Page 43 of It’s Me, but Different

“She left? Where?” I insist, raising my voice more than necessary.

“I don't know. But… but she left this.”

Sarah hands me a white envelope with my name written in large letters, and my fingers tremble so much I can barely open it.

The letter is brief, but harsh. Cruel. It's as if she chose each word just to hurt me. And the worst part is I don't understand why.

“Sloane,

Congratulations. Your plan worked perfectly. The naive 20-year-old college student no longer exists, but apparently I'm still stupid enough to fall for your games.

Thanks for reminding me why I don't trust people with money. You've always believed you can buy whatever you want. Even feelings.

Well, surprise. That's not the case anymore. I won't make the same mistake twice. You've made it clear that you have indeed changed, but for the worse. Now you've outdone yourself. You're the most despicable being I've ever met in my entire life.

PS: Give Harper my thanks for the performance. She almost convinced me the job was real. She's right, sometimes the best plans are the ones that seem like perfect coincidences.

Esme”

The world crumbles around me.

I read each line over and over, hoping the letters will magically change and suddenly say something different. Something that won't completely destroy me.

“Your plan worked perfectly.”

What the fuck is she talking about? My breathing becomes shallow, too fast. Air doesn't reach my lungs properly, they struggle to expand, as if someone had placed a concrete slab on my chest.

“The naive 20-year-old college student no longer exists.”

My hands shake so much I grip the letter tightly. The paper crinkles between my fingers. Plan? What plan? She said she loved me. She said the decision to stay was practically made. Her hands on my skin, the whispers in my ear, the way she looked at me after making love.

All lies?

“Thanks for reminding me why I don't trust people with money.”

I don't understand anything. This is all fucking crazy. A sharp buzzing pierces my ears. The reception area starts spinning around me like a crazed merry-go-round. Other guests' voices become a distant murmur. My heart speeds up so much I feel like it's going to shoot out of my chest any second.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

I grip the counter so hard my knuckles hurt. The wood feels like the only solid material I can hold onto while everything moves.

“You've always believed you can buy whatever you want. Even feelings.”

The floor under my feet becomes unstable. It tilts slowly to the left, then to the right, as if the entire hotel were inside a ship in a storm.

“I won't make the same mistake twice.”

The words explode in my mind like bombs. My vision narrows until it becomes a dark tunnel. The edges turn black, advancing toward the center like pouring black ink into a glass of water.

My fingers loosen. I can't feel my hands anymore. I feel nothing, except sharp pain in my chest, as if someone wanted to rip my heart out with their hands.

“PS: Give Harper my thanks for the performance. She almost convinced me the job was real.”

And that last sentence destroys what little is left of me.