Page 77 of The Girl with No Name
“What do you mean?” My voice is barely a whisper. A fragile thread holds back the emotions threatening to engulf me. In my heart, I already know.
There are times in life when we cling to some explanation, anything other than the obvious truth right in front of our face.
Pepe’s eyes hold a mix of pity and regret as he confirms my worst fears. “He’s cheating on you.”
The words hit me like physical blow, a sharp pang of betrayal slashing through the already shattered remnants of trust I had in Gatsby. I’ve poured my heart into this relationship, weathered storms of grief and uncertainty by his side, only to discover there isn’t anything there at all?
A rush of disbelief courses through my veins, mingling with deep hurt and anger. How could he have betrayed me like this, especially during such a turbulent and vulnerable time in my life?
But then the reality settles in. If Pepe is telling the truth, while I was spending late nights with Aunt Sarah, he was sleeping with someone else. The weight of the past few months comes crashing down on me, and the pieces of my broken world scattered at my feet.
“You’re sure?”
Pepe nods.
He’s a high school friend of Gatsby’s. They seem really close, and I’m sure it’s not easy for him to violate bro code. This must have really been bothering him.
I thank him for telling me, and not long after that, I leave the bar. When I arrive home, I look around at our shared apartment.Home. That word. This place no longer feels like home. I feel like a complete and utter fool.
But after a moment, I realize what I feel isn’t so much sadness as apathy. I’ve shed so many tears in the past couple of months. My walls were already building themselves. Now I just feel cold, disappointed, and fresh out of shits to give. My heart feels like it’s turning black, going numb.
I get up earlythe next morning and make breakfast, saying nothing about what I learned the night before. “How’s your friend?” I ask instead.
“He’s fine. Better now, I think.”
“I’d love to meet him sometime. Tom, right?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Gatsby nods without looking up. “He’s kind of in a bad way, though. But sometime soon.”
“Yeah. Question…” I begin as he chomps down on the last of his breakfast. “What do you love about me?”
“What kind of question is that?” He wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes his plate to the sink.
“A valid one.”
“It’s not even eight in the morning. I don’t have time for questions like these.”
“I can tell you right away why I love you. You’re handsome, charming, intelligent, and I love how you look out for me.”
There isn’t a shimmer of hesitation in his expression. “I like you because you’re a silly little girl. I love how you always ask some weird question like this.”
“Okay.” I heave a sigh. “Where were you last night?”
“I told you,” he says. “I was with my friend Tom.”
“Who I’ve never met.”
“Okay, now you’re acting totally crazy.”
I wonder for a split second if he could be right. Was Pepe manipulating me for some reason?
“Right. I’m sorry. Just nerves from the funeral and everything.”
“Crazy girl. I have to go. See you tonight.”
That afternoon,he texts and tells me he’ll be late coming home. I tell him not to worry, that I’ve picked up a bar shift tonight so he can take all the time he wants.
Then I do something that utterly astonishes even me: I put on a disguise and go to the bar near his office, wanting to see when he comes out.