Sariah had inspired me to get back to myself again. I loved fashion, and looking good helped you feel good, my grandmother always said.
I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let a man be the reason I stopped taking care of myself.
I had on high-waisted pants that cinched in my waist, and the wide legs skimmed over the spiked heeled I was wearing. My cropped tee showed off a fair amount of skin but still looked chic. I wore the necklace my mom got me around my neck, and the leather jacket Swiss gave me was sitting on top of my shoulders. It gave my classic outfit an edge. I had an edge now. It was best to lean into it, I figured.
“The last time I saw you, you’d just got done fucking some other woman,” I told Elden, the memory sharpening that edge of mine. “Don’t think I’ll put up with your bullshit, misogynistic double standards.”
“If a single one of them touched you, they’re dead,” he growled, not even addressing the comment about the other woman. Of course, he wouldn’t. He was entitled to fuck whoever he wanted while I was required to remain pure and unsullied just in case he decided he wanted me again.
I sighed dramatically, hating that I was having such a reaction inwardly, but outwardly, I was very proud of my composure.
“No, they’re not,” I replied flatly. “You don’t get to call me and growl like a fucking caveman, threaten to hurt people for touching me. Because it’s none of your business. I’m none of your business,remember? And I really don’t appreciate you projecting your bullshit views on me. I’m in college. I’m allowed to experiment however much I want and with whoever I want. Kindly lose my number.”
Then I hung up.
My heart thundered in my ears. The urge to immediately call him back was so overwhelming I felt sick. Literally sick.
I almost did it, and maybe I would’ve had Sariah not chosen that moment to walk into my room.
“Bitch, you look great,” she declared, eyes flitting over me. “I need a pair of shoes to go with this outfit.” She gestured to the hot pink, silk shirt she was wearing, unbuttoned to show the lacy bra that was also pink. She wore jeans that were ripped and fit her like a glove. She looked effortlessly glam, expensive and grown up.
“I had my eye on…” she trailed off as she peered into my neatly organized closet. “These!” she held up a pair of pink heels that I’d worn to some charity function or another.
She didn’t ask if she could borrow them, just sat on my bed and slipped them on her feet.
It filled me up, the way in which she made herself at home in here. The way she was completely comfortable with me, acting like we’d been friends our entire lives, like we hadn’t just met earlier today.
There was a connection there, one that I didn’t think I could ever have with a friend. Similar to the connection I felt with Elden, but not in a way that could destroy my world. In a way that made me feel I wasn’t quite as alone as I once was. I instantly felt like I could tell her anything.
“That was just a biker twice my age threatening to kill anyone who laid hands on me, even though he pushed me away after giving me one of the most intense orgasms of my life. That was after he flew to France to beat up the guy who hit me and also got me pregnant. I got an abortion. I feel guilt for not feeling guilty about it. Also, my mother is married to the best friend of the guy who just called. She met him after leaving my father, not telling me that she’d left him or that my father beat her my whole life and almost killed her,” I blurted it all out in one breath.
Sariah, who had been halfway through fastening my heels on her feet when I began, blinked a couple of times with wide eyes.
Oh, fuck. I’d already pushed away the one person I felt connected to here.
“Okay,” she said mildly. “Well, we’re gonna need more booze. A lot of it,” she declared. “And then you’re gonna go into a lot more detail.” She finished fastening the shoe then got up. “Tomorrow, we’ll go and buy a fuck lot of crystals. And sage. Plus shoes.”
She walked over to me and pulled me into a hug.
She smelled of Tom Ford and expensive shampoo.
I sank into the embrace, not realizing that’s exactly what I needed.
“I hadn’t told anyone that,” I whispered into her hair.
She held me at arm’s length, regarding me. “Holy fuck. I have no idea how you haven’t exploded or like, gone deep into a Taylor Swift hole, listening to Red—her version—on repeat,” she slowly shook her head. “You’re very fucking impressive, Violet.”
“I don’t feel it.” Tears built in my eyes. “I feel like a fucking mess.”
“Well, you are,” she agreed with a smile, linking her arm in mine. “But a hot fucking mess. And, honey, everyone’s a mess on the inside. That’s why cocktails were invented. And we’re going to have many.” She winked.
She walked me into the kitchen where we did have many cocktails with our other roommates—who were also here early and who I liked a lot, but I didn’t share my story about Elden with—and I thought, maybe, just maybe, I was going to be okay.
The first few weeks in my new house passed in somewhat of a blur. Even though I’d arrived a week before classes technically started, there was a lot of unpacking, organizing, shopping and partying to do.
I’d chosen to load up on classes so I wouldn’t have time to think about things.
Though I wasn’t at all religious, I found myself truly believing that Sariah was a gift from a higher power. It was legitimately impossible to wallow around her.