Outside the Lines(70)

No, Mindy is perfect on the outside. Perfect hair, perfect skin. Her nails are always polished and not chipping. She’d never wear miss-matched socks or forget deodorant or have frizzy hair when it rains or even when it doesn’t.

She might not be a nice person, but can’t tell by looking at her.

And my Ben—my sweet, wonderful, passionate Ben, who I’m pretty sure I’m fucking in love with—dated her. But it’s more than that. He dated the type of woman that I hate. The type that brings others down to make herself feel better, who doesn’t give a shit about what’s right or wrong as long as it benefits her.

Suddenly I’m a teenager again watching Mindy shove her tongue down the throat of my crush.

“Hey,” he says. “Come on.” He nudges my arm. “Let it go.”

“I need time to process this, to process that you literally slept with the enemy.”

“I thought you said you were over that.”

“I am! But still … she’s fucking married and has a kid! You slept with a married woman!”

“She’s getting a divorce, and she doesn’t have any kids I’m aware of, just a niece. She told me they were separated at the time and not living together. I believed her and didn’t check into the facts. I never would have hooked up with her if I knew she was still living with her husband, I promise. I’m not like that. And it wasn’t anything serious. Just a fling that meant nothing to me.”

A fling with Mindy fucking Abraham is right up there with a lunch date with Hitler. It’s nothing to be taken lightly. He puts his hand on my arm and I flinch away.

“Felicity, don’t be stupid.”

A nerve is struck and my anger and self-doubt boil over, bubbling together into a deadly combination that sends me into rage mode. “I’m not being stupid! I guess I just finally see this.”

“See what?”

“What this is, who I am to you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“This!”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “You’re not making sense. Calm down and let’s talk about this like adults. If I knew it would cause such an issue, I never would have brought it up.”

“Well, I’m glad you did because now I know the truth on where we stand.” I must be a fling too. Nothing serious. Maybe I mean nothing to him too. The thought breaks my heart and instead of feeling sad, I’m pissed. The anger will fade and the hurt will be setting in, but not yet. I’m mad now. I need to hold onto that anger while I can to protect myself.

No, I don’t think rationally when I’m in an emotional crisis like this. “It makes sense now. You never took me to one of your fancy art shows. You’re still seeing other people, bringing them to your house … I saw the women’s shoes there, by the way … and I can’t—” my voice breaks with emotion and my mind continues to whirl.

“Maybe it’s my fault and I gave you the wrong impression because I slept with you on the first date. I don’t do that. It’s not who I am, but there was something special about you, something I couldn’t ignore and you made me get carried away. It meant something to me, but I guess it meant nothing to you.”

I stand and turn around, wiping away tears before Ben can see. Push him away before he pushes me. It’s a subconscious defense mechanism and if I calmed down, I’d realize what I’m doing.

But I don’t. I can’t. Ben means too much to me that logic isn’t going to apply right now.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. My heart pounds in my ears and each second that goes by makes me realize that my words are true. If they weren’t, he’d protest, tell me I’m wrong, say he was sorry for messing with my head. The silence is killing me, and my mouth opens despite my better reasoning, saying I should shut the hell up because I say things out of anger than I regret later. I know I do. Always have, always will.

“Then the office booty call … The signs were in front of me. But I guess that’s how you are with everyone, right?”

Still, all I get is silence from him.

“If I mean so little, then just go. Call up one of the other girls you’re seeing or even Mindy.”

I get nothing. Come on, Ben. At least be angry. Shout, yell. Tell me I’m right and that you don’t care. Tell me I’m wrong and I’m stupid.

Just.

Say.

Something.

“That’s what you think of me?” he finally says and his voice is broken.

“Yeah. It’s obvious now.”

He sharply inhales. “Felicity, that—no,” he cuts off, shaking his head. “I thought you were different, but I guess I was wrong. I should go.”