Page 73 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

And then I didn’t really know what else to do except go home. I had to get the night bus, which some might say was punishment enough.

It wasn’t, though.

Ellery wasn’t at the warehouse. There was just the cold, the dark, and my abandoned wheelie. And Broderick’s glassy, condemning eyes. I took a shower, because I was disgusting. I mean, physically disgusting. But I guess in pretty much all senses.

Sat under the spray, still shivering, feeling beyond wretched. Like I was coming down with the worst cold of my life.

The hot water ran out. Long before I was clean.

So I put on some pj’s, wrapped myself in my duvet, and lay on the sofa, phone within reach in case Ellery called or texted or…or something, trying to sleep and wanting to die of shame.

Ellery was my friend. She’d trusted me. And in one stupid second, I’d destroyed it all.

***

She came home a little after dawn. Sunglasses on. Hood up.

“Ellery.” I flailed out of my huddle. “Ellery, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know that’s not enough, but please believe me I didn’t mean to—”

She strode past me. “I’m just here to get some things.”

“Get some things? Are you…do you need me gone?”

“I need to be gone.” Her bedroom door slammed behind her.

The world lurched as I tried to get off the sofa, and I’m sure I’d have been sick again if there’d been anything left inside me. By the time Ellery reemerged, with a rucksack slung over her shoulder, I was sweaty and trembly again, but at least upright.

“This is your place,” I said. “I should be the one to move out.”

The impenetrable sheen of her glasses reflected only my blotchy, messed-up face. “You don’t have to move out. I’m staying with Innis for a bit.”

“For how long?”

“Until I can fucking stand the sight of you.”

I burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I…don’t know why I…why I…”

“Sex is easy.” She pushed roughly past me. “Sex is boring. You were supposed to be my friend.”

“Iamyour friend,” I wailed.

A pause. Her shoulders tightened. “You only ever wanted him.”

“God. That’s not true.”

“Everyone always wants him.” At last she turned, an oily, mascara-darkened tear slipping down her cheek. “He’s good-looking and brilliant and knows how to be charming. He draws people in. And I’m—”

I opened my mouth to…I don’t know…protest or probably just keep crying.

But she continued before I had a chance. “I’m just a fuck-up.”

“You’re not a fuck-up.”

“Yeah, I am.” She thrust her wrists towards me, with their silver scars. “Even fucked this up, remember. Acting out. Trying to get attention when the drugs weren’t enough.”

I brushed my fingers gently over the marks. “I’ve never believed that.”

“You should. Because I’m a shitty person.” She dragged her arm over her wet face, momentarily dislodging the sunglasses to give me a glimpse of her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “I’m selfish and mean and I’m not…I don’t know…I have no idea how to show it when I care about shit.”