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But I had to remember it could only be surface. A semblance. A façade. Because real could never berealfor me.
That vat of loneliness churned, bubbling up from the constant simmer. A burn that scorched my already charred heart. I pasted on a giant grin that I hoped didn’t appear brittle. “It actually sounds really fun. Thank you for inviting me.”
Raven smirked. “Um, of course it’s going to be fun. You’re going to be with me. As if I would ever dream of allowing you to have a bad time.”
Fifteen minutes later, I left her shop with an entire armful of flowers since apparently for Raven’s friends, it was buy one, get thirty free. Amusement still wobbled on my mouth as I climbed the exterior steps to the small stoop at the side of the building.
I turned my key in the lock and swung open the door to the stillness of my apartment.
It was small but cozy. The living area was right up front, and there were French doors that opened to the balcony. A tiny kitchen was off to the right of it, the cabinets whitewashed and the countertops butcher block. The appliances were old enough that it gave it character rather than just appearing dated, and the floors were original hardwood that had been refurbished to a beigy gray.
The bedroom and bathroom were at the back.
It’d come furnished, the couch a soft baby blue and the two overstuffed chairs a matching floral, and I’d accented it with a bunch of pillows. A square dining table sat between the living room and kitchen, sectioning off the two areas.
I went into the kitchen, grabbed a vase, and filled it with water, then I trimmed the stems of the flowers and arranged them the way Raven had suggested.
I set them in the middle of the table, right in the path of the glittering rays of sunlight that streamed in through the French doors.
In the silence, I brushed my fingertips over the soft velvet petal of a pink rose.
I tried to stop it, but a rush of sadness slammed me.
As sharp as fists pummeling me in the gut.
I inhaled a jagged breath, and I pressed the back of my hand to my nose to try to staunch the burning of emotion. When I couldn’t stop it, I crossed the short distance to my bedroom.
As soon as I stepped through the threshold, I peeled off the shirt of my scrubs. The long-sleeved tee followed it. I dropped both to the floor as I fumbled to the en suite bathroom where I flicked on the light.
Wearing only my bra and scrub bottoms, I lifted my arm so I could stare at the words that read backward in the mirror.
In grief we must live.
I shifted enough to the side so I could see the scars that scored my back, the skin puckered and forever red.
And the sadness I’d felt turned to rage.
To a hatred so fierce it made nausea curl in my stomach and bile rise to my throat.
Sorrow battered against it. A vicious storm that swelled and seethed from the darkest depths.
Why I tortured myself, I didn’t know, but I grabbed my phone and searched his name.
Frederick Winston.
I knew what I would find. I always did.
His bright, shining smile that gleamed with straight, white teeth.
Salt and pepper hair and an expensive suit.
In every picture, he was shaking hands.
Schmoozing.
The entrepreneur.
The philanthropist, such a good fucking guy donating chunks of his billions.
