It’s in the too-bright glitter of her green eyes, and the shadow of the bruises lying heavily under them. It’s the way she holds herself, as if she’s been splintered into millions of pieces and someone tried to piece her back together with some duct tape and hope. Charlie’s arms hang loosely at her sides, but her fists are clenched, almost like she’s not sure what emotion will keep her upright.
I didn’t see it, but I do now. And the worst part is, I knowwhy.
I know what she’s going to say.
I know what she overheard.
Bliss is an asshole, and always has been. Everyone who spends any kind of time with her knows it. That’s also what makes her good at her job—her acerbic tongue stripping lashes off the opposing counsel, leaving them a whimpering mess in a corner. No one wants Bliss to turn that side of her on them, including every single one of her friends.
Including me.
Bliss never liked Charlie. I never bothered to ask why, and she was never shy about telling anyone who would listen.
Sweet,sweetCharlie, who’s never done a thing to Bliss. And last night?—
Fuck.I bow my head, trying to remember every single word that was passed around the table last night. There’s a haziness over my memories—too many drinks and too much time passed—but I remember how Corey brayed like a donkey, and the spiteful smile that curled Amber’s mouth, the two of them always dancing to Bliss’s tune to keep on the right side of her cruelty.
Isn’t that what I did too?
“What did you hear?” I mean for it to come out strong, confident, but it’s a weak whisper, the broken sound of someone who can already hear the death knell ringing.
Charlie smiles, but it’s more a twisting of her lips than something pleasant, her face angled all wrong. “I heard Bliss wonder how you could still be with me, especially when they all thought you were just ‘getting some strange’.” Her tone turns mocking, and I flinch, resisting the childish urge to cover my ears with my hands. “That’s when Jack started talking about your image and how much I’ll hold you back.”
“That’s not?—”
Charlie lifts her eyebrows at me, and I button up, figuring semantics probably aren’t the important thing here.
“I heard—” Her voice cracks, and she looks away, her eyes shimmering. I lift a hand like I might touch her, and she flinches, stepping out of reach. My hand falls uselessly in the space between us.
“I heard them call me a plastic gem, a chipmunk, ablueberry.” Charlie swallows thickly, losing her battle against the tears. One trickles down her cheek, quickly followed by another. “I heard Marisa defend me, telling everyone to shut up. I heard them all laughing. And I think I even heard you.” Charlie doesn’t ask forconfirmation, and there’s a spike of relief, because if she did, I don’t have an answer for her.
I don’t want to think I would’ve laughed, but what if I did?
It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve just gone along with it, holding my tongue and playing the game—anything to keep the peace. There was never any point pushing back, not when they weren’t going to change who they were at their cores.
Did I laugh when they spoke so horribly about Charlie?
Have I really sunk that low?
“You know what I didn’t hear, Dillon?” I open my mouth, but she doesn’t want my input, already answering the question for me. “I didn’t hear you defend me. Not even once. Oh, sure, you might have said you didn’t want their opinions on your relationship, but that basically sounded like, ‘I know, but we don’t need to talk about it.’It sounded like, ‘I agree with you, but I love her anyway, so shut up.’”
“I don’t.” I take a step forward. Charlie matches the step backward, leveling me with a glare that freezes me in my tracks. “I don’t agree with them. I don’tknowanything like that. You’re my life, Angel.”
“Your life,” she repeats, her voice high with disbelief. “The life where you’ll marry me and we’ll pop out a h-herd of fat chipmunk babies?”
There’s a loud curse from the kitchen, and my chin drops down, knowing Charlie must’ve held that detail back from her friend.
I’m not sure what I can say here, but I try anyway. “I’m sorry. None of that should’ve happened. Everyone was drinking and just being assholes.” I try to smile, but her stony expression doesn’t ease. “You know how those guys get…”
“No, I don’t,” Charlie says firmly. “I don’t know how ‘thoseguys’ get because I have never spoken that way about anyone, let alone someone I loved.”
Loved.
Past tense because she’s already packed me in a box and tucked me into the back of the closet, only to be pulled out when she’s feeling sad and sentimental. My stomach swoops low, panic unfurling and tightening my chest. When Charlie knocked on the door, I was shocked she wasn’t using her key. Now, I’m seeing it for the symbol she meant it to be.
She is ending us over this?
Throwing our entire life away because my friends acted like assholes?
