“Why are you here?” I interrupt sleepily, my hand patting the empty bed beside me and finding it cold. “Where’s Ren?”
“Ren called,” Issa answers. “He had an early practice and didn’t want you to wake up alone.”
“Did he tell you what happened?”
“Nothing specific,” Jessica responds, but I give her my best not-buying-it look and she smiles then adds, “Just that you’d had a rough one and could use some moral support from someone who’s not your husband.”
“And we totally understand the sentiment,” Issa adds. “Sometimes boys just aren’t it, even if we love them to bits.”
“But this was so bad,” I confess, still feeling sick about it. “I was an absolute nasty ass shrew.”
“Maybe you were,” Issa teases, “But I’ve heard admitting it is the first step to recovery.”
“I’m serious,” I exclaim.
“Oh, I believe you,” she responds. “I just don’t feel whatever it was would be deemed unforgivable.”
“You’re biased.”
“How so?”
Jessica interjects, “Girl code.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
Issa rolls her eyes. “A smitten man trumps girls code every time.”
“Smitten,” I respond slowly, squinting up at her. “Who’s smitten?”
Issa’s jaw drops slightly, her eyes wide, her brows raise. “Are you for real right now?”
Frowning, I ask, “Do you really think he’s smitten?”
Issa looks at me as if I’m the dumbest broad she’s ever met. Jessica practically crows from her seat, “For fuck’s sake, Cass, the man’s completely obsessed with you.”
“Obsessed is not smitten.”
“Believe me,” Issa retorts. “Obsessed, when done right, is better.”
Sighing, I lie back on the pillow, my insides warming at the thought of him truly being smitten. But then the doubt creepsback in, and I whisper, “But what if he decides not to forgive me this time?”
“Listen, Cass,” Issa replies. “I don’t get the impression that Ren is the type of guy to punish anyone for having feelings, even if those feelings aren’t something that can be easily or reasonably explained.”
“But what I said was horrible.”
She waves her hand at me. “But are you sorry?”
I nod emphatically. “I was sorry as soon as I said it. I just didn’t know how to make it better.”
“Awww,” Jessica responds. “Are you saying you’re human?”
I grimace. “If by human you mean gross and messy, then yes.”
“Oh shit, we’re all that.”
“Not like me,” I whisper. “I’m the grossest and messiest ever. The worst of the worst. The most?—”
Issa scoots closer, cutting me off. Her brow now furrowed slightly, she grabs my hand, squeezes lightly. “You stop that, you hear me,” I go to respond, but she puts her hand up, “No one is born gross or messy. No one strives to be the worst. No one steps into adulthood wanting to hurt the people around them,” she pauses, glancing over at Jessica who’s watching us quietly. They have some kind of silent conversation and then Issa turns back to me, her expression now pained as she whispers, “I knew I recognized you when I met you, the wounded animal, the glowing star buried beneath a learned darkness.”
