Page 106 of This Life and All the Rest
He smiles and gestures to Claire, and I raise a brow.
“Step.”
Claire rolls her eyes but keeps her mouth shut, and my anger flares.
I sent her dozens of frantic emails after being shipped off to England. Dozens.
Apologizing. Begging.Pleadingfor her help to get me in touch with Macon. Sure, we’d been in a fight, but we’d also been best friends for most of our lives. I thought maybe that would afford me a little bit of sympathy.
Or, at the very least, honesty.
But what did she do?
He doesn’t want to talk to you. Take the hint.
He’s doing better now that you’re gone.
She could have told me he was in rehab, but instead, she said what she knew would hurt me.
You’re being pathetic. It’s embarrassing.
The series of events that email triggered flash quickly through my head, each one making me more emotional than the last. Blocking everyone. Changing universities. Moving to London. The depression spiral. The cuts on my thighs. The inability to paint. The fear and the pain. The drugs and alcohol and sex.
The irony is almost too much.
Macon was in rehab getting help, while I was self-destructing.
While I was flunking out of college because I was getting drunk and high and sleeping around, he was getting clean.
And it all could have been avoided if she would have just told me the fucking truth.
I turn slowly and face Claire.
I stare at her until she looks at me. When she finally does, her nostrils flare and her eyebrows pull together.
“What?” she asks, and the pitch of her voice is enough to make me wince.
I don’t look away from her, but I speak to Franco.
“I’m surprised she didn’t try to talk shit about me while she was keeping you company.” I tilt my head to the side and rest my hand on my chin as I watch Claire’s face turn red. “Or did she?”
“Jesus Christ, Capri,” Claire spits. “Of course, I didn’t talk shit about you.”
“No?” I keep my voice calm, almost sweet. “But ruining the things I love brings you so much joy.”
Claire’s jaw drops and she puts her hands on her hips.
“If this is about Eric—”
I laugh loudly, shutting her up. She knows damn well I don’t care about Eric. I didn’t in high school. I don’t now.
“Capri.” Franco places his hand on my arm. “Perhaps we should go get some coffee?”
I don’t acknowledge his comment.
“Lennon,” I say clearly, reciting from memory, “please stop emailing Macon. He doesn’t want to talk to you.”
Claire’s eyes grow wide, and the color drains from her face as I speak. I can feel Franco’s attention on me, but I stay locked on Claire.
