Page 8 of The Ring
I didn’t want to hear his excuses. I didn’t want to hear his apologies. I didn’t want anything from him anymore.
So I ran.
I ran up the stairs to my room, TJ close behind, until my brother held him back. I reached my room, locked the door, and went straight to my bathroom, locking that door too for good measure.
Then I heard him banging on the door, begging me to let him in. His voice cracked—desperate, broken—and it hurt me to hear. He sounded like he was hurting, just like me. I didn’t want to hear him. I didn’t. I just wanted to stay in the bathroom and forget about the outside world. I turned on both sinks and the shower, letting the rush of water drown everything out, then lay in the bathtub and cried.
I don’t know how long I was there. I only remember crying in the bathtub until I fell asleep, waking up hoping it was all a bad dream, only to remember it wasn’t, then repeating the cycle.
At some point, TJ stopped banging on my door, and it was replaced by my brother knocking, asking me to come out. He told me both TJ and my mother were gone, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave.
In the bathroom, I could live in denial, but the moment I stepped out, it would all become real.
When my tears finally ran dry, I just stared at the wall, numb, almost catatonic. Hours of crying without food or water had hollowed me out. I barely noticed when my brother broke the bathroom lock and came in—not until he sat on the floor beside the tub. He looked at me with a level of concern I’d only seen once before in my life.
They say you can’t die from heartbreak, but I’d argue youcan. It’s like when someone dies from cancer—the reason they die isn’t the cancer itself, but the complications it causes. The same goes for heartbreak. Maybe it wouldn’t be listed on my death certificate, but in a way, it wouldn’t have happened without it. If it weren’t for my brother, I probably would have stayed there until I died. And a part of me wanted to.
“What do you need?” Anthony asked in a warm voice, so low it almost sounded like a whisper.
I struggle to get the words out, my voice hoarse and breaking. “I…I need to go away.”
Chapter 4
Cornelia
Coming home wasn’t as easy as I had hoped, but thankfully, it didn’t have much to do with TJ. I haven’t seen him since the brunch, which wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
In the last four months, I had really gotten used to my only responsibility being feeding myself. It was nice. Now I know why TJ does it. Sometimes, it doesn’t sound bad to live off your trust fund, but I like to have a sense of purpose, even if most of the time it is dreadfully boring. One week back and I’m already up to my ears in work. Arriving two weeks late to classes didn’t help, but I needed some time to build up the courage to come back.
At least Anthony hasn’t pestered me about going back to the office or attending business meetings yet. Eventually, he will. It will be when he stops treating me like I’m made of glass. Since the night TJ cheated on me, he talks to me as if one wrong word might shatter me. But I’m not as frail as he thinks. He hasn’t even brought up my mother or let anyone do so in my presence. All I know about her is that she’s in rehab in America,probably hooking up with a B-lister celebrity like most of my childhood.
As I used to do every Tuesday—sometimes after class, sometimes before class, depending on the schedule—I head to Daysleysford Organic on Sloane Avenue, which has a coffee shop upstairs, for breakfast and to get ahead on the week’s assignments.
I sit down, order a drink, and shrug off my Max Mara brown coat. I like my outfit better without it, but I’d freeze outside if I didn’t wear it. I’m wearing a white T-shirt from The Row, washed-out jeans from Saint Laurent, and Prada leopard mules.
As for accessories: a brown Birkin 35 with gold hardware for carrying my laptop and my school supplies, a custom-made 5.00-carat cushion-cut diamond pendant necklace, 3.00-carat heart-shaped diamond earrings, a bangle with a 0.40-carat diamond and a 0.30-carat diamond ring on my index finger—all from Jade Trau—along with my Jessica McCormack ring. In case you haven’t noticed, I love jewellery, especially if it comes with diamonds.
I pull my laptop out of my bag and start working on my homework, but I pause a few minutes later when the matcha I ordered arrives.
I drink it while people-watching the few people here. There’s an elderly couple, a girl absorbed in the book she’s reading, and a group of five thirty-something women chatting. I like to imagine how the people I watch live.
Do they have normal jobs?
Are they in love?
Do they have good relationships with their parents? Is their life less complicated than mine?
What is it like to live without being born into a billion-dollar family, free from the commitments and expectations that come with that kind of privilege?
Sometimes I think money is the problem with the people in my circle, since we never had to worry about it. The time normal people spend stressing about it, we have it free. So we use it to mess things up.
I’m mid-sip when I see him—TJ—coming up the stairs. My heart skips a beat, and I almost choke. I never in a million years expected to see him here. I actually thought this place would be a TJ-free zone. But it seems the universe has a cruel sense of humour… or maybe I’m not on its good side right now.
For a split second, I consider shrinking in my seat or hiding somewhere, but that would be admitting I’m afraid of him. And I refuse to let him have that power over me. I won’t let him make me feel uncomfortable in the places where I used to feel most at home. So instead of making myself unnoticeable, I make myself more striking by calling the waiter and ordering a cup of water.
TJ sees me then and starts walking towards my table. A knot forms in my stomach. I look away immediately, but not before noticing he’s carrying what looks like a textbook.
“Hey,” he says, stopping at my table.
