Chapter Eight
Fin
‘So it’sa good job he’s dead, then?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that.’
‘But she’s happy he’s not here, right?’
‘Well, I suppose, but—’
From my prone position on the sofa, I listen to Natasha and Ivy debate the merits of my current situation in the kitchen, given this morning’s revelations, in unsuccessfully hushed tones.
‘So what’s the issue?’
‘Sometimes you’ve got the emotional empathy of a tub of cottage cheese,’ says Ivy emphatically.
‘I don’t get it. He cheated on her—more than once if those credit card statements and voluptuous nearly nudey shots are anything to go by—but she’s still sad?’
Voluptuous is right. His P.A.’s body filled those bits of lace better than my meagre curves ever would. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.
‘Well,’ Ivy tries again, pausing as she probably scans her mind for simpler language. More base terms?Man dead. Fin sad.Maybe she should get out her phone and use emoji’s.‘Of course she’s still sad. He was her husband and he’s still dead, only now as well as sorrow, she’ll be feeling off her rocker mad. Hopefully,’ she adds. I can almost feel her staring at me through the wall. ‘At some point.’
Personal fucking assistant,I attempt to fume silently. Very fucking personal. Take down a message Miss Carreras, all the way down to the base of my cock.
Can you attempt to fume? Force some kind of angry response? Why aren’t I cursing and screaming? Wouldn’t that be the best way to process all this?
‘If he didn’t have the good sense to die after dipping his dick in all those other holes,’— because, yes, it seems my husband was quite the amateur photographer, though I’m relieved Raya saw fit not to send images of multiple women—‘he’d be wishing he did drown if he was my husband, because honestly, I’d kill the cheating bastard!’
Such vehemence, but where’s mine? Shouldn’t I be feeling robbed of that satisfaction?
‘Shush, for goodness sakes!’
‘Calm your farm. He cheated. He was a dog. And now he’s gone. If that’s no’ grounds for celebration, then what is?’
‘It isn’t a wake, it’s her birthday,’ Ivy whisper-hisses. Technically, it’s not until next week, but this evening we were supposed to be going out; a meal and a few drinks, not that it was my idea. In fact, when it was mentioned, I think I may have altogether refused the invitation.
‘Exactly. Thanks be to fuck we’re finally getting somewhere!’
I really can’t stand much more of this. For months now, I’ve not known what to do, never mind feel. I’ve barely existed, spending most of my days inside this building’s tiny walls. I’ve tried to stay busy, to help Ivy where I could, if for nothing else than to repay her in some small way. But I haven’t lived. Just existed. Like a scratched CD, I’ve been stuck. I’ve barely engaged with anyone outside my limited circle and I certainly haven’t put any effort into anything personal, beyond what was absolutely required from me.The basics of eating, personal hygiene and stuff.And during this bare existence I’ve cried a fucking ocean. I’ve cowered in that crappy bed, too scared to examine or contemplate what the future might bring, while blaming myself for what he did. But somehow, since this morning’s rude awakening, these feelings have been switched off. Like a light and I’m the opposite of the dark right now. I’m ashamed to say it all makes a sort of sickening sense, though I’m sensible enough to know that Marcus’ final betrayal hasn’t forced me into some kind of recovery. I’m just numb. Comfortably numb and content to remain so for now.
These feelings—or non-feelings—aside, what I can’t stand right now is listening to Ivy. Yesterday she was all for forcing me back into the real world, dragging me kicking and screaming, if she had to. But now it looks like that has all taken a back seat.
I’m back to being the basket case again. She’s expecting me to bow under the weight of this added bullshit. To crumble a little more.
And I’m not down for that.
Swinging my feet onto the floor, I pull myself upright and make my way into my bedroom, rummaging through the solitary set of drawers until I find what I’m looking for.Ah, there.
‘I’m not going to suggest—’ Ivy stops speaking, eyeing me like I’m a cause for concern. Probably the result of my abrupt appearance in the kitchen while carrying sharp, pointy implements. ‘Hey, Fin,’ she says carefully. ‘What have you got there?’
I smile at her tone and the fact she’s looking at me as though I’m a nut, but it feels weird, this smile. Sort of forced, so I cut it short. Yes, I’m numb, but I also have something to accomplish as I set a pair of large shearing scissors on the table.
‘If I was gonna off myself—or you two—it wouldn’t be with a pair of scissors,’ I say, pulling my elastic hair tie part way down my ponytail. My hair mushrooms at shoulder length. I pick up the shears again. ‘Murder?’ I ponder. ‘I’d probably go for poison. Or maybe a nasty accident. Oh, I know! I’d rewire your vibrators!’
‘So we can go out with a bang?’ adds a delighted Natasha.
‘Why are you—’
