Chapter 18

Hugo wasn’t really there. I just keep telling myself that. I drank too much. I was hysterical and seeing things that weren’t there.

Still, he lurks behind my eyes while I try to sleep, holding me down under the water.

When I wake up, Murph is gone. Part of me likes the idea of staying in bed, sleeping away this ache, and trying to forget the whole thing, but Ruby needs my help. Of course, she wants to clean up after the party herself instead of hiring someone to do it. I wish she would just relax for once.

Murph isn’t there when I walk out to the living room. I look for him in the garage and on the patio, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“He went to the shop,” Ryder says when he sees me looking. His expression is cautious, like he’s worried I might break at any moment.

Instead of moping about it, I just busy myself with the clean-up. For most of the morning, we’re mopping, taking out trash, and organizing things back into storage. We still have so much dessert leftover from the party. I figure I can take it to Murph’s friends.

“Lucy, you want to go for a ride with me?” She smiles up at me from the couch where she’s been sitting all day with Ryder’s tablet. We could both use a break from the house. And I need to get out of my head.

All morning, I couldn’t stop replaying the fight from last night and Murph’s words from the party.

She kept you around so I’d have someone to fuck when I came home.

I’ve never been so angry at someone before. It was different with Hugo. I wasn’t angry at him. I hated him and feared him. It’s different. I care about Murph, and I was hurt, so the anger I felt when he crawled into my bed came from somewhere deep, where the pain was tucked away.

But he said he was sorry, and I meant it when I told him I hate those two words. How many times did Hugo crawl into bed, whispering his apologies? Not once did he ever mean it or deserve it. Not once.

Hearing Murph say it made my skin crawl. I wanted him to be sorry. I believed he was, but I’m tired of empty words. I want rich words. Words from love or hate or grief. Anything as long as they’re real.

“Thanks for taking her,” Ryder calls from the garage. He’s been rearranging out there all morning, and I assume he’ll be busy at it all day. He looks like he needs a distraction as much as I do.