Page 59 of The Ring
A few minutes later, Cornelia returns holding two wine glasses, a bottle of wine, and a corkscrew.
She sets the wine glasses on the small table beside the sofa. “We’re going to need this for what we’re about to watch,” Cornelia says, a sly smile playing on her lips as she pulls the cork from the bottle.
We’re about to watchClueless—one of Cornelia’s favourite films. And why did the wine give it away, you might ask? Well, after the hundredth viewing, I’d wanted to add a bit more excitement to it, so I decided to take a drink every time the phraseas ifwas said. The first time I tried it, I realised the phrase wasn’t said as often as I thought, so I started adding more rules: a drink for every time the nameJoshcame up, every mention of sex or virginity, any time a fashion brand was name-dropped, and whenever a pop culture reference popped up. Eventually, it turned into Cornelia’s and my drinking game.
Cornelia pours some wine into the glasses and offers me one, but I shake my head. “I’ll watch it without drinking this time.”
She pouts. “If I’m the only one drinking, I’ll feel like an alcoholic.”
I don’t want to drink since I have to drive home, but right now, she could ask me to jump out of the third-floor window with her, and I’d say yes.
I sigh. “Fine, hand me the glass.”
Cornelia hands me the glass and settles onto the sofa beside me. She puts onClueless, and we start watching. Well, she’s watching the film—I’m actually watching her watch it. She’s my favourite movie, my favourite piece of art, my favouriteeverything.
Chapter 32
TJ
Iwake up to the buzzing of my phone. I quickly pull it out of my pocket and decline the call from West, who’s probably wondering where I am. Luckily, it’s on vibrate, so it didn’t wake Cornelia, who’s lying fast asleep on me.
I glance at the clock—it’s 4:15 a.m.—and curse it for not being later. As much as I don’t want to, I know I have to wake her up. If I don’t, she’ll be mad at herself all day for sleeping with makeup on and skipping her skincare routine.
But I decide to wait ten more minutes. What’s the harm in that? Besides, it gives me a moment to savour watching her sleep. She looks so peaceful, so unbelievably beautiful—her hair covering a little part of her face, her pouty lips the perfect shade of pink, her relaxed breathing, her dainty hand, adorned with multiple rings, resting on my chest. Words fail me. The only way I can even attempt to describe her is: if angels exist, they must look like her.
Ten minutes pass, much to my dismay, and I gently shake her. “Cor, Cornelia.”
She opens her eyes and slowly sits up. “We fell asleep,” shesays sleepily, rubbing her eyes and smudging her makeup. “I didn’t even realise when I got tired.”
I did. It was right after we finished watchingClueless,and she put onThe O.C.She was yawning a lot, and I knew it was a matter of time before she’d drift off.
“I should be heading home,” I tell her. I don’t want to go, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome either.
“Don’t be a nitwit; you drank almost as much as I did—you’ll stay here for the night,” she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.
But I argue, “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not,” she replies, getting up from the sofa and picking up the snack wrappers. “Now, help tidy up this mess so we can head upstairs and sleep.” She yawns.
Between the two of us, we quickly tidy up the cinema room before heading for the stairs. As we reach the first floor, I can’t help but glance down the hallway that leads to Cornelia’s mother’s room. Cornelia does too. Chills run up my spine as we do. I… I remember stumbling inside, carried by Victoria. I think… I do. It’s hazy. I can’t… I don’t want to think about it. My stomach twists, and my breathing accelerates. I swallow hard, forcing everything that happened… that night away, focusing on the moment.
We carry on up the stairs, making our way to the second floor, where Cornelia’s room and most of the other bedrooms are located.
We walk down the hallway, passing artwork and some childhood photos of hers along the wall. We reach her bedroom door; she opens it, and we step inside. I look around. It looks exactly like the last time I was here. It reminds me of Blair Waldorf’s bedroom inGossip Girl, though the blue here is lighter, almost grey. And the room has touches that are unmistakably Cornelia—like disinfectant and wipes beside herbedside table, or the multiple displays showcasing her jewellery scattered around the room, doubling as decoration. Without hesitation, Cornelia heads straight to her walk-in closet and grabs a pair of pyjamas.
“There’s still some of your stuff here, but if there aren’t any pyjamas, you know where I keep the spare ones for guests,” she tells me before heading into her bathroom.
I used to hate it, and I still do, that she has a drawer in her closet full of clean pyjamas in the size of everyone in The Heptad Society and a few other random sizes, in case someone needs to stay over. In the five years we were together, the only person other than me who stayed over in her room was Annabelle, and one time Laurie. I get why she has clothes forher,but for everyone else? She insists on keeping pyjamas for everyone because, according to her, you never know. And because she knows she has very specific rules when it comes to her bed and room—rules she expects everyone to follow, but she tries to make it easier for people to do so.
It kills me to think she might have actually had a use for Nate’s, but I know they slept together in Paris, not here, so at least I can be in Cornelia’s room without picturing them doing it here.
I walk over to her dresser and open the second drawer, the one that used to be mine. It’s still pretty full with my things—one watch, multiple socks and boxers, a belt, three trousers, two jeans, several T-shirts, some hoodies, and two sets of pyjamas. Though I can’t remember if they are clean or not, so I head into Cornelia’s closet, grab one of the pyjamas there, and return to the bedroom.
I think for a moment about whether I should take all my stuff home, but I don’t want to. I like having things here, and the fact she hasn’t gotten rid of them is another thing that makes me feel like maybe there’s still some hope for us. So,until she decides otherwise, my things will stay right where they are.
I begin to change into the pyjamas. First, I remove my trousers and put on the bottoms. Then, I take off my jacket and shirt, but before I can put on the T-shirt, Cornelia comes out of the bathroom. She’s still in the dress, but she’s no longer wearing any makeup.
She looks a little thrown at seeing me bare-chested, but quickly composes herself. It’s not like she’s looking at something she hasn’t seen before.
