Page 33 of Take Care, Taylor
“Because I don’t like Audrey.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I don’t like that she’s so close to you.”
“Stacey…”
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t ‘Stacey’ me. Before this program, she was just a figment of your past that came up in conversations here and there—someone you alluded to whenever we brought up high school memories—but…”
She took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize just how often those figments occurred until I really thought about it. And then the fact that when I helped you move, you refused to let me burn all the letters she ever sent you.”
“And I went through your storage last week, and I don’t see the box anymore. I doubt you got rid of them, or did you?”
Silence.
“I feel like seeing her now has triggered something, and she has a hold on you.”
“She doesn’t.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Like, there’s nothing there?”
“No.”
“Has anything ever been there?”
“No, Stacey.” I shook my head. “She’s never meant anything to me.”
She stared at me long and hard, looking into my eyes as if they held a more reliable answer than my lips.
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” She kissed my cheek, and I leaned over the console to hug her.
I smiled at her and waited for her to pull out of the parking lot before heading inside.
When I hit the lights in the living room, Audrey was glaring at me from the kitchen.
“Why the hell have you been sitting in the dark?” I asked.
“Maybe I’m trying to find the light setting that matches my soul,” she said. “Apparently, that’s what you wrote about me.”
I shut the door, confused.
“‘Shades of midnight,’ right?” She stood up from the chair. “Blood on my hands for crimes you were sent away for? How pretty and fucking dramatic.”
“You went through my shit and read my work?”
“You’re not supposed to write about me,” she said. “We agreed.”
“Would you rather I make something up?” I glared at her. “Surely your essay wasn’t about anyone other than me for that topic, right?”
“There’s a smoker who’s requesting a new roommate,” she said. “I think I’ll be giving her a trade.”
“You’re allergic to cigarette smoke.”
“I was allergic to you, and yet I survived.” She shrugged.
“So, you read my work?”
“Every fucking word.” She narrowed her eyes. “I hope you’re about to say sorry.”
