Chapter 6 No.6

The rain had soaked through her dress by the time she went back inside, but she didn't care. She felt strangely, fiercely alive.

Her flight was booked for the next day. A late afternoon departure. It coincided with a charity brunch Floyd and Jaylah were hosting at the house. Her escape would happen while they were distracted by their own glittering world.

The next morning, she did a final sweep of her room. She found one last item: a small, velvet box. Inside was the simple engagement ring Floyd had given her in college. She stared at it for a moment, then closed the lid.

There was a sharp knock on her door. It was Floyd. He saw the packed boxes and the nearly empty room.

"You're really leaving," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

His eyes landed on the velvet box in her hand. He stepped forward, his hand closing over hers. "Let me see." He took the box, opened it, and stared at the ring.

"You're taking this with you?" he asked, his voice rough.

"I was going to leave it," she said. Which was a lie. She had been planning to sell it.

"Good," he said, his jaw tight. "It belongs to the past. My life is with Jaylah now. We're moving forward."

He was telling her, one last time, that there was no place for her in his future.

"I need one last thing from you," she said, her voice steady. "My mother's medical bills. The final payment is due. I need you to authorize the transfer."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he shook his head.

"No."

The word was cold. Final.

"Jaylah will be handling the family finances now," he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "All expenses will go through her. You'll have to ask her."

He was severing the last practical tie between them. He was handing the power over her family's well-being to the one person he knew would use it against her. It was a final, calculated cruelty.

Elizebeth felt the floor drop out from under her. But her face remained a mask of calm.

"I see," she said. "Thank you for clarifying."

He left her then, standing alone in the empty room.

That afternoon, while the sounds of the charity brunch drifted up from downstairs, Elizebeth finished her last piece of art in that house. It was a small canvas. She painted a dark, opulent room. In the center, a man with a handsome, cruel face stood beside a woman in a glittering white dress. In the corner, a pale, faceless girl in a green dress, turning to walk out of the frame.

She titled it, "The End of the Affair."

She left the painting on the empty easel, facing the door.

She was grabbing her suitcase when the door opened again. It was Floyd. He was drunk. The polite façade from the brunch was gone, replaced by a raw, desperate anger.

"Where do you think you're going?" he slurred, blocking her path.

"I'm leaving, Floyd."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You can't."

He stumbled towards her, backing her against the wall. "You can't just walk away," he whispered. He reached out, his hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back. Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through her numbness.

He leaned in, his lips crashing against hers. It wasn't a kiss. It was an act of possession.

He pulled back, his breath hot against her cheek. And then he said the name that destroyed what little was left of her.

"Jaylah," he breathed, his eyes closed. "Don't leave me."

The world stopped. The tinnitus in her ear screamed into a deafening roar.

She was a substitute. A stand-in. A warm body to be used when the real object of his affection wasn't there.

In that moment, whatever lingering, microscopic ember of feeling she might have had for him was extinguished forever. There was nothing left but ice and ash.