The Fixed Trilogy: Forever With You(91)

Once inside her place, Liesl tucked me into her bed with a glass of straight tequila. Though she had a futon in her living room, she stayed with me all night. She spooned behind me, and when I woke up from the little bouts of sleep I managed to get, her warm presence calmed my screams to sobs. I hadn’t grieved and mourned that much since the death of my parents. Even then, I hadn’t known the level of betrayal that I felt now.

That was the worst part of it, the betrayal. If I’d heard the story earlier from Hudson, at a point in our relationship where I hadn’t put everything on the line, then I may have been able to survive it. I’d still have left him—I couldn’t possibly be with him after that—but it would have been so much easier to survive. Leaving it as long as he did, especially when we’d talked at end about honesty and transparency—that was the ultimate betrayal. That was the deepest cut.

But the loss of the man I loved so desperately came as a close second.

The first two days were a blur. Liesl cooked for me and forced food down my throat. She listened to my story as I told it, in spurts, piecing it together as best she could, again without pressing. Throughout it all, she refilled my glass any time I asked. In a rare moment where I managed to focus on something other than my heartache, it occurred to me to wonder if that was why my father had spent his life drinking—had he been trying to block out some sort of pain? What had hurt him? Wasn’t it sad that I’d never know?

The rest of my thoughts were mismatches of memories and realizations. Sweet recollections turned sour with the new information layered on top. I relived every conversation that I’d had with Hudson a dozen times. Sometimes all I could do was cry. At other moments, I became angry. I broke more than one glass throwing it in rage.

Once even, I considered taking a broken piece and slitting it across my skin. Maybe not too deep.

Or maybe exactly too deep.

Thankfully Liesl was there to clean up the fragments before I managed to steal any away. Besides, I didn’t really want to end things—I just wanted to end the pain.

Eventually, I began trying to piece things together. Tried to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. Imagined how and where Celia had fit into my relationship with Hudson. Like the way he’d condoned my jealousies, the way he supported my snooping. Encourage her obsession, I imagined Celia saying. Don’t get mad or upset if she shows any of her crazy traits.

And the way she knew to throw his pet name in my face. Had that been her idea as well? Give her a pet name. Something like angel or precious.

I remembered Sophia’s birthday—Hudson had spoken with Celia then, and when we came home he’d been distant. Had she reminded him of the game then? What he was really supposed to be doing with me?

To his credit, Hudson hadn’t lied. His exact words came back to me with full force: “I will be saying and doing things—romantic things, perhaps—that are not genuine. I need you to remember that. Out of the public eye, I will seduce you. That will be genuine, but it can never be misconstrued as love.”

When had that changed? When had his false romancing become true? Had it ever? Was he at this very moment celebrating with his partner in crime—toasting to the complete and utter destruction of my soul?

That was the crux of my heartache—I’d never know. There was nothing to hold on to with fondness because the authenticity of every moment we’d spent together was up for debate. I couldn’t believe anything he’d said or did. He’d so expertly administered his manipulation it was impossible to see the real story underneath the formulated one.

That plain and utter truth was what kept me refilling my glass.

By Tuesday night, I sobered up enough to acknowledge some of my responsibilities. I propped myself against the headboard of Liesl’s bed and called her from the kitchen into her room. “The club…” I started to say.

She leaned her head against the doorframe. “I already called in sick for you.”

God, she was amazing.

She’d told the truth. I could barely get out of bed, let alone leave the apartment. And I’d cried so hard that I’d thrown up more than once. That had to count as sick.

Knowing that burden was off my plate, I considered resuming my drinking and sleeping. But as I scratched an itch at the top of my head, I discovered my hair was matted and dirty—I really needed a shower. And a change of clothes. Did I care? Yeah, I kind of did. That was progress, right?

But I had nothing of mine at Liesl’s apartment. “Do you have something I can wear if I take a shower?”

She nodded encouragingly. “Anything in my closet’s yours.” Cleaning up would be as much to her benefit as mine. I smelled pretty rank.

The shower hurt as much as it helped. Though it made me feel better, it cleared my mind enough to worry about the future. Where was I going to live? Where was I going to work? Could I go back to The Sky Launch? I’d had the club before Hudson had come into my life—I didn’t want to give that up. But even if he let me work there, could I be there anymore?

Maybe. Maybe not.

First things first. I couldn’t stay holed up in Liesl’s room. I moved to the futon that night.

“My bed is yours, babe,” she said as I pulled the mattress into a prone position.

It was tempting to take her up on that. But I stayed surprisingly strong. “I already feel bad about overtaking your place. Besides, I need to start trying to function a little bit on my own. Even if that only means being in my own bed.”