Chapter 3
By the time Finnick got home, the windows were wide open and the smell of smoke had mostly cleared out.
He swept the floor in silence. He paused for a second when he counted the twenty three crushed cigarette butts in the dustpan.
Then he walked over, gently pulled the burning cigarette from my fingers, and stubbed it out.
He didn't say a word. He just pulled me into his arms, resting his chin on the top of my head, and let out a very soft sigh.
I stared up at the flickering hall light and spoke quietly. "Finnick, the light is flickering again."
"Yeah," he said.
"You said you were going to fix it last week."
"I forgot."
A faint, joyless smile touched my lips, but I didn't say anything else.
He hadn't forgotten. It was because he had flown to Westbridge three times this week.
I had seen her Instagram posts.
Tuesday, Finnick took her to Disneyland, kissing her under the fireworks.
Thursday, Finnick took her to a Michelin star rooftop in Bever Hills, surrounded by city lights outside the floor to ceiling windows.
Yesterday, at the wrap party for her new movie, Finnick gave her a massive bouquet of roses in front of the entire cast and crew.
He was incredibly busy. He had always been busy.
Only before, I naively thought he was busy building a life for us.
I finally realized his future never included us at all.
"Still mad at me?" He pulled back slightly to look down at me, his eyes carrying that familiar, charming smile. "Today was a total emergency. My buddy runs that venue, and I absolutely had to be there to bail him out."
"I know," I interrupted smoothly. "You don't need to explain."
He froze for a second, clearly caught off guard by how calm I sounded.
I looked up at his face. It had been five years, and I had studied these features countless times.
When he took a knife for me in that alleyway, his white tee soaked in blood as he smiled and swore it didn't hurt.
When he was burning up with a terrifying fever in our cramped apartment, deliriously whispering my name in his sleep.
When he dragged himself home at three in the morning, passing out at the kitchen table with my favorite late night takeout still clutched in his hand.
I always believed a person could fake their feelings for a little while, but they could never keep up an act for five straight years.
But as it turned out, they absolutely could.
"Your dress is dirty," he noted, glancing down at my hem. "Why haven't you changed?"
"I just forgot."
"Let me wash it for you." He reached out, moving to wrap his arm around my shoulder as naturally as breathing.
I turned sideways, dodging his touch. His hand hung awkwardly in midair.
"I am exhausted today," I told him flatly. "Let's just go to sleep."
He slowly pulled his hand back, choosing not to press the issue.
Once we were in bed, he spooned me from behind just like he always did. His warm breath fanned across the nape of my neck.
I kept my eyes wide open, staring blankly at the sliver of streetlight bleeding through the curtains.
I used to love it when he held me like this. It used to make me feel like he truly couldn't live without me.
Now, the only thing I felt was suffocated.
*****
When Grace came over, Finnick was out on the balcony folding my laundry.
She breezed through the front door, her face lit up with a radiant smile, carrying a massive pack of beer.
Finnick's brows immediately pulled together. "Don't you know she is allergic to alcohol?"
"Bullshit," Grace scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Ruby can drink anyone under the table. On the night of our high school graduation, she outdrank three guys all by herself."
She abruptly cut herself off.
The air in the room went dead silent for a fraction of a second.
Finnick's expression darkened. Without saying another word, he spun around and walked into the kitchen.
Grace stared at his back before turning to look at me, forcing a bright smile. "Your guy is so ridiculously protective of you."
I didn't reply.
Grace loved money. I had known that fundamental fact about her since the first day we met.
She always told me her family was struggling, even worse off than mine.
Her dad was drowning in gambling debts, her mom was working her fingers to the bone at a garment factory, and her younger brother's private school tuition was bleeding them dry.
She used to look at me and say she was going to make so much money one day and shut the mouths of everyone who ever looked down on her.
I never thought there was anything wrong with that ambition.
What I couldn't wrap my head around was everything else.
Twelve years.
I skipped classes with you, sat with you in hospital waiting rooms, and hid with you in bathroom stalls while you cried.
When you got blackout drunk, I carried you on my back for three miles just to get you safely to our dorm.
When you were held hostage by that sleazy club owner, I was the one who drank myself into alcohol poisoning just to get you out, nearly dying in the process.
Anyone else in the world could have betrayed me, but why did it have to be her?
I felt like an absolute clown, being played for a fool by the two of them.
What exactly did I mean to them?
"Ruby?" She tilted her head, pressing an ice cold beer can against my cheek. "What are you spacing out for? Are you not happy to see me?"
I snapped back to reality and took the can from her hand. "Of course I am."
How could I not welcome her?
She was the family I had handpicked for myself.
And she was also the person who personally shoved me off a cliff.