fucking hard for nothing. I don’t have a job or a stable family environment. I have nothing.
I don’t even have my girl anymore.
All the while, men like Isaac have everything—money, looks, cars, multiple business opportunities. They even get love, and for what, for them to piss it to the wall when it no longer suits them? Isaac was seen on surveillance with a prostitute. Isabelle saw the photos herself, yet, she stands at his side, supporting him as no one has ever supported me.
You’ve just got to keep moving, Brandon.
You’ve just got to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
You’ve just got to accept what life has to give you and be grateful for what you get.
But what happens when you don’t want to accept the same shit over and over again? Do you become like them? Like Isaac and my father. Do you take the law into your own hands and pray for understanding when it backfires in your face?
Or do you just give up?
“If you knew something would hurt your friend, but you also knew they’d never forgive you if you didn’t tell them, would you tell them?” I don’t recognize my voice. It’s like I’m here, but I’m not. Kind of similar to how I’ve been feeling the past week and a half.
“Yes,” Isabelle replies, reminding me I’m not as alone as I feel. “I'd want to know.”
“Are you sure, Izzy? Because once you know, it can’t be undone.” Believe me, I know that better than anyone. I can’t unread the reports I read. I can’t rewind the video in my head. It’s there, stuck, never to be gone, never to be erased.
When Isabelle nods, I move to the leather briefcase hanging over my dining room chair—the leather briefcase Phillipa replaced for me when mine was never found.
“Alex told me about the payment between Isaac and Vladimir today,” Isabelle advises, wrongly believing the FBI folder I dug out corresponds with the payments Isaac made to her father last month.
It isn’t that.
It’s way worse than that.
“This isn’t regarding that.” Almost robotic-like, I return to the couch, pull out a six-by-ten-inch photograph from my folder, then hand it to Isabelle.
“No.” Her one word is like a punch to the stomach. It’s equally remorseful and heart-wrenching. “It can’t be.”
“I’m sorry, Izzy,” I murmur through the pain tearing at my chest. “It’s true. Ophelia is alive.”
After a painstaking thirty seconds, instead of letting me help her as I wish someone would help me, Isabelle leaps to her feet before seeking the closest exit. “Is there a back entrance to this building? Somewhere I can leave without Roger seeing me?”
“You should stay. We should discuss this.”
She shakes her head so fiercely, strands of dark brown hair fall in front of her eye. “No. I need a minute to digest this.” She’s quick to wipe away the solemn tear trekking down her cheek, but I still see it. “I can’t do that here. I’m sorry, Brandon. I just can’t.”
With her words being oddly familiar, I move to the front door of my apartment. “If you take a right at the end of the stairwell, it will direct you to the back entrance. You’ll need to input a security code to stop the fire alarm from sounding.”
I grab a pen off the desk to write the four digits of Melody’s birthday onto her palm. I’m shaking so much, my handwriting is barely legible. I want to say it’s the alcohol I guzzled the past week slowly seeping out of my body, but that would be a lie. It’s knowing I hurt someone just with the hope of easing my pain.
How fucked up am I?
Who thrives on other people’s unhappiness? I know misery loves company, but this is ridiculous. I’m better than this.
Or so I thought.
I wait for the familiar bell of the elevator advising its doors are closing before I take my frustration out on the entryway table. When I send it flying across the room, it knocks my laptop off the dining room table before it smashes the protective glass barrier around the fireplace. It feels good freeing some of the anger tearing me up inside, I’m tempted to see how sturdy my dining table is by taking a baseball bat to it, but before I can, an unfamiliar voice sounds through my ears.
“I would have never guessed she was the reason for my missing files…”
I move closer to my laptop, certain that’s where the voice is projecting from.