Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I can’t do it. Even at my lowest, I can’t.
I’m miserable. Stupid and miserable. And a little drunk. I probably shouldn’t have had three glasses of wine. As I wallow in my misery, my phone rings. Cait’s face pops up on the screen, looking radiant and angelic. “Hi, girl!” she says. In the background, trees bend and blow in a slight breeze. I swear I hear mandolin music plucking nearby like a bluegrass band follows her around serenading her beauty. God, I love this girl, but I am in a sour mood.
“Hey, girl,” I say, trying to smile, suddenly mortified of my homeless status and wishing I hadn’t downed that wine. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know.” She grins and pans the camera across a gorgeous field with a stream cutting through it, bushes dancing as the wind blows, the sun glowing golden behind fluffy white clouds. A dog runs through, sniffing at some grass. “Living the dream.”
“Ah, yes, the dream.” I sigh and stretch. “For me, still very much a dream.”
“How’s it going with you?”
“I’m currently in a really nice hotel courtesy of Mr. Alpha-Bosshole, so that’s cool. Otherwise—”
“Shit, Rex! Sorry, hold on, my dog’s trying to kill a squirrel. Rex! Stop it!” The camera goes crazy as she runs over. There’s a short scuffle that ends with Rex on his back getting belly rubs. “Sorry, okay, what were you saying? Your boss bought you a hotel?”
“Just a room. For the night.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to cry. That last phrase, for the night, triggered some serious anxiety. Watching Cait pet her adorable black Lab in her beautiful field, living the dream, is not helping at all with this pit of dread deep in my guts.
I can’t blame her, but it’s an ugly reminder that people my age have their shit together.
While I decidedly do not.
“That’s pretty awesome,” she says, and her face comes back into view. “Getting some luxury time in? Hey, by the way, did you see the update Scott posted this morning?”
I sit up straighter. “Scott? As in my ex?”
“The one and only.” She grins into the camera, squinting slightly against the sun. “He’s engaged. Can you believe that? He tricked some girl into marrying him.”
“Scott’s… engaged?” I stare as Cait laughs, shaking her head like it’s the most hilarious thing in the world.
She never liked Scott, so to her it’s probably an enormous joke.
While internally I think I might crack in half.
Scott and I dated for about eight months Sophomore year of college. It was my first and only serious relationship. He was my second kiss, my first time in bed, and I thought we had something real.
At least until he dumped me the night before he left to study abroad in Rome.
It killed me at the time. Like seriously, wrecked me. It took lots of late-night chats, lots of wine, lots of frat parties before I finally started getting over him. Now, it’s been a while since I last thought about Dickhead Scott, but the idea of him, that stupid prick, getting married before me, honestly makes me feel like the biggest loser in the world.
My apartment burned down. I nearly got murdered by some vindictive, paranoid mobsters. My car got crushed. My boss wants to marry me. Fake marry me. Whatever. My parents are swinging away in Florida. My life is a total shitshow, an absolute wreck, and now, on top of it all, Cait tells me that my ex-boyfriend is engaged.
I want to vomit all over the bed.
“Sweetie? Hon? You there? Did you freeze or did this news about Scott hit you harder than I thought it would?” She looks concerned. “I thought it would be funny. I thought we could laugh about it, but maybe—”
I shake myself alive. “I’m fine! Totally fine!” My voice pitches up about ten octaves.
“Oh, no. Fuck. Fiona—”
“It’s fine! Really fine!” I can practically hear the fake exclamation points.
“You’re doing that up-talk thing again. I know you’re not taking it well. Fuck, I shouldn’t have said anything, why did I say something? I thought you’d think it was funny and maybe we could talk some shit, maybe it would go down easier coming from me—”
“No, really, it’s fine.” I force myself to talk like a normal human being. “I’m just having a hard time right now. A really freaking hard time.” I want to tell her about the fire. About Gareth and the gangsters. About his offer.
But I can’t. For one, talking about mobsters with anyone else is basically the dumbest thing imaginable. More than that, Cait’s world is so small and lovely, I don’t remember the last time she struggled. I love her to pieces, I really do, and all this internal struggle is just ugly, petty jealousy on my part, but I feel like such a loser. Like such a piece of garbage.