When I grab the mail from the box, I riffle through it, looking for anything from my parents. We haven't spoken in months, but it would be like my mother to send a birthday card. While my father can hold a grudge forever, my mother is warmer.
Trailing Derrick, my boyfriend from college, back to Bellerive after graduation seemed like the right choice at the time. We'd been dating for a year, and I loved him. A lot. Maybe even the kind of love where you get married. He asked me to move here with him after we spent a magical week in Bellerive, living in his parent's guesthouse, and musing about the future. The world was full of possibilities.
Bellerive would be an adventure, right?
Who wouldn't want to live on an island that still has castles, palaces, and a prominent royal family? The green landscapes, open fields of animals and produce, and cities with an almost fantastical essence appealed to me.
In some ways, I fell in love with the country as much as I did Derrick.
Bellerive also happens to be one of the most expensive places to live on the planet, which I didn't fully comprehend at the time.
There's no card from anyone I know let alone my parents. Sometimes choosing the adventure can be pretty isolating. I climb the stairs to the apartment I share with Derrick in the middle of Tucker's Town. His parents own the studio space but make Derrick and I pay full rent. Maybe it's petty of me to think some sort of family discount should be in order, but every month I'm surprised by the exorbitant cost.
We agreed to work for them at their golf club when we moved to the island. So, it's a constant exchange of money. They pay us; we pay rent. Round and round we go, and most months, they barely pay us enough to survive. When Derrick suggested getting our feet wet in the country under his parents' guidance, I didn't expect them to treat us like cheap labor.
Us? Who am I kidding? Me. They treat me like cheap labor.
Any time I've tried to raise the issue with him, he's said we have to 'prove our worth' and 'earn our keep' and someday the whole empire will be ours.
Though, he hasn't made the 'ours' argument in a while.
Since it's my birthday, they let me off my shift early. But that almost didn't happen when a bartender called in sick. Another thing about becoming part of an extended family business—your life is no longer your own.
I'm the pastry chef, but they slot me into other roles in the restaurant when they're short, and I haven't managed to escape the building. In the year since we moved here, I've covered every imaginable position.
Our apartment is a wide-open, high-ceilinged room on the top floor that has incredible views of the marina. And a sky-high rental price tag to match. The only walls are at the back and they box in the bathroom. Our bed lays against the far wall, and it's the first thing anyone sees when they walk in the door. When I suggested to Derrick that we re-arrange the layout so our bed wasn't so in your face, he said he liked having the spot where we'd be fucking so accessible. Seemed romantic at the time.
But Derrick has never been much of a true romantic, so when I slot my key into the lock on our apartment door, I'm hoping he's at least remembered today is my birthday. His parents did. They won't remind him because they believe he's highly organized and very efficient. Neither is true.
The door is hard to open, and I grunt as I push against it. Did he drop his shoes in front of the door again? How many times do I have to tell him they get stuck on the mat and make opening the door impossible?
Music blares from the sound system, so he won't even hear me if I shout for help.
With another concerted effort, I get the door to swing wide enough to slip in. On the floor are a pair of heels I've scuffed by forcing the door.
I tilt my head. Heels? Not my heels.
Then my gaze is drawn to the line of discarded clothes leading to the bed. The trail is familiar—usually one I wake up to after Derrick and I have stumbled home drunk and barely made it in the door before stripping each other naked.
The clothes are a tangle of dress pants, shirts, a skirt, panties...
My heart thumps. Reluctantly, I glance at the bed, and sure enough, Derrick's bare ass is pumping away between some other woman's legs. They're both so focused on getting off, they didn't even hear the door open.
"Harder," the woman moans above the music. "Harder!"
"I'm going to come all over your tits," Derrick cries.
My gut twists, and a sinking sensation settles over me. I could turn around and leave, and they'd probably never know.
Instead, I turn off the device on the kitchen island that's playing the music.
"Happy birthday to me!" I call out. No point in being subtle. It's safe to say Derrick and I are done. I should be gutted, but I'm numb.
Whoever is underneath him screams, and he jumps away from her like she's on fire.
"Rory!" He snags a sheet off the bed and wraps it around his middle, stumbling toward me. As if I haven't been acquainted with what's under the sheet. "You're home early."
I glance behind him and realize it's his ex-girlfriend from high school he's plowing. A lump forms in my throat. She and I couldn't be more different from the color of our hair, hers dark and mine blonde, to the curve of our hips, she has them and I don't. Not to mention our personalities. I'm usually a pleaser, and she is distinctly not.
I have a feeling my pleasing days are over.
How many times have I asked him about her? Every single time he denied what my eyes and heart were telling me. Within months of us moving back to Bellerive, the two of them were like magnets at every bar, social event, and apparently, even in our shared apartment.
"It's my birthday," I say. "As birthday surprises go, this is a new one." I keep my voice light, but inside I'm dying. We've been together for two years—a year in college and a year here. How long has he been screwing her behind my back?
Derrick runs a hand through his short blond hair and glances over his shoulder at Janessa before turning back to me. "We weren't—I didn't—Happy birthday?" He winces.
No apology. No groveling. No regret stamped on his face whatsoever. I don't even bother to drop the mail on the kitchen island before spinning on my heel and racing down the stairs.
"Rory! Wait! We should talk. Come on, babe." Derrick's voice floats along the stairs behind me.
Babe? He has the nerve to call me fucking babe when he was just dick deep in another woman? I toss my purse and the mail on the passenger seat of my compact and roar out of my parking space and down the narrow street.
Where am I going? I have no idea. The only friends I've managed to make are also Derrick's friends or relatives. My life is so intrinsically connected to him that I don't even have anyone to drown my sorrows with.
My parents are back in Canada, but we haven't spoken in almost a year. If I knew for sure my mother would answer the phone, I'd call. Who else could I try? My brother is in the military and notoriously hard to reach. With the time change, the few friends I've kept in contact with over the last year will be sleeping.
The reality that I have no where to go and no one to call settles over me like a weight. What am I doing here in Bellerive? My adventure doesn't seem daring and cool anymore—it's just lonely.
Dusk starts to fall, and I find myself on roads I don't recognize. There's a cliff near here somewhere, isn't there? This is the West Shore Road, isn't it? I don't normally come this way at night. Whenever we venture out of Tucker's Town, Derrick drives.
One of the notorious Bellerivian fog patches rolls across the road in front of me, a wall of white. The fog is dense and thick, and I can barely see the front end of my compact car. Worse than a whiteout in a snowstorm.
My heart thumps so hard in my chest it's all I can hear. If I stop in the middle of the road, I could get plowed into from behind. If I keep going, I could end up tumbling over the cliff.
I scramble for my phone in my purse with one hand, and I grip the steering wheel with the other. A sweat breaks out across my palms. How many times did Derrick warn me about this road at night?
The thought of Derrick brings a flash of him and Janessa in bed together. A sob lodges in my throat. What am I going to do? I can't go back to the apartment.
I have nowhere else to go.
The bang hits my ears at the same instant the car is propelled forward, a violent surge.
I cry out and clench the steering wheel, but it's no use. My seat snaps, and I fly back. The car is spinning, and spinning, and spinning, until there's nothing but darkness.
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