Abby is awakened by her now furious roommate. Her head pounded, every sound in the apartment suddenly sharper, meaner. She blinked into the light disoriented for a moment.
"Abby!" Clara exclaimed. "Why the fuck did I just see a strange man leaving our apartment?"
"My head hurts Clara… what the fuck are you talking about?" Abby asked confused, groaning softly and rubbing her temple. She moved the blanket off her and got up from bed.
"The guy that just left our apartment, Abby. Some tall guy with a British accent, dressed like he came straight from a photoshoot!" She looked at Abby as she got up from the bed, her voice now shaking, caught between jealousy and confusion.
"Did you guys fuck?" She asked, her face flushed in disbelief.
"What? I do not remember fucking anyone last night, Clara." She said trying to remember how she got home. "Fuck! I don't remember anything from last night… How did I get home?" She murmured, her head still feeling like someone crawled up in her brain with a set of drums and decided to do some practice runs.
Abby walks towards her dresser and sees a small note stuck on the mirror. She took the note out and read what Eli had written on it. "Fuck." She murmured, now starting to remember… the club, the music, the lights, the drinks, Eli… the car ride, the blurred memory of getting naked.
She pressed her palm against her forehead and sighed. "Did we fuck?" she asked herself with a very low voice. She thought, "I'm definitely gonna give him a call later."
"Clara, I have a headache. Please leave me alone."
Clara scoffed, "since when do you do 'one night stands', and what about Michelle? Does he know you are fucking around?"
"Shut the fuck up, Clara!" She shot back at her.
Abby just walked, slow, heavy, each step echoing against the narrow hallway as Clara trailed after her.
"Abby you're not just going to walk away from this conversation", Clara snapped, following her out of the room. "You brought a stranger into our apartment, for fuck sake!"
The kitchen was still dim, the only light spilling in from the half-open blinds. The faint hum of the refrigerator filled the silence.
"Clara!" she yelled. "Please. Not now." She said firmly.
Abby reached for a glass from the drying rack, her movements unsteady. She opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, poured it into the cup, and stood by the counter, gulping down water as though it could drown the pounding in her head. Her hair stuck to her temples, her lipstick smudged from the night before.
Clara stood by the doorway, arms folded tight across her chest. Her heartbeat was loud… too loud. She had been staring at Abby for what felt like minutes, trying to piece together the scent of cologne in the air, the memory of a man leaving the apartment.
"When then? When he comes back? When your boyfriend finds out? What are you even doing Abby?"
Abby took another sip of water.
Clara slammed her palm against the counter. "Say something!"
Abby turned, her patience fraying. "Clara, stop. You don't understand…"
"Then make me understand!" Clara's voice cracked. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you just cheated on the guy you've been crying about for months. And now you're acting like it's nothing…"
Abby's jaw clenched. "You don't know what happened!"
Clara froze, her chest heaving. The air between them thickened, charged with something raw and unspoken. Abby's eyes were wide, with exhaustion.
Abby set the glass down hard on the counter, the echo loud in the silence that followed. She turned, meeting her eyes for the first time. "We broke up, Clara," she said quietly. "It's over. Are you happy now?"
The words should have calmed her, but instead, Clara felt her stomach twist. A part of her… the part she tried to bury everyday… almost 'rejoiced'. But jealousy and hurt flooded in too fast for her to process it.
She folded her arms trying to sound angry instead of wounded. "Why didn't you tell me? You could have told me". She muttered, voice low and bitter. "You tell me everything else. Why not that? "
Abby sighed. "I didn't feel like I had to…. I still needed to process the break up, Clara."
Caught off guard, Clara blinked. "What?"
I mean it," Abby said, setting the glass down with a dull thud. It wasn't something I could talk about yet. I needed to process it. I needed to… process it alone."
"To process it alone?" Clara snapped, her voice rising before she could stop herself. "To pretend you don't have someone who actually gives a damn about you?"
Abby frowned, her tone weary. "Clara, don't make this about you."
That did it. Something inside Clara snapped.
"About me?" she repeated, a bitter laugh escaping. "Of course, it's not about me, It's always about you, isn't it? You drown, and everyone's supposed to jump in after you. But the second someone reaches out, you push them away!"
Abby stepped back, eyes narrowing. "That's not fair."
Clara moved closer, her voice trembling now, the words spilling faster than her thoughts could catch them. "No! What's not fair is watching you fall apart and having to pretend it doesn't kill me every single time! We tell each other everything! And now… I'm just some fucking roommate you can't trust anymore?"
"Clara, I didn't say that…"
"You didn't have to!!"
The air in the kitchen grew heavy. Abby's lips part as if to speak, but Clara's next words came tumbling out, raw and shaking.
"Do you have any idea how it feels to watch someone you…" She stopped. The next word lodged itself in her throat. 'Love'.
Clara's breath caught, panic flashing in her eyes. She couldn't say it. Not like this. Not when Abby was looking at her like that… confused, defensive, unaware, of the chaos she stirred up inside her.
Clara turned it, twisted the confession into something uglier. "To watch someone you care about just… throw themselves at anyone who gives them five minutes of attention?"
Abby's expression hardened. "You don't know what you are talking about!"
"Don't I?" Clara said, voice trembling. "You think this is about some fucking guy? You think I'm mad because you brought someone home? Fuck no, Abby! I'm mad
because you're lost… ever since your mom…"
"Don't!" Abby's eyes snapped up, sharp and pained.
But Clara couldn't stop. The rage, the hurt, the jealousy… the kind that comes from a heartbreak. "Ever since she died, you've been emotionally distanced, acting like you're fine, like you don't need anyone because you think you're strong enough to handle every problem yourself!" She had to keep on going. "Guess what! You're not! It just makes you a …"
"Shut the fuck up! You're such a piece of shit… you don't get to bring up my mother!" Abby shouted. The word mother hit Abby like a slap to her face. It tore through the haze of her hangover, through the exhaustion… sharp and unrelenting. She stood frozen for a moment, her chest rising and falling too fast, her eyes wide, glossy, almost feral.
Clara refused to stop. She just kept going. "Someone has to, because you won't! Your mother died, Abby. Talk to me, your best friend about it."
"I said shut up!" Abby's hands were in fists before she could process anything… Her fist went straight to Clara's face. The sound was sharp, sharp and awful. Clara stumbled back, her eyes wide, her hand flying to her face. But Abby wasn't done.