Chapter 3

As I reached the door, Julian returned.

He leaned against the hood of his car, a cigarette butt dangling from his lips, and a swollen handprint marred his cheek.

I ignored him, dragging my suitcase forward.

"I'm sorry." Julian grabbed me. "Don't go."

His hands clamped around my waist like iron vises, tight and painful. He buried his head in the nape of my neck, as if trying to merge his entire body into mine.

"I'll reschedule the wedding. Everything will be exactly as you..."

I cut him off. "No."

Julian spun me around, and then I saw his eyes, brimming with tears.

They held a desolate, hopeless sadness.

"She's completely abandoned me, Rory. What am I going to do?"

"She promised me we'd spend our lives together..."

He rambled on about his past with that woman.

I was forced to listen, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face.

"Stop it! I don't want to know!"

Julian cried too.

It was the first time I'd ever seen him cry, and the first time I realized that woman was the very meaning of his existence.

"Rory, stay with me. It doesn't matter if you're the real thing or a fake. I'll still love you."

I stopped struggling.

My heart was pierced by countless tiny thorns, a throbbing agony that made my limbs numb and my vision swim with every move.

It was, quite possibly, the most disgusting thing I'd ever heard in my life.

"Fine, I won't leave..." I choked back the nausea. "Just let go of me first."

We went back to how we always were.

He cooked for me, massaged me, and emptied my online shopping carts promptly every night.

Playing the dutiful girlfriend, I offered him a glass of milk. "Drink this, and then we can go to bed."

Julian took the glass, stared at the milk for a long moment, then emptied it.

As soon as he lost consciousness, I fled the villa.

Late autumn. A strong wind whipped fallen leaves into a frenzied dance, blinding me.

I found a random food truck and sat down.

"A case of beer, please."

In the dead of night, the suppressed emotions came back to haunt me.

What had these six years even meant? Had Julian ever had a moment of true feeling for me? I couldn't even begin to guess.

I drank until I vomited, then drank again, until I couldn't force down another drop.

All my memories seemed to be purged with every heave, leaving me hollow.

Only muscle memory remained.

My fingers, beyond my control, habitually pressed that speed-dial button.

"Beep—beep—"

No answer.

I tapped my phone, muttering, "That's weird, is it broken?"

One call after another.

"Julian, I feel so awful..."

"Julian, why aren't you coming to get me...?"

I don't know how long I waited. A pair of heels stopped in front of me. A woman crouched down.

"You're... Rory Hayes?"

"The sun's almost up. What are you doing sleeping in a ditch?"

Her gaze fell on my bleeding wrist, and a flicker of pity, and a hint of guilt, crossed her face.

I only vaguely registered that her face looked a lot like mine.

I immediately lost consciousness.