♫ You are insane, my desire
A violent daydream, love, love
You are crazy, a perfect liar
Said you'd save me, love, love ♪
(30 Seconds to Mars ft. Halsey—Love Is Madness)
Coralie woke the next day groggy and nauseous as if she'd had fifteen shots of Fireball, coupled with several glasses of cheap Cabernet.
Flurries of disturbing dreams lingered in her mind—visions of Michael on her laptop screen, touching himself at her behest, his features blurring until they morphed into Ryan's. Then images of herself sipping from a fluorescent cocktail at an upper-scale rooftop bar, spinning around to witness Ryan walking up to her. But when he spun her back to the bar, she faced the bartender, who was none other than Michael.
"Fuck," she said, ripping her phone from the charger as she got up. "Why must my mind be so messed up?"
A half-dressed Delilah scurried past her, a toothbrush dangling from her mouth. "Oh crap, did I wake you?"
Yawning, Coralie shook her head. "My stupid overactive imagination woke me." She glanced at her phone, noticing no new Facebook messages, no YouTube notifications, no missed calls. "I hate it."
Delilah muttered something from the bathroom, then waltzed over to repeat it without toothpaste on her tongue.
"Ryan? Or Michael?"
Wishing the horrible dreams out of her system, Coralie squeezed out of the room and beamed at the freshly made coffee scent that breezed into her nostrils.
"Both. And it didn't help that I had a session with Michael yesterday, before work."
"You need to see Ryan," said Delilah, zipping up the side of her charcoal-colored skirt. The fabric glided up her waist and hugged her to perfection as she tucked in her creamy, low-cut blouse. "Get that well-needed closure so you can erase him from your mind."
Coralie scoffed, nearly spilling creamer onto the counter as she poured it into her oversized mug. "How would having drinks with him do that, though? Seeing him is what put me in this messy situation. If I hadn't bumped into him, I wouldn't be picturing him stroking himself while watching me, instead of Michael—"
"—Ew." Delilah snickered as she batted her heavily coated eyelashes. "But like I said yesterday, it was fate that you'd find each other. I think it means something... like you have unfinished business and need to resolve it. He needs to apologize, make it clear he does care for you, but he has a wife and children and has obligations towards them, no matter what. Come on, Cora." She plastered a quick, lipstick kiss on Coralie's cheek as she grabbed her purse from the hook near the fridge. "Do it. Speak to him, hell, yell at him, get it all out. I promise you'll feel better, and you'll realize it's Michael you want to open your heart to. Not Ryan. Call him."
She didn't give Coralie a chance to answer as she slid into her heels, threw on a jacket, and skidded out of the apartment.
Settled on the couch, sipping on coffee and browsing her Netflix for a new show to watch, Coralie jumped when her phone started ringing. On instinct, she cringed, worried it would be Ryan—but to her delight, it was someone she always enjoyed chatting with.
She clicked on the icon to pick up the video-call and smiled. "Bella! Girl, what's up?"
Bella's rosy cheeks and vibrant gray-green eyes lit up as she smiled back.
"Cora, sweetheart," she said, cocking her head and leaning closer to the screen, her English accent pronounced with her I'm a bit upset with you tone. "Did you forget? We were supposed to do a virtual work-out today!"
"Ah."
Gaping down at her pajamas, Coralie wrinkled her nose—she had forgotten. Bella's therapist had advised her to stay active instead of drinking her feelings away, and Coralie had offered for them to find silly routines on YouTube to try together via video-chat. But she'd gotten so distracted by Ryan's reappearance that she'd shoved that important information elsewhere.
"I did, I'm so sorry. But I can go change real quick, if you give me a—"
"—what happened?" Bella set her phone down and sat, resting her arms on the table before her. She'd tossed her auburn curls into a high ponytail and wore a sheer tank top with a golden brassiere underneath. Coralie always admired her fashion sense—like Delilah, she had a knack for putting together outfits that wowed everyone.
"What do you mean?" To hide her flinch, Coralie swigged down a few gulps of java. "Nothing happened. I'm good. I just woke up." She almost chuckled at her response, but such a reaction would only push Bella to nag her more.
Bella didn't need nudging, because she wagged her finger and sneered, unconvinced. "No, I know you. Those bags under your eyes are from lack of sleep, but they're also the kind you get when you're anxious."
Coralie groaned; Bella did know her best, having seen her weep over boys and poor grades and parental disagreements most of her life.
She hadn't told Bella anything about her encounters with Ryan. Bella knew Ryan, as they'd all gone to school together... and the one and only time Coralie had confessed to her that she'd once had feelings for him, Bella had scolded her for days and cautioned her not to be a home-wrecker. Or else.
How would she react if I informed her now, after months have passed, and I already did the deed?
"Come on, Cora." Bella squinted at the screen and pursed her lips. "You can't hide things from me, and I can tell you're trying. Spit it out."
And so, reluctant but remorseful, Coralie dished out the scoop of the century. Ryan had called her, admitted his love for her, and they'd been chatting for months. They'd had racy conversations on Facebook messenger and shown each other body parts they never should have and exchanged words that would bring shame to all their childhood friends. They'd met up not once, but three times, and on two of those occasions they'd had so much sex their limbs were sore for days.
Bella's reaction was not what Coralie had anticipated.
"I mean... anyone could have guessed it would happen, eventually," she said, shrugging as if she'd been watching their life as a TV show, and this was a plot-twist that hadn't shocked her. "I pity Gemma, but there was always some unspoken, surreal bond between you and him."
"Seriously?" Coralie was working on her second cup of coffee, and was jittery, curled up on the couch with a blanket over her legs. "You were pissed when I warned you last year that I'd had fantasies about him."
"Yes, that's true." Bella sighed and slanted into her chair cushions, a slight flush creeping from her chin to her temples. "But to criticize it would be hypocritical, now that I think about it. I've done my share of shit this past year." She blew out her cheeks. "Plus, the sexual tension between you two... it was always so obvious, to be fair."
Coralie almost spit out her beverage. "What?"
"Come on, are you going to keep pretending it wasn't?" Bella plopped what appeared to be a grape into her mouth. "I realize you had no clue, at the time, that you had more-than-friendly feelings for him, but everyone knew he had feelings for you."
"Really?" Coralie set the mug down, her hands trembling too much to stop it from spilling. Ryan had assured her of his emotions and warned her he'd mentioned them to a few of his friends; but for everyone else to notice, that was huge. "No, you're exaggerating."
"I'm not." The connection fizzled for a second, and when Bella came back into focus, her lips were pinched. She scratched her head, releasing a few curly locks of hair. "Even poor Benjamin noticed it. He never said anything, though he once asked me if something had happened between Ryan and you. I assured him that no, but we both sensed Ryan wanted something to happen. We were never sure about you and your feelings, though."
"Great. Fantastic. Well," Coralie adjusted her position, stretching out her aching legs, "that doesn't help me with my current situation. He's here, Bella. In New York. And after everything he did to me, after this total fiasco... he wants me to meet him for drinks."
She expected Bella to scowl and point fingers and reprimand her for even entertaining the idea; but like Delilah, Bella believed in fate.
"Delilah is right, darling. You need closure, and him popping up in New York is a sign. It's just drinks." Bella unfastened her ponytail and braided her hair to the side, her nimble fingers securing the strands expertly. "It'll be in public, months after your disaster encounter. You have a boyfriend now, and Ryan is still married, so... nothing can happen. Nothing will. Tell yourself that, repeat it as a mantra, and you'll be fine."
"But—"
"—no. Stop lying to yourself. By avoiding him, you're making it worse because you can't stop thinking about him. The sooner you confront him, the sooner you get this over with... the sooner you can move on."
After they hung up, Coralie melted into the sofa, holding her mug close to her erratic heart, eyes half-closed as she envisioned herself next to Ryan.
Could she control her urges for one evening? Could she unleash years' worth of regrets and pain and disappointment and fling them at him without the night ending naked in bed?
"I need air." She changed her shorts to a pair of leggings, slipped on her sneakers, and pulled up her work-out playlist as she plugged in her headphones.
Jogging was new for her. She'd taken it up since her second day in New York, wanting to get in better shape to survive working two jobs and living in a bustling city. She'd found a few clean sidewalks and less-frequented paths in parks where she could run until her thighs cramped and her breathing was too harsh and her head became foggy. But she enjoyed the feeling—it numbed her thoughts, dulled her senses, and helped her focus.
So she jogged. She passed urban buildings and cafés and tourists. Dashed by clusters of yellow cabs and buses and hurried workers. She cruised past skyscrapers with mirrored facades and billboards with silly sayings, and dingy, darkened alleyways.
Soon her pace switched to a brisk walk, and then more of an exhausted crawl; but she didn't stop, didn't turn around, didn't care how far she was from home. The New York air, spiced with fried food and sewers and gasoline, soothed her and muted the screaming in her mind.
Somehow, she'd ended up at Central Park, which was almost an hour from her apartment on foot. Had she been that distracted, that locked up in her own head that she hadn't paid attention to where she'd meandered off to?
It wouldn't have been her first time getting lost in the vast avenues and twists and turns of the city, but usually, such a thing frightened her. Today, as she ventured into the park and sighted The Pond and sniffed at the trees and bushes and grass, she felt at home. Refreshed.
Finding a vacant bench, she sat, wishing she'd brought some water. At least she had her phone—she'd be able to order a Lyft to carry her back to Eastern Village. There was no way she'd attempt the return after such a trek to get there.
Folks traipsed by her—skipping kids, mothers pushing strollers while walking puppies, middle-aged women gossiping over iced coffee.
She relaxed as she observed them, making up backstories for them in her mind. She even brewed up a few song lyrics that she jotted in her phone's notebook, excited to type them up on her laptop.
One couple strolled by her, and as she concocted their story, her thoughts paused. The man looked familiar—brown skin and eyes like a southern sea, sporting a pressed navy suit that contoured his perfect physique. The woman had gentle curves swaying side to side, her long-sleeved golden maxi-dress bringing out the blue in her gaze, and making her ice-blond curls stand out. He was tall; she was short. They smiled at one another, hands joined, a pep to their step as they passed Coralie's bench.
The resemblance was too uncanny, too coincidental, too much. What she saw as she gawked at them was her and Ryan. The same build, the same pace, even the same voices as she listened to them talking and laughing.
Delilah mentioned coincidences, Bella mentioned signs—and at that moment, despite her skepticism and her denial, Coralie finally believed them. She'd run across the city and could have gone anywhere, but she'd ended up there, in Central Park, to witness these two lovebirds—and that meant something, right?
Her best friends were correct—she needed closure, and only Ryan could provide that.
An hour later, after getting home and taking a lengthy shower to drown her woes in scorching water, Coralie lounged on her bed and unlocked her phone.
She opened the chat with Ryan, gaped at their last comments, bent and unbent her fingers, bit her tongue—and typed.
Coralie Amber Watson: Fine. I give in. I'm offtonight, and can meet you somewhere for ONE drink. If you're still adamant onseeing me, that is.
♥♥♥