Page 109 of Don't Be in Love

On Christmas Eve.

“What’s wrong?” Mia’s voice interrupted but it sounded far away.

I was trapped inside a snow globe, and she was knocking on the glass. I stared at. The words weren’t forming. She gave up and then realization hit. She took my phone.

Her gasp was muffled. All I could see was Dorian’s dark hair mixed with Victoria’s blond.

“This can’t be real,” she said from a distance.

“It is.” He was wearing the same clothes I ran my hands over that night.

There were even Christmas lights hanging above them at Victoria’s apartment complex like a goddamn holiday card.

“Addy, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” It was fine, my heart wasn’t being torn and pulled out of my chest like a garden tool scavenging for unrequited blood.

I guess there’s no point in telling Sabrina now. There’s nothing to tell. She’ll need me anyway once she sees this. Someone will need to hold her while she shakes and cries. I need to get my own tears out of the way.

“I just—I need to leave.”

“Let’s go then.” She collected her coat and put her glass down.

“No, stay here. I’ll go.”

“But—”

“Mia, I need to be alone.”

She sat back down, agreeing, before jumping forward to give me a hug and releasing me.

I pulled on my coat and rushed out onto the sidewalk.

I couldn’t muster up a walk in the snow, so I held out a shaky hand until a cab stopped. I got in and gave the driver the address before my voice could succumb to the emotion in my throat.

My body and mind were building up like a wall of bricks, fortifying our wall, just as they always had. A wall so thick that it had become numb. Overgrown in vines and moss. But right before the last brick could go in, all the tears slipped out.

It wasn’t until I was back in my flat that I realized I had been clutching his scarf.

37

Don’t Underestimate Your Public Relations

Degree — Adelaide

The photo of Dorian and Victoria spread like ink in water. And it had only been twenty-four hours.

Dorian Blackwood Off the Market.

There wasn’t a celebrity news outlet that wasn’t talking about it. Meaning I had been subjected to seeing the photos enough times to know the exact shade and brand of Victoria’s lipstick.

I should be checking my email, waiting on Beverly’s response. But the inside of my brain was frozen on a silent movie frame. Dorian and Victoria’s name appeared in a static sparkle that wouldn’t let me look away.

When I wasn’t thinking about them, I was thinking about all the women he had been with and how I sized up to them. The ones with the wealthy families and built-in careers. Was I some charity case? An experiment?

It wasn’t until I got into bed that night that I allowed myself to cry again.

I didn’t even feel sad. I was infuriated. Tears just happened to slip out in between.