Page 103 of The Ring
“I know, but it doesn’t change anything.” I stare at the sky before turning back to him. “We’re a mess. We were a mess even before what happened with my mother.”
I look at him, hoping he’ll deny it, but he doesn’t because he knows, as I do, that I am telling the truth. I would have liked to think we were the perfect couple before what happened with my mother, but that isn’t true. We’ve both been wandering through life without any clear direction, which ended up creating an unhealthy codependency, where we replaced what we lacked in our lives with each other. And when two people piloting a plane don’t know where they’re headed, it’s bound to go down. It was just a matter of when.
I continue, “My love for Benedict may not be as intense, passionate or consuming as ours, but I do love him. He… makes me happy. His love is simple, and most importantly, loving him doesn’thurt.”
The love I have for TJ doesn’t compare to the one I have for Benedict, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.
“But that’s probably over now, so please, I beg you, leave me alone,” I finish.
I look at TJ, and he looks as exhausted as I feel. He moves closer until we’re a few centimetres apart. With his thumb, he gently brushes a tear from my cheek, leaving his hand there. I crave more of his touch. He looks down at my lips, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. If he had, I would have let him. I would have kissed him back, ignoring all the voices inmy head telling me not to. I would have let the love I have for him consume me. But instead, he pulls away, takes my hand, and places a quick, warm kiss on the top of it before walking back inside.
Chapter 62
TJ
Ididn’t want to head back inside. I didn’t want to just kiss her hand. I wanted to stay outside and console her. I wanted to kiss her until we both got dizzy. But after the dinner, in which I’m somewhat complicit, the least I could do was respect her wishes and leave her alone.
I know if I had pushed harder outside, Cornelia would have let me in—I could see it in her eyes. But as much as I wanted it, I wouldn’t take advantage of her. I would never forgive myself if I did.
I would have gone straight home if I hadn’t left my phone inside when I dashed out after Cornelia. I really wish I hadn’t, as I step back into the restaurant and see Weberly still sitting at the table, right where I left her.
Her makeup is smudged from the martini Cornelia threw at her, and a few strands of hair and part of her black dress are still damp. But she looks a bit less of a mess than when I ran out after Cornelia.
When she sees me coming back, she smiles. It reignites myanger. She’s the one responsible for the beautiful girl crying outside.
“I told you the dinner would be fun,” she says as I reach the table.
“You call thatfun?”I ask, incredulous, as I grab my phone from the table and slip it into my pocket.
“Yes…” she falters. “Except for the part where she threw a martini at me.”
What the hell is wrong with her?
What kind of person goes through all this trouble and plans to humiliate others?
Who does these kinds of things for fun?
A psychopath.
I’m probably dating a fucking psychopath.
Fantastic—just what my life was missing.
It has to be that. She’s not jealous. I know she’s not, because when we first started dating, she told me she didn’t mind if I hooked up with someone else. And even if she were jealous, this situation would just lead to Cornelia and Benedict breaking up, which would open the door for me. So that’s not it.
I know Cornelia isn’t her favourite person. I’ve always known that many people envy her. I can’t blame them—there’s a lot to envy. She’s perfection embodied. But pure envy can’t be the only reason Weberly did this.
I let out a sharp breath. “You’re insane.”
I start walking towards the door. I’m seeing red. If I stay in her presence for one more second, I’ll snap, and while she deserves every bit of it, I’ll just end up feeling like shit. I can almost hear Cornelia asking, “Is that because she’s a woman?” The answer is yes.
If a man had done what Weberly did, I would have punched him by now. Cornelia wouldn’t make that distinction.I’ve seen her fight, almost getting into fistfights with women and men alike, without hesitation. It has actually scared me a few times. Some of those people could have seriously hurt her, but she never batted an eye. But in that, we were raised differently. I can’t treat Weberly the way I would a man, nor would society be fine with it.
Weberly runs after me, grabbing my arm midway to the exit. “Where are you going?”
“Don’t touch me,” I snap at her, hard enough that she lets go. I don’t longer care we’re in public—if people want to watch or record, then welcome to the fucking show.
I don’t want her to touch me or be anywhere near me. I mistakenly trusted her, and I don’t anymore. Ever since the night of the Monroe-Nodrick gala, I’ve had a hard time trusting people. I’d gravitate towards girls who look like Cornelia not only because they’re my type—well, my type is Cornelia—but because, subconsciously, their resemblance to her made me feel like I could trust them. There’s no one I trust more than her.
