A cool breeze brushed against my skin, creating chills throughout my body. “Are you sleeping with Jeff?” I blurted out.
He was right.
It was her eyes.
They shifted.
They told the stories that her mouth couldn’t speak.
“Oh my goodness,” I said, stumbling backward.
“Stella, wait, I, I mean, I…” Her eyes filled with emotions as her hand flew to her mouth, and she covered it, shaking her head back and forth. “I’m…”
Deep breaths. Shaky body. Guilty body. Guilty friend. Friend. Kelsey. No…
“I’m so sorry, Stella. It was only supposed to be one time. I went to one of his gigs. And then, well, we drank too much,” she confessed, tears streaming down her cheeks as if she were the one who was betrayed. As if she was the one hurting. As if she wanted me to comfort her. “But then, feelings grew, and well… Jeff felt guilty after a while and told us we shouldn’t… and we haven’t! Not since Kevin died, I swear to you, Stella! That’s why I thought dating Damian would put a stop to it, and it did. Jeff and I are over. I promise.”
Promises.
What did a promise mean to her?
“How long?” I breathed out.
“Stella pleas—”
“How long?!” I snapped, feeling rage shoot through me or sadness. Maybe both? Confusion? Anxiety? Hurt? Every feeling that was the opposite of joy raced through my system.
“I… uh, three years.”
Three years.
Three years of holidays together. Three years of celebrating birthdays. Three years of a secret affair behind my back while looking me in the eyes and telling me they loved me.
I took a step backward, and my ankle bent as I missed a step. I tumbled, falling down the five steps of her front porch, hitting the concrete at the bottom with a hard thump, cutting up my hands as they slid across the ground.
“Stella! Are you okay?” Kelsey remarked, rushing toward me. “Your hand is bleeding.” She bent down to help me up, and I shoved her hand away.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me ever again. I’m done with you,” I said, pulling myself up from the ground as my ankle throbbed uncontrollably. I walked off to my car and drove home, wanting nothing more than to be a girl who was not able to feel everything so deeply.
19
Damian
* * *
When Stella left the house, I couldn’t stop wondering about where she’d gone. Instead of sleeping, I ended up going into my home office to work. I had a lot to catch up on, anyway.
I heard her when she came home. I didn’t go check on her because I was certain she wouldn’t have wanted to see me after what I revealed to her. I felt shitty for even telling her what I realized as I hung out with Kelsey. The subtle commentary she made about Jeff here and there made it clear as day. I was a master at learning people, realizing why they were the way they were. Realizing small things that they hadn’t even realized about themselves. Realizing their deep dark secrets before they’d ever spoken on them.
Most people didn’t speak about their darkness. I had a gift at uncovering it.
Connor called me the gravedigger since I was so great at uncovering anything about anyone. Yet, with Kelsey and Jeff, I knew I needed concrete proof of their scandal. I would’ve never broken Stella’s heart if there was a chance I wasn’t right about my beliefs.
So, when Kelsey left her cell phone on the table when we went out to dinner, I grabbed it and checked her text messages to see if there were any from Jeff. Unfortunately, there were hundreds. Pages and pages of conversations, confessions of their affair in detail.
I felt sick reading it.
When Kelsey came back, she hadn’t even known I’d hated her. She hadn’t known that I thought she was the biggest scum on the planet. Anyone who had enough nerve to hurt a woman like Stella was worthless in my mind.
Still, I kept my poker face. I didn’t want her to know what I’d known until I had the opportunity to notify Stella of what I knew.
Clearly, I could’ve announced it in a better way.
Around two in the morning, Stella barged into my office.
“You really think I’m good enough?” she asked with a glass of wine in her grips. Obviously, she’d been a bit intoxicated because sober Stella would’ve never barged in without an invitation. Plus, her question seemed to be extremely random, as if she pulled it out of thin air. But I knew how thoughts worked. She’d probably been overthinking that for hours now.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter why I think you’re good enough. It matters that you think you’re not.”
She sat across from my desk and slouched over in the chair, making herself ridiculously comfortable as she sipped at her wine.
“Why do I think I’m not good enough?” she asked me.