“Rayne…”
I walked away, pissed I’d even wasted an afternoon beating up my body when I had so much other shit to do. Work was piling up on my desk, I had a paper to finish for school, and Elara had a doctor’s appointment in a few hours.
When I got to the locker room, I shoved my bag on the bench and looked for my keys. The fact that my vision was blurring with unshed tears was a total inconvenience. When I found them at the bottom of my purse I turned and came face to face with Elle.
“Jabberwocky!”
“Rayne, you can’t get mad at me for living my life.”
“No one said you can’t live your life, Elle. I just thought I was a part of it.”
I refused to cry in front of her, which was weird because this was Elle. But Elle no longer felt like Elle. She no longer felt safe. On the contrary, she made me feel very unsure and confused. She felt like a stranger I couldn’t trust. A stranger who assumed I had less than her best interest at heart. A stranger who just hurt my feelings by calling me nosey when I was only concerned and trying to take an interest in her personal life.
So I lied, “It’s fine.”
“It’s not. You’re upset. I shouldn’t have said it that way. Please don’t be mad at me.”
Said it that way? What the hell did that mean? What was she trying to say? Butt out?
As her supposed best friend I no longer understood my place. “Being concerned does not make me nosey.”
“Well, sometimes your concern feels like judgement.”
“How could you say that? I’ve always supported your choices.”
“You overthink everything, Rayne. Sometimes I don’t feel like having my life under a microscope. Of all people, you should know what that’s like.”
“Are you comparing me to the paparazzi?” I wasn’t sure if there was a lower insult.
Just that morning the tabloids had published another picture of me and Hale. This time they zoomed in and circled my double chin in red so no one missed the fact that I had flaws.
“I’m just saying I’m allowed to make my own choices without justifying myself to you. You’re not my mother.”
In no way did I want to play that role. I wasn’t even the responsible one.
“Are you kidding me? Elle, I do not try to mother you.”
“Well, I don’t need you to take care of me.”
I scoffed. “No shit, but you were in an accident. I was there when they were going to put you in assisted living. I moved home to make sure that didn’t happen. I saw to your bills, watered your house plants, and made sure you didn’t lose your home.”
“And now that’s over. Can we please move on?”
My jaw dropped. I was stunned by how easily she could minimize what had been one of the most traumatic events of my life. I thought she was going to die. I had never been so terrified.
“Maybe you’re over it, but for someone who consciously watched it happen I need a little more time.” It hadn’t even been a year and she still struggled with cognitive issues from the crash. “It feels like you’re punishing me for caring and dismissing everything I did to help you.”
“See, you’re too dramatic?—”
“I left my job to take care of you, Elle!”
“Your job working for Hale’s dad.”
I scoffed. “Fuck. Off.” I could not believe she would diminish what I sacrificed by acting like it wasn’t a real job.
That time had been incredibly difficult for me. Yes, it happened to her, but it deeply affected me, and she made me feel selfish for being so impacted by the thought of losing her. I’d never felt so helpless or worried. Sometimes I still had nightmares that she was back in a coma.
I feared, not only losing my closest friend, but that Hale and I might not survive the distance or what the crippling anxiety was doing to me. We were new and fragile, but Elle needed someone to watch over her and see that she got the best care. So I left Florida and flew back to Oregon to sit by her side, day after day, night after night—for her. I risked losing everything to watch over her when she had no one, and that took a toll.