This was a nightmare. And Fei had had this nightmare, many times. The setting had been different in her dream - the house, at night, Fei creeping in after dark, Nate glaring from a chair, empty bottle of scotch in his hand. He never spoke the accusation aloud in the dream, but he didnât have to. Like he didnât have to now. It was in his eyes, like everything else always was.
She wanted to be angry, to yell at him, because at least that would feel normal. But he didnât deserve it, and even if he did, she has no strength for it now. Her heart was pounding, desperately trying to keep her alive, and the rest of her body was a blur because of it. So when she finally spoke, it was almost a whisper.
âI didnât⌠I wasnât trying to use anything against you. I just⌠Iâve been trying, too, Nate. The move, the⌠the fucking bookshelf, thatâs me trying⌠to make something with you. Something real, and strong, because I loved you, and I wanted that for us. I wanted us to be happy, Nate. We were happy, once. I wanted us to try⌠to get back to that.â
Wanted. Loved. Past tense. Whatever pieces of her heart were left intact shattered at the sound of the words from her mouth. Sheâd been trying so hard to hold onto both Lachlan and Nate that sheâd been ripping herself in half, and bringing them down with her. Maybe the only thing left to do now was let go.
He all but shouted the accusation down the hallway, and Fei could see in her peripheral vision the stares from her new coworkers. But she had no room left to care. This dumb job at this stupid pretentious school were the last thing on her mind.
She couldnât take offense to the question. It was fair, and justified, and true. But the way he phrased it, like it was something dirty, made her stomach twist.Â
She felt horrible for cheating on Nate. They fought all the time, but sheâd never wanted to hurt him. Not really. Not in any way that would actually matter. But she had, and she knew that, and it haunted her.
But even with all of that tainting the memory of her night with Lachlan, she knew she couldnât ever bring herself to regret it. It had been perfect, and beautiful, and sheâd never felt so loved. She wasnât fucking Lachlan, she was in love with him. She wanted to say that now, to finally speak it out loud, but it would only make things worse. She was walking the line here of too much truth vs. not enough; one tiny slip and sheâd fall to her death.
So she nodded. She didnât clarify that it was only once. That it was months ago. Because it didnât matter. Sheâd lied, and concealed, and betrayed him, and clarification wouldnât make that hurt less.
Trying desperately not to cry, her voice still broke as she said, âIâm sorry, Nate.â
@nate-blackwood . @lachlan-petersâ
It was hard to hear her over the roaring in his ears, but he did. There was a painful sort of heat in his chest that threatened to crack him open. He felt sick. Looking at her made him feel sick. And thenâ
It was like freshly sharpened bladeâ one he hadnât realized even had the power to cut him. Heâd been stingy with his heart, had thrown up walls around it so that sheâd never have the power heâd given Verity. Verity, who had shredded the fragile muscle with her own bare hands. His heart had been a wasteland when Fei wormed her way into it.Â
He was only seeing now just how deeply her roots had grown.
Her nod had him rearing back as though heâd been slapped. Disgust burned to ash in his mouth and he found himself unable to grasp at a single thought. Things had never been great with Fei, he knew that. Maybe sometimes it was hard to even call it good. But heâd never been unfaithful.Â
âWhy?â He hadnât even realized heâd spoken the question aloud, and wasnât sure that he wanted an answer, anyway. But it circled around in his mind anyway. Why? Why was he not good enough? For his father? For Verity? For Fei? What was it about him that was so easy to write off?Â
His hands balled into fists as he just looked at her, eyes dragging down a woman heâd shared his bed with only hours before. Who now looked like nothing but a stranger. He took a single step forward, eyes locked on hers. Gingerly, he reached out, his jaw clenching as he ran the back of his hand along her cheek. His voice was low, reverent, even as the words he spoke were coated in poison. Dropping his hand back to his side, he said, âI never want to fucking see you again.â @feidavenportâ @lachlan-petersâ
Nate. It was a name heâd cursed from the very first time Fei brought it up. âI met this guy, Nate...â She had said it so casually, full of feigned indifference the way they always talked about the romantic interests that came in and out of their lives. If Lachlan recalled correctly, heâd been two months into seeing a girl named Sarah heâd met at the gym at the time - they didnât made it to a third...
Lachlan never set out to hate Feiâs boyfriends (not that he ever met them,) but the longer they stuck around, it just seemed to usually happen that way. He told himself it came with being Feiâs best friend, from hearing all the annoyances and complaints without witnessing the good to balance it out. He told himself that, but... yeah, he really hated Nate.Â
And Nate was here. In Boston. Presumably also in Salem. And the way he wrapped his arm possessively around Fei... He knew it without even needing to seek confirmation. Fei hadnât moved here for him. Sheâd moved here with Nate. And Lachlanâs name didnât even seem to phase him.Â
He felt sick. He felt like he might literally puke. His stomach twisted and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. The illusion of a world with only him and Fei was shattered, and as the shock wore off, everything around him flooded back in. The cheesy Frank Sinatra music. The garish, gaudy lighting. Distant laughter and worse, the hushed whispers of those closest to him.Â
He had to get out. He had to...Â
He burst out through the front door, gasping in air as he tugged at his tie, breathing like heâd just spent an eternity underwater. It was pointless, though, because what he hadnât realized is heâd walked right back into their orbit - a front row seat to a loverâs quarrel.Â
â...Fei?â He hated how pathetic he sounded, the way the word came out like a desperate plea, one last hope for an explanation.Â