Page 48 of The PTA President
“Don’t do this. Don’t leave me like this. Please don't do this. I promise you’ll regret this,” I growl, staring her down, keeping my focus right on her twitching eyes.
“I already do!" she yells, echoing through the neighborhood. “This was a mistake, look at us. Instead of sleeping with the pool boy or checking into rehab during this identity crisis, I let a girl lead me into the bedroom,” she says, looking anywhere but at me.
“You think this was all a quick fuck? Give me a fucking break.” I roll my eyes, knowing that’s all a crock of shit.
Lance, the loser, interrupts right when it’s getting juicy. “Candace, do you need a minute? We have reservations. We don't want to be late.”
“Respectfully, Lance, suck a dick.” I spew, flipping him off, completely catching him off guard. “Are you ever going to be mine, Candace?” I yell right as she’s turning towards Lance to head to the car. “I’m not some dirty mistress you can hide under your perfectly made bed. Am Ievergoing to be yours? What’s it going to take? Do you want me on my knees pleading with you to make a decision? I’mbeggingyou to be with me. You’ve ruined my entire fucking life and I’ll never be the same so put me out of my misery and end it right here if the answer is no.” My voice cracks, but I stay strong refusing to cry.
“I don’t want someone with the demons you have, are you even listening to yourself?" Her face freezes after she says it.
“Mydemons? You’ve gotta be kidding me with this. I’m not the problem here, Candace.”
“Maybe if you went to therapy, and I took some time away…”
“Therapy? Therapy for what? Go fuck yourself, I’ve wasted so much time waiting for you to fall in love with me.”
Shaking my head, I give up on this pointless conversation and start heading to my car.
“There you go, running away to throw a fit. You’re the one who hasn’t answered the phone or come over for weeks!” She hisses, thinking it’s going to be a bigger blow to my soul.
“I’m not fucking running!” I scream back. “You’re actively not choosing me right now, Candace. You’re the only villain in this fucked-up Wysteria Lane version of hell. I hope you wake up one day unable tobreathe,knowing you ruined us. It wasn't me. I’m standing right here. Every vein is exposed for you to cut, but you're cutting yourself and blaming me.”
“I think I’ve heard enough. Goodbye, Natalie.” She grabs Lance’s hand and he guides her to the passenger door letting her inside and leaving me in her driveway seething.
Time passes slowly as I sit in my car, staring off into the distance. A few porch lights come on, and a couple husbands make the brave trek down the driveway to pull in the trash cans. I’m not waiting for her to come home to me– I know she’s not. She made her choice tonight, and now it’s time I made mine.
Everyone warned me not to get involved, to cut ties before I got too attached. Did I bother to listen? Hell, no. Now, I’m here alone, walking through Candace’s dark, empty house, reminiscing on our short time together that was ripped away.
One good thing about her living in suburbia is that the doors are always unlocked, because what psychopath would just waltz into someone’s house and rummage through their shit? God, these people have no idea how other people live. They’re all stuck in some fairyland where money buys happiness and keeps the secrets hidden. Well, fuck that noise. Candace knew what she was doing tonight. I made it clear where I was and what I wanted. She toyed with my emotions this entire time, neverplanning on taking the next step. Not as long as Mommy and Daddy have a say in it.
My boots echo through the house as I make my way in, peeping into the girls' messy rooms and avoiding spending too much time in Candace’s bedroom, where any happy memories left remain solely to haunt me. Her house is the same stale museum it was when I first walked in months ago. This palace of despair with its matching curtains is what she’s so desperate to cling onto? It’s a security blanket and I’m stealing it, just like she stole my heart and ran off with the king of douchebags. Her house looks even less inviting when the only light shining through is the full moon illuminating her custom countertops, which are completely bare, not a crumb in sight. On her breakfast table sits a new blue checkered vase filled with the hydrangeas we picked up at our favorite farmers’ market.
Pictures line her wallpapered hallways, revealing a happier time when I wasn’t around. I never stood a chance at having one of us displayed. We were exactly what she made us out to be: a mistake. A symptom of menopause or side effects from the pills she pops to chill out. I don’t belong here and never did. Why did I try so hard to make it work? It’s something you learn in preschool: the square puzzle cannot fit into the circle.It’s not rocket science.
This is it, the classic ending to any horror movie: somebodyhasto die. Foolish of me to think we had a romance for the ages, a story that gave the middle finger to the patriarchy and outlasted any traditional bullshit fed to us. I’ve seen enough slashers to predict the twist: the knife in the back of the heroine you were rooting for. Well,back, meet jagged bloody knife.
I don't have to look back at the destruction I’ve caused for reassurance. The warmth cascades over my skin, and I can hear the roar behind me as I close the front door and head to my car. My eyes burn and start to water from both physical andemotional pain. Both our worlds came crashing down tonight, so at least we’ll both be in the rubble, attempting to rebuild. Sadly, she’ll be doing it alone because I never want to see that traitorous bitch again.
ChaptEr 34
Candace
7 Months Later
“So, tell me, how have things been going since school got out?” Dr. Wilder, my therapist of the last six months, asks.
“Well, for starters, I spend most days in my sister's bedroom with the lights off, crying and singing along to my daughter's Avril Lavigne CD. So, do with that information what you will.” I snap, uninterested in these bullshit questions that lead us nowhere.
“I’m relieved to hear you’ve been crying. Showing any kind of emotion is better than none. Would you like to tell me what you felt that day and how you think you’ve grown since?” she asks,but does she really care? We’ve been at this for months, and it’s just a circle of never-ending questions.
“Betrayed, I guess. I spent most of my life believing men were the problem. They steal, cheat, and in the end, abandon us. They’re supposed to be the bad guys, right?Wrong.Men may hurt our feelings and stomp on our hearts but women break your soul. A woman burned down my fucking house. She took everything that was good about me and ripped it to shreds. No man could ever do half the shit a woman could. Why aren’t more songs written about that, I wonder?”
Her expression never changes, no matter the outburst. She remains unmoved, updating my chart like she does every week. Why does she bother asking if I’ve changed or grown? Isn’t that information in her pristine leather binder she’s writing in?
“What are the plans moving forward? School starts next week. Will you continue living with your sister, or have you made other arrangements?” All I hear from her is judgement. Of course, I’m going to stay with Court. How could I live alone again after coming home to my house on fire? You think I could just move my girls into a place while some psychopath roams the earth desperate to uproot us?
“We’re staying with my sister indefinitely. She’s got the room and is rarely home. My girls need a safe place, and she’s one of their comforts, I won’t take that home away from them.” I say sternly, picking at the lint stuck to the bottom of my charcoal pencil skirt.
