Page 25 of Bombshell

I’m not sure other people are built like me. I have a place I go to, far on the other side of Drunk Sterling. Somewhere there is no pain, no sadness, and no regret. When I go there, I make rules for my brain to follow—rules that keep the pain away. When I was little, it would be stuff like: No food for Sterling until Sutton eats. Or, later: No lying to Francie. It always works. I have no idea how, or why. It just does.

I make one now, in two parts: I will ruin Angus MacLaine, and I will never burden Francie again.

“Francie, I just needed to hear your voice,” I admit to her. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“You just wanted to feel home?” she offers.

“Yeah, I think that’s it.”

“I’m glad you called, Sterling. I like to give you your space. I know you need it, but it’s still nice.” From Francie, this is almost sappy. Neither of us is comfortable implying we need the other, let alone saying it.

Which is what makes this even harder.

“I don’t think I ever properly thanked you,” I begin.

“You’ve thanked me. And even if you hadn’t—I always knew.” Francie’s voice is warm and light. Will she look back on this moment and remember it with darkness?

“It’s just—I’m not easy to love sometimes.”

There. She’ll probably think I’m referring to problems with Adair. But if she looks back…

“Ha!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“You are so easy to love. Just...hard to understand.”

“Right,” I’m not sure how to answer, and it feels like we’ve done enough sentimentality, anyway. “Listen, I have class…”

“Alright. Scoot. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I end the call, considering what to do with my new rule. Ruining Angus MacLaine will take years, no delusions there. But what can I do to keep myself from being a burden on Francie?

For starters, no moving back to New York. No trying to figure out how to scrape together enough money for community college. No service or fast food jobs. They’re a treadmill, not a road to where I want to go.

It hits me. There’s one place I can go. One place that won’t mind someone who likes to solve problems with brute force. One place that will pay for college. Assuming I live through it.

I hear Cyrus’s keys jangling outside the door, and when he comes in, he takes a look at the empty bottles strewn around the room, my three-day stubble, and gives a disgusted sigh.

Am I really that repulsive?

“Sterling, I know things are shit right now, but would it kill you to spend five minutes every day cleaning up after yourself?”

“It’s nice to see you, too.”

It’s not really his fault, but Cyrus is now my most frequent reminder of worthless, moneyed Valmont. And the one thing that made it important for us to get along—sharing a living arrangement—is going away. Not that Cyrus knows it yet.

“Fine. How are you? You look like shit.”

“Not great. Did you hear anything from Poppy?” I can practically feel my interest in talking to Adair burn away. I can’t imagine trying to carry out a long-distance relationship with a girl whose family represents the ongoing destruction of my life.

“Not what you want to hear, man. Adair isn’t interested in meeting. Sorry.”

That’s one sign that’s clear as day. Adair and I are over. Cy and Poppy keep saying to give it time, but what’s going to change between now and whenever Adair decides she’s up for seeing me? How long am I supposed to wait? Still, it will make half of my new rule that much easier. If Adair decided her life would be better with her family calling the shots, it’ll make it that much sweeter when she sees how wrong she is someday.

“I do have stuff for you, though,” Cyrus continues. He tosses a stack of envelopes, probably from our mail cubby in the dorm office, onto my desk.