I typed out something furiously indignant, and I was about to hit send, when another text came in.
Arkane:The lyrics to a Mariah Carey song. I heard the girl next to me singing it.
I started hitting backspace because nobody needed to see what I’d just typed, and that was when the third one came in—
Arkane:But I think it’s a good question to ask. Because you are, aren’t you? Just like I’m obsessed with you?
I bit my lip so hard I could taste it.
Because if I let myself sigh even once, I’d be sighing for hours.
And that’s the closest he’s come.Obsessed.Not loved. And I’ve been rereading that text for weeks now, and I still can’t decide what it means.
But I’m too proud to ask.
Just so, so proud, that on the day of Joy’s birthday party, I just happen to come running back to the house late, having forgotten the time while I was in the stables (like seriously, why did no one ever tell me before how relaxing it is to muck stalls?), and because I’m using the service exit at the back (don’t want my muddy shoes to leave ugly footprints on the main stairs), the people in the kitchen don’t see me—
“They caught another one at the back.”
“How many’s it been this week?”
“Today alone, there’s three. This week, though? Maybe a dozen.”
“Why do they even try? He’s even had lawyers sending out all their letters. No one is to take photos of him and Miz Tiara. Mr. Young can’t say it plainer than that.”
That’s...that’s when everything becomes a blur.
“Why do you think he doesn’t want those photos, though? They look so good together.”
“Maybe it’s just a summer fling for both of them.”
“Do you really think that?”
“Rich people are hard to understand. Remember Miz Mirabella?”
“His prom date?”
“They were prom king and prom queen. They dated whole senior year, then...they broke up. No one knows why.”
Gasp.
“What if that’s the reason? He doesn’t want news to reach all the way to Spain, where Miz Mirabella is? So that if she ever comes back—”
I think I heard enough.
I think I really do because my vision’s already given up on me, and the last thing I need is to go deaf as well.
The first few steps up the stairs, I’m fine. But past the mezzanine, my legs start to wobble, and by the time I make it to the room they gave me—
I barely make it, actually.
My knees crashing on the carpeted floor as soon as the door closes behind me.
But the tears, they’re not falling like I expect them to.
Is it because I’m in shock?
No one is to take photos of him and Miz Tiara.
