Page 11 of The Fangirl and the Grump

My heart pounds against my ribs as I watch Madison shoot a death glare in Sloan’s direction. My breaths are coming faster and faster, the fight for oxygen real as the walls close in on me.

“Madison?” I huff out.

She won’t even look at me. She continues to snarl at Sloan likeshe’sthe one in the wrong, here. I look over at Sloan, who’s staring right back at Madison with a sadistic smile, then at Pressley, who’s shoulders are shaking as she cries in earnest.

“You both knew?” I ask when I finally find my voice again.

“Madison brags about it all the time. How she keeps him satisfied now that he no longer wants to fuck you,” Sloan says cruelly.

I’ve talked to them––myfriends––many times about my fears and insecurities. That Carter was losing interest in me. That we never had sex anymore, and I feared it was all my fault. Then when he dumped me, I cried on Madison’s mother fucking shoulder about how right I was the whole time.

“Sloan. Stop,” Pressley chokes out.

“Why should I?” Sloan shouts back. “Madison dragged us on this idiotic mission to cheer up Keegan when she’s been fucking her man behind her back for months.”

“You both knew,” I repeat, this time a statement of fact instead of a question.

“Keegan,” Pressley begs, but I hold up a hand to cut her off.

“Get out.”

“Keegan, please,” she tries again.

“Get out!” I scream, stabbing a finger toward the door. “Get your shit and get the fuck out of here. Now.”

Sloan sighs and stands, heading back to her bedroom without a word. Madison stalks out next, still without a single glance in my direction. Pressley hovers, but I give her my back. After several tense beats, she sniffles before I hear her footsteps retreat.

Left alone while they pack, I move on numb feet to the couch and perch on the edge. Staring down at a puddle of spilled vodka on the coffee table, I try to make sense of my chaotic thoughts.

Madison has been sleeping with Carter for months, since long before we broke up. When? Where? In the bed we shared? Inherbed at the apartment I now share with her?

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she did it and is obviously not even the slightest bit remorseful. She’s pissed at Sloan for ratting her out, but that’s the only emotion she showed during that whole scene.

And Sloan? She didn’t give two fucks about how badly the news would hurt me. She just wanted to hurt Madison, and I was collateral damage. Unimportant. Insignificant.

She and Pressley knew what was going on the whole time, and they never said a word to me. They protected Madison. Their reasons for doing so don’t matter.

They betrayed me almost as badly asshedid. I’m through with them. All of them.

I’m not sure how much time passes before they file out of the hallway. I refuse to look up or acknowledge them in any way as they walk past. Madison and Sloan don’t say a word as they drag their suitcases through the front door.

Pressley stops, and when I don’t look up, she whispers, “I’m so sorry, Keegan,” before she, too, walks out, closing the door softly behind her.

I listen as doors slam and an engine starts. Tires squeal as it roars away, then I’m left in complete, solitary silence. My shoulders hunch and shake as the tears start. Within seconds, I’m sobbing. I let myself feel all the heartbreak and betrayal for about five minutes, then I force myself to calm.

What I had with Carter is over and has been for a long time. I refuse to shed another tear over that asshole. Madison and Sloan put on a show of friendship, but I think I knew deep down it was never real or true. Madison let me move in with her out of pity and maybe a little guilt, not because she loves me and wanted me there. Sloan has always held a wall between us, keeping her friendship with all of us superficial, at best. Like she had no one better to hang out with, so we’d do.

Pressley is the ultimate people-pleaser, fearful of anyone being upset or angry with her for any reason. If she’s regretting her decision to keep Madison’s secret now, it’s because she hates that I’m angry, not because she shouldn’t have kept it to begin with.

“Fuck them,” I mutter, grabbing a leftover napkin from the table to blow the snot from my nose. “I don’t need them. Any of them.”

But what am I going to do now? I don’t have anywhere to go. I moved in with Madison because I couldn’t afford a place in Seattle on my own, even before I got fired. And I can’t go back there for obvious reasons.

No home. No job. No friends. No family.

What the fuck am I going to do?

Lifting my gaze, I look around the room. The cozy accoutrements ease my troubled heart and mind, giving me an idea. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I pull up my banking app and check my account. I have some savings. Not a lot, but maybeenough.

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