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My stomach falls into the floor, and I’m suddenly cold and dizzy. This feels like déjà vu, but in the worst way possible. On the paper is a list of names. It’s women in Green Hills. I know this because some of them are my friends. Most of them are single, but not all of them. As if that wasn’t enough, the words ‘sure things for Dirty Thirty’ are scrawled at the top of the list.
“Frankie.”
He makes a sound, like he’s falling asleep, but still heard me.
I stand. “What the fuck is this?”
He glances at me, and his eyes go wide. “Anna, that is not what you think it is.”
“Is it a list of women to fuck for this stupid pledge that you told me you wanted nothing to do with? Cause unless you suddenly have a lot of new single pen pals, then it’s exactly what I think it is.”
“Listen, I can explain it, and it’s not what you think. Annabelle, I swear to you that I want nothing to do with that. Glenn gave it to me, and I was pissed off so I threw it across the room. I didn’t even remember that it was on the floor.”
Rage floods my chest and angry tears come to my eyes. This feels all too familiar. “Fucking Glenn,” I say, throwing the piece of paper at him and stripping off his shirt. “You never could say no to him. That’s why you came back, right? To be with him and Wallace and keep your stupid fucking pledge?”
I’m shoving my dress over my head and grabbing my shoes, looking for my bag, and Frankie is trying to stop me. “Anna, please, listen to me. I love you and this is not what you think.”
I whirl on him. “If it’s not what I think, why didn’t you warn me? Why didn’t you tell me that your asshole friends were still trying to set you up? Why did you hide something from me if you didn’t have anything to hide? Dirty Thirty.” I make a face. “It’s ruining everything all over again. This all feels a little too familiar, Frankie. Or should I call you the Angler?”
I can’t even look at him now, and I run from the room, slamming the door behind me before he has the chance to stop me.
To be honest, I’m not sure how I get home. I guess I walked, since Frankie picked me up at my house, but I don’t remember it. My mind is trapped in a whirlwind of pain and memory. How could I let this happen to me again? I should have seen this coming. When someone shows you who they are, you should believe them. I was too hopeful that something had changed, that all the years I held onto the idea of who Frankie was wouldn’t be completely wasted. So much for that joy I had just an hour ago. It’s been snuffed out like a candle, and even the relief I feel about the money is tempered. Well, at least he did one kind thing before he proved that he’s still an asshole. If anything is for sure, it’s that the money has made him believe that he can do anything he wants. Including sweeping into my life a second time and leaving wreckage in his wake.
And I fucking let him do it.
Wandering into my house in a daze, I check my cellphone and see a message from Margie, reminding me that I’m playing tomorrow at the café. It’s an afternoon show. I completely forgot about it, and right now, it feels like the last thing in the world that I want to care about. But I made a promise, and I’m going to do it.
I grab my guitar and my music and start sorting through my songs. I think I’m doing three or four, but it takes me flipping through the music three times to realize that I’m not seeing it. I’m staring blankly, thinking about the look on Frankie’s face, the devastation there.
It matches the devastation that I’m feeling inside. That same anger flies to the surface again. He doesn’t have a right to be devastated. He did this. To me. Twice. But he looked as gutted as I feel, and that is what I feel. Like my guts are lying on the floor, and I’ve got nothing left.
Flipping through to the next song, I spot the ring on my finger, and everything in me collapses. I forgot that I was wearing it, this perfect example of how well he knows me. Just hours ago Frankie asked me to marry him, and with everything in me, I thought that he meant it.
How could this have happened?
I drop the music to the floor and let myself cry.
8
Frankie
My head is pounding when I wake up, and when I roll over and feel the crunch of paper on my skin, the dread sinks into me that none of that was a dream. Everything is fucked. I fucked it up again, and I don’t know what to do.
