Jessy
Can’t stand to be without me, huh?
Before today her casual flirty tone, the speed at which she replied – both of those things would have made a smile spread across my face.
But now I wondered. Was she deflecting? Was she with another guy? Why hadn’t she just said where she was?
Jessy
Ran home to grab some clothes. Why, what’s up?
Paddy
lmk your address
She’d sent it before I reached the Tube, and as I tapped in, I tried to calm my racing heart.
My brain wouldn’t stop reminding me of the images from both articles. The photo with Dillon was particularly bad. She knew what Celine did had messed me up. And then, there she was, doing the same shit.
Oscar winner. I wanted to punch something.
Was this going to be the rest of my life? Always desperately trying to be better, to be enough … and never managing it? Trying to trust, and having that trust flung back in my face?
It took me less than half an hour to reach Jessy’s street.
When I knocked on the door, I could feel the tension thrumming through my body. I was surprised I wasn’t shaking with it.
A part of me hoped, prayed, that there was some reasonable explanation for all this. That Jessy hadn’t gone behind my back, like the article said. There had to be something.
Jessy wouldn’t – she wasn’t the type. But if there was one thing life had taught me, it was that no one could ever be fully trusted. Not when it came to me.
Jessy’s front door opened and a guy blinked at me. ‘Yeah?’
I stared. He was tall, with a scraggly beard and a cup of tea in his hands. He looked so at home I was taken aback for a moment, wondering if I’d got the wrong place. I looked at the door number again.
‘Hello?’ The guy frowned. ‘What do you want?’
‘I … does Jessy Donovan live here?’ I managed.
His gaze was sharpening now, and I had to hope he wouldn’t recognize me. ‘Yeah, she’s one of my housemates. Are you –’
The confusion faded.
That’s right – Jessy lives in a houseshare.
‘She’s in the living room.’ The guy gestured to the right with his cup of tea before turning and walking away.
I guess that counted as an invitation.
Stepping gingerly over the threshold, I saw immediately that Jessy’s hallway was absolutely nothing like mine. There were about fifty coats of different sizes, shapes and colours, mostly hung up by the door, but some had slid down to the floor. Twenty or so pairs of shoes were piled up underneath them, a vacuum and a mop propped up against them. The place had not so much a lived-in but a worn-down sort of vibe.
And to my right was a door, slightly open.
And through that door came a voice.
‘Ross – seriously, we can’t –’
I had never walked so quickly as I did to that door, and when I pushed it open, I saw one thing.
