Page 12 of The Ring
I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a child.”
Cornelia chuckled bitterly. “Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realise I was speaking to Mister Maturity. By the way, how’s not studying and not working going for you?”
“You’re the one to talk,” I shot back.
“I’m going back to school in January,” she said abruptly. Our voices had been rising with every exchange, drawing the attention of a few nearby shoppers. I caught sight of a girl in my peripheral vision discreetly pointing her phone at us, but at that moment, I didn’t care. “And I’ve been working with my brother since I finished high school,” she added.
“At least I’m not insane. All those little intrusive thoughts you have don’t make you cute—they make you whack in the head. You should really get checked,” I lied.
They are a part of who she is; without them, she wouldn’t be the person I fell in love with. So how could I not love them?
She looked at me—horrified, hurt, and angry all at once. I knew I’d crossed the line and regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. I wanted to stop myself, but I couldn’t. Instead, I went even further. “Like mother, like daughter,” I muttered under my breath.
I shouldn’t have said the last part. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I know how much she hates being compared to her mother and everything about her struggles with mental health. And I used that knowledge to hurt her.
That’s the thing about knowing someone the way I know her and the way she knows me. We don’t just know our favourite songs or whether we talk in our sleep. We know the fault lines. We know exactly which words to use to tear each other apart.
She took a deep breath to compose herself. “Speaking of my mother, you should get checked out for an STD. But accordingto what I’ve seen in the media, you might already be too familiar with them.”
I may have been sleeping around a lot, but I always used protection. And it was just to stop me from going to Paris and seeing what I really wanted.
“Fuck off,” I yelled, my voice laced with venom.
I think I hate her and love her in equal measure because hating her is all I have left, but I could never stop loving her.
I saw tears form in her eyes, and I felt like shit.
“Gladly,” she said, then walked away—more like ran away.
I looked over at the girl who had been recording us. She wasn’t even trying to be discreet anymore; she all but followed Cornelia with her phone. I considered going up to her, but what good would it do to fight with a sixteen-year-old? I accepted what I knew was going to happen—and what did happen. The video was inCB Londonby the next day. I’d ruined Cornelia’s plan of keeping her visit a secret, but honestly, I’d probably ruined it the moment I saw her, not with this conversation.
Chapter 6
Cornelia
Burgundy, black, navy blue, or maybe something more colourful like baby pink or yellow—I can’t decide what colour I want my nails to be. Normally, I’d have known a few days in advance, but the last few days, my mind seems to be a little scrambled. Thank TJ for that.
“What do you think about this colour?” Annabelle asks, pointing to a nail painted in a delicate baby yellow in the sample book.
I take the book from her and look at it a little more closely. “I like it.”
“What colour are you getting?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug.
She stares at me and frowns. “Who are you, and what have you done to my best friend?”
“Nothing, I’ve just been a little occupied,” I say, looking at the sample book. “I think I’ll go with a nude colour. You can’t go wrong with that.”
We are at The Mandarin Oriental Spa having a girls’ day because, according to Annabelle, I owed her some quality timeas I’ve been really occupied since I got back. When my schedule is really hectic, I get my nails and massages done at home, but there’s something special about taking your time and going to an actual spa, especially with your best friend.
“Is it really that you’ve been occupied, or is it TJ?”
“You saw the mountain of schoolwork I—” I look at her and decide there’s no point in lying to someone who knows me so well, someone who probably already knows I’m lying. “Maybe it’s a little bit about TJ.”
“I know what he did is unforgivable, but do you think you could ever forgive him?” Annabelle asks, her eyes flickering with guilt, as if she’s ashamed for even bringing it up. And she doesn’t even know about my mother—she only knows he cheated on me. But I can’t fault her for asking. Our breakup didn’t just affect us; it rattled the whole group dynamic. And even though she acts mad at TJ, I know she loves him.
“No,” I lie. I’ve thought about it a lot, and there have been moments when I wanted to. I wanted to forgive him. I wanted to be back with him. How pathetic does that make me? But it doesn’t even matter, since for me to even consider forgiving him, he would have to apologise, and he has never done so. “Can we talk about anything other than my love life?”
