Who You Are

Chapter 4

My hair was as smooth as it was going to get, and my makeup was applied impeccably, as always, with the added pop of a red lip. And a quick adjustment of my top ensured maximum cleavage.

If I was going to do this, I was going to do it with a red lip and maximum cleavage. Even if it was a little much for a 9 a.m. stroll to grab coffee.

Maddie poked her head into my room, giving me a quick once-over before her smile widened. "Now that's what I'm talking about." She pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside.

"You think?" All at once, I felt self-conscious.

"Absolutely." She crossed her arms, her smile proud. "He's not gonna know what hit him."

I took a deep breath, checking the mirror one last time. It wasn't like me to feel this way—so off-center. So unsure of myself. And a stab of hatred flashed through me like lightning, inflicting devastation that did nothing but further shatter my confidence. I pressed my hands to my ribs, abruptly hyper-aware of my tight shirt, and the way it felt like it was keeping them from fully expanding with each breath.

Maddie came up behind me, and I met her eye through the mirror.

"Do you know what you're going to say?"

"No."

He'd texted me the other day. Finally. But only to ask if I'd be coming over later. Not to apologize. Not to check in. As if the blowout fight we'd had where I'd stormed out of his apartment hadn't actually happened. As if nothing needed to be addressed.

So, of course I'd responded that I wouldn't be coming over, which prompted him to ask if I was still mad, which prompted me to call his ass and ask him what the hell was wrong with him. Which, of course, led to another fight that, ultimately, had left me in tears.

Again.

"Nothing happened," he'd insisted. "She's just a friend."

He'd said it over and over again over several phone calls this week, and maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe nothing more than those texts had happened.

Or maybe my heart wanted to believe him. Maybe it wanted to believe him so badly that it had started to soften with each of his assurances—to tear down the walls I'd quickly, desperately, erected around it when I'd first laid eyes on those texts.

He softened when I did. Apologizing as sincerely as I'd ever heard him. Gentler with me than he'd ever been. Which wasn't how I wanted our relationship to be. I wanted us to be upfront and honest, even if it was going to hurt. And I'd thought that we were until all this. So, I'd emphasized the fact that speaking like that with a "friend", who was clearly flirting, wasn't appropriate when you're already with someone, to which he'd finally, finally agreed.

And for which he apologized. Again. But I didn't like that I'd had to work so hard to get that apology. He'd known I was upset for days, and rather than face the conflict head on, he'd ducked. Shied away. Avoided me completely, hoping I'd forget and let the whole thing blow over.

"He promised me he'd stop texting her," I said now, smoothing my hands over my shirt, waiting until I felt like I could breathe normally again.

"That's good," Maddie said, carefully. Like each word might go falling off the edge of a cliff.

Something inside me hardened. Braced itself.

I spun around. Grabbed my shoes. "I better get going."

She followed me into the living room, where the morning sunshine streamed into our apartment. And where Mark sat, hair wet from a shower, black framed glasses on the bridge of his nose, already at work on his laptop. His attention shifted to us as we walked in, then back to his laptop.