my social recluse status, I really wasn’t sure. Either way, I was getting a little sick and tired of running into the same weaselly little people whenever I took a step outside my door.
My stomach tightened instinctively as the three men began to approach. Thallor stiffened, taking a step towards me and closing the gap between us. But my grandfather knew Isaac and had done so for years, so he continued up the stairs to my building without a second glance to collect the last few bits of furniture. Thallor didn’t follow. He watched the men closely, gaze narrowed as they approached. I mouthed to him, barely enough for him to read my lips.It's okay. I saw the briefest hint of hesitation in his eyes before he nodded slightly and turned into the building after my grandfather.
“Ez, Quincey,” Isaac said, greeting us with a smile thatscreamed of trepidation. His eyes darted between the two of us nervously. Whoever this was, this wasn't our Isaac. If anything, this was an off-brand mimicry of the friend we used to know, and for a moment, all we could do was stare at each other like we were stuck in some joint fever dream.
The silent conversation Esme and I had was a skill we had perfected over the years. One look and I could tell everything that she was thinking.The same as me, probably, with a few added curse words thrown in.
“Miss Sterling,” Professor Caldwell said, his voice dripping with that hollow politeness. “It is nice to see you.” My face instinctively set itself in a pained grimace as I nodded toward him.
“We were just talking about your thesis. It was inspired.” Although the meaning behind his words was inherently complimentary, they came out biting. As if he was disgusted by the mere need to utter them. Like he was disgusted by both me and himself. “Quite an insight to garner from such theoretical concepts.”
Now that I’m not his student anymore, am I allowed to tell him to fuck off?My eyes met Esme’s.Definitely tell him to fuck offis all they said in response. I fought the smile tugging at my lips as I turned my attention back to the men.
“Moving, are we?” chimed the third man. His voice was smooth and sickly like molasses in July. He smiled sardonically at me, a smile that didn't meet his eyes. His expression had my stomach flipping over and the hairs on my skin standing to attention as it had that afternoon in the library. I uncovered a newfound respect for that panel host and her ability to keep the vomit that had no doubt been unfurling in her stomach at bay.Would have been a shame to ruin that yellow blazer.
“No, she figured she would just obstruct the path with her belongings,” Esme snapped.
Caldwell settled my best friend with a look of disdain before turning towards the greasy, bearded man. “Lester, this is Quincey Sterling, one of my students and one of her little friends. Miss Sterling, this is Lester Graves.”
Lester. Of course, his name is fucking Lester.
Neither Esme nor I acknowledged him; we didn't want to, and we didn't need to. Before anyone could say anything else,Rasputin, yes, I mentally named him that,motioned toward Isaac. “Is this the girl?” he asked. Isaac’s eyes dropped to his feet like there was something infinitely more interesting on the sidewalk.
I stiffened at his word, trying to find meaning or understanding in the implication, one I struggled to find. I didn't look up at Esme, I didn't need to, because I knew what would be written on her face. Hurt. Pain. And everything in between.
“We are very sorry for the way Isaac treated you. He is very,veryfond of you. The way he has conducted himself is not in our Church’s teachings. He’s very remorseful about it.”
Because nothing really screams remorse like having someone speak for you.
“What are your church’s teachings, exactly?” I scoffed, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.Who the fuck are these people?And why was this man speaking for Isaac? I looked at him incredulously as he just stood there, not even trying to defend himself, not even trying to speak up for himself. I wanted an apology. I wanted a twenty-thousand-word essay on the importance of friendship and a string of blue bubbled messages where Isaac admitted to being an idiot. I’d forgive him eventually, but not before I mocked him relentlessly from joining an organisation there would be a Netflix documentary on in years to come.
“All manner of things, Miss Sterling,” Caldwell sneered. I almost wish I could have reached out and slapped that smug expression off his face.And my God, how good would that have felt.
“The Church of the Black Sun is having a gathering inDarling this weekend. People have come from all over the country to join in the celebration.”
My eyes flicked to Esme, who stood like a statue, with unyielding stillness. Her eyes were locked on Isaac. Her body betrayed her in every way despite the stoic look she plastered on her face. The skin of her neck was red, and her hands pulled at the loose bits of string on her sleeves. And then she just turned away as if she just pulled the last thread of her sanity free. And like a dam breaking, her emotions streaked down her face hard and fast. A tsunami of pain devastating everything in its path.
Only then did Isaac step forward. “Esme, please, I just want to speak to you. I’ve wanted to reach out, I just didn’t know how.” He turned to look at me like I was supposed to understand. “Toeitherof you. I’m so sorry about Maura.”
“Don’t.Don’t fucking say her name. And don’t fucking speak to either of us again.” The words shot out of my mouth before I could even think about it. Esme had already turned on her heels, face soaked with tears as she bolted up the stairs to my building.
Thallor’s figureloomed over us at the top of the stairs outside my apartment. His brows were furrowed and etched with concern as he looked from me to Esme, assessing first if I and then she was okay. “Did he hurt her?”
Esme had spent so long trying not to fall apart, but I knew Isaac had taken a piece of Esme with him when he left. They had loved each other so deeply and completely, it was impossible to think that it could have happened any other way. She had tried hard. Hard to plaster the pieces of herself back together.She had done it with her bubbling laugh and sparkling white smile. With every roll of her eyes and joke that, in hindsight, seemed to hit a little too close to home. And as she stood there with her arms wrapped around herself, I wondered if she was clinging tight to the only pieces she had left.
I pulled her into a hug, my hand finding her wispy hair and stroking it gently. I wasn’t sure how long we just stood there, with Esme wrapped around herself and me wrapped around her. Because sometimes even the strongest of us needed a little protecting now and again. A few beats later, Esme pulled away. Her mascara had left dark track marks down her cheeks, and her shoulders were hunched over. She looked up at me with puffy eyes under weary smile before sniffing heavily. Thallor laid a tentative hand on her shoulder but said nothing else. Behind his cold, demonic exterior was a softness to him, a tenderness that I'd come to love so dearly.
“I can’t believe I’m letting myself cry over him again.” Her voice was disdainful, etched with both disgust and disappointment, and what might have been self-loathing.
“Hey,” I whispered gently, rubbing at her arm. “You’re allowed to cry. I hope you know that.”
