Page 90 of The Ring
I let out a long, shaky breath. “I think… I do.” It feels like a bad joke that the first time I acknowledge I may love my boyfriend is not with him but with my ex-boyfriend.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Like… you did me?”
I think for a second, looking up at him. His greyish-blue eyes meet mine, and instead of answering him, I lean in and kiss him.
I’ve wanted to since I got back from Paris. I almost did it after my birthday.
He kisses me back. Even high, he’s not sloppy. Every movement, every press of his lips—he’s perfect. The most skilled kisser in the world.
You know how people say kissing someone feels like fireworks? Well, kissing him has always felt like the Big Bang.
I don’t know why I’m doing this. I shouldn’t be. But I continue.
It’s just one kiss—it doesn’t mean much. He’s high; he won’t remember it tomorrow. And if he does, he’ll probably think it was a dream.
We would never speak of it. It’s just an itch I need to scratch to move on with Benedict.
One last kiss.
A goodbye kiss I know will be our last. Because our last one—I didn’t value it enough. Because I always thought there would be plenty more.
“I love you foreverandalways,” TJ tells me as I pull away, breaking the kiss.
Even after everything that’s happened, I never doubt it. I feel it in my bones. He loves me, just not enough not to cheat on me.
“Ididn’tnotnottoyouIdon’tthink…” he slurs incoherently, sounding sad. Then, he lies back on the bed and continues mumbling, but I don’t understand him. It’s almost a miracle I understood him before.
“Go to sleep,” I say, rising to my feet. I walk to the door, flipping the light switch on and off three times before leaving it off, and step out.
I close the bedroom door, but it feels like I’m closing the door on more than just a room. Something I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of. But at the same time, I want to.
I need to.
I head upstairs to my room, but I can hear them from there—Laurie and Annabelle talking, more like fighting—and I want to give them some privacy. I don’t know why, but out of all the rooms and places I could have gone, I end up in the bedroom where TJ is. He is fast asleep. I sit in the chair in the corner and stay there, listening to his breathing. It sounds like the best sound in the world.
I return to my room around seven. I hope Laurie and Annabelle have worked through their issues, but I get my answer a few hours later when I see Annabelle—with no sign of Laurie.
Chapter 53
TJ
Iwake up with one of the worst headaches I’ve ever experienced. My head feels like it’s pounding with a dozen construction workers inside, and I feel severely disoriented. It takes me a few minutes to figure out where I am: Cornelia’s place. I don’t remember ever being inside this room, but it’s easy to identify—it matches the rest of the house’s architecture. High ceilings, Mediterranean style, double-door arches. Either that, or I’m in a house built by the same architect.
I groan as I move—everything hurts. Even the sound of a pin dropping would be unbearable right now. I turn to the bedside table and spot two ibuprofen pills and a glass of water, each accompanied by a sticky note. The first says,Eat me,and the second one says,Drink me.They’re in Cornelia’s handwriting, which confirms I’m in her house.
A few flashes of last night begin to surface: me doing drugs, someone holding a snake, someone jumping from the yacht into the sea, being dragged out of the yacht, kissing Cornelia. I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t. The last one… probably isn’t.
It’s the worst feeling—not knowing if you can trust your own memory, doubting yourself at every turn. I—I had sworn I’d never let myself experience this again, but here I am. At least this time, nothing horrible happened.
I really should stop. I’m not an addict or an alcoholic—I can stop if I want to. It’s just that, for a while now, it has been my main coping mechanism. A bad one. A self-destructive one.
I feel something sticky on my cheek—it’s another sticky note. It says,You are better than this.I run my fingers over it, tracing the loops and curves of Cornelia’s handwriting. I don’t know if I am, but it’s nice that she thinks so. I fold the note carefully and shove it into my pocket.
I pop the pills into my mouth and swallow them with the water, then slip on my shoes and head out to look for someone—preferably Cornelia.
I don’t even know what time it is; my phone is dead.
I wander around the house. It’s a stunning house, built into a cliff with a ground floor, an upstairs, and two floors below. It’s amazing how the architecture integrated the rock and the cliff into the house and optimised the space by doing so. Even the lower floors don’t feel like you’re underground because of the large arched windows and doors that open to the pool and terrace area.
