But please . . . not her.
Anyone but her.
Its 11 p.m. on Thursday night and I sit alone in the darkness.
I type:
Dear Ed,
How are you? I’m sorry, I only just saw your message from last week. I’ve been really busy.
We haven’t spoken in a long time, just checking to see if you’re okay.
Pinkie.
ox
I haven’t spoken to Ed since Elliot and I had words last Tuesday. He messaged me that night and I haven’t got back to him.
What would be the point? It would only make me feel more crap than I already do.
I mean, how much could I actually mean to him if he’s chasing a conversation with Pinkie, and yet being an asshole to me, the actual woman who he’s sleeping with?
It’s blatantly clear that I am last on Elliot Miles’s list, and I can’t pretend it doesn’t sting, because it does. More than it should. I knew the rules of this game before I started playing and yet stupidly, I jumped in anyway.
Hindsight, what a slap in the face you are.
This week has been taxing. I’m stressed out and being haunted by the prospect of getting an invite to my evil sister’s wedding to my dream man.
I mean, he isn’t really my dream man, but . . . he was mine first and this is my fantasy, bitch.
Back off.
Elanor told Brad that she had things underway with Elliot—what does that even mean? Is that code for she’s hooked up with him already in the past?
My stomach rolls at the thought.
Please no.
I see the dots, and my heart skips a beat. He’s replying.
Hi Pinkie,
I missed you.
All good here, nothing new to report. How is everything at your end?
How is your romance going?
Ed.
I exhale heavily. I can’t even tell him the truth, I can’t even let on who I am. I’m too deep in this lie now, but I guess there’s no reason to fess up right now, he’s not going to be seeing Kate in the future anyway. This isn’t good for me though and I do need to cut off from him completely, this can’t go on. I don’t want to hear about his future conquests . . . or fucking Elanor.
Ugh, kill me now . . . Imagine?
I lie.
Romance is great, he’s perfect.
I go to hit send and then I pause . . . and add: How’s Kate?
I hold my breath as I wait for his reply. I know it’s going to be hurtful.
That was a stupid thing to ask.
Kate and I are over.
I close my eyes in regret and I type:
Why, what happened?
I was too attached to her.
I sit up in shock. What?
My heart beats hard in my chest.
What makes you say that?
On the first day back at work I hadn’t seen her for twenty-four hours and I missed her.
I didn’t like it.
My eyes widen . . . what the fuck?
Did you tell her?
No, I was angry that she had me like this after a week so I snapped at her . . . two days running, and I haven’t heard from her since.