Becky clenches her jaw so it pops. She looks like she's about ready to go off on me, with her hands crossed over her chest and her teeth stitched together like she's a Tim Burton creation. But somehow, her patience prevails. She shakes her head, more for herself than for me, and meets my eyes with her own.
"Have you considered, for a moment, that I did everything I have in order to help you?" she asks. "That if I helped you, if I warned you, it would throw everything off? Maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to hold your hand the way I've been doing for the years that we've known each other. Maybe I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get your issues sorted and start doing things on your own. And look what a different person you are! You're helping Sarah with these murderers. You're making choices without calling everyone and getting their opinions first. You're not sleeping around with guys!"
"There is nothing wrong with sleeping around!" I tell her.
"No," she agrees, "but it is wrong when it makes you feel the way it made you feel. Empty. Hollow. Alone. You were using them the same way they were using you. And it made you feel like"—she clenches her jaw again and looks away. "It is not okay for you to feel that way. And I know without a doubt you don't feel that way anymore."
"And you think you're the reason for it?" I ask, completely aghast. "You think you're responsible for my growth as a person?"
"Of course not!" Becky said, and it's the first time I think I've ever heard her raise her voice at me. "It had to come from you. It had to come from you! But you're so set in your ways, you're so stubborn, that I had to give you this push or you wouldn't have taken it! I know you. I know you and you wouldn't have taken it. So, I had to set it up this way. It had to come from inside of you. And it did! It did.
"I'm not going to apologize for pushing you. You need it. No one has pushed you before. I know it and you know it. Your so-called life you were living before this was a waste. You let life happen to you. You went along with everything—with what college to apply to, what field to study in, what career path you took. You weren't passionate about anything. Your life just happened. You didn't reach out and take it." Her eyes are burning. They're hot, and I flinch because the sparks are shooting off in every direction, in my direction. "Do you know how different you are here? Do you realize how much you've grown?"
"It's still my choice," I say. "You took that away from me the minute you sent me here. You told me nothing—"
"Boo-fucking-hoo," Becky snaps and I flinch again. Becky never swears. She rarely snaps. Her blue eyes are still fire and I'm surprised by how mean they are. Becky is a lot of things, but mean isn't one of them. At least, she didn't used to be. "Now you want to make a choice? Now? You've had twenty-four years to make choices and now you start caring about them? About this one choice? Think of the woman you've become, Isla. You are a goddess. Matt is half in love with you and twice the man you've been with."
"Matt is not half in love with me," I say, and I can't stop the bitterness in my voice if I tried. I stop and catch my breath and thankfully, mercifully, Becky stops, too. And suddenly, everything comes out because I have no one else to talk to, no one else to trust, and Becky was my best friend. Maybe she still is. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I just know that I need to get this wretched feeling out of me. And maybe she can help.
Becky stops, rubs her lips together. "You say Matt pushed her off of him?" she asks slowly. I can tell she's thinking because she tilts her head to the side. I nod in response, gnawing on my thumbnail but not actually biting it.
"Yeah." I nod my head. "There was something between them, though. They have a history together and you know how that works." Becky presses her brows together but doesn't say anything. "In every book and movie and TV show ever, the couple that has a history ends up getting back together, even if there's a new girl he genuinely likes. It's why I avoided dating divorcés and guys with kids. I don't need the drama, especially since I didn't want to get serious with anyone anyway."
"But you do want to be serious with Matt?" she asks, her eyes trying to read me, her voice gentle.
I clench my teeth together and shrug, almost helplessly. "I don't know what I want," I finally say.
"Don't give me that!" Becky said, raising her voice and narrowing her eyes. The more she speaks to me, the more her lips curl up to reveal a set of teeth I never thought I would see. She reminds me of a snarling wolf and I'm her targeted prey. "He is half in love with you and you are in love with him. The reason you took off after walking in on him is because you didn't want to see him that way with anyone. The only person you would be okay with on top of him is you. You want him. Just admit it, Isla. Stop lying to me. Stop lying to yourself. Just admit it. Come on. I know you. You were jealous. You were jealous because you love him. You want to be with him even if that means never going back to the twenty-first century because you love Matt. The end. That's it. You love him. You love him!"
"Yes!" I finally shout back at her. "Yes, I love him. When I saw that whore on top of him, I wanted to grab her by her hair and throw her off of him so her ass hit the floor and she bruised her tailbone because that is the worst! I don't want anyone to be on top of him except for me. I've only been here a couple of months, but I've already forgotten what my life was like before Matt which sounds so stupid and immature and idiotic to me that I'm afraid to admit it out loud." I stop, swallow. Take a breath. But I never look away from Becky. "I love him. Becky, I'm in love with him. I had this dream where we were married and had three kids and even though it took me a while to wrap my head around it, it wasn't awful. Being his wife. Being the mother of his children. I wasn't afraid."
Becky smiles at me. A smile that says that should tell me all I need to know. This revelation should give me my answer.
"I just…" I stop again and my eyes fill with tears. "I just feel guilty, you know? I've already forgotten what life was like. I'm worried I'll forget the sound of my father’s voice, the color of my mom's eyes. I'm so caught up in worrying about giving up everything for a guy that it's hard to figure out what I want."
"You've forgotten what life was like before because you weren't really living then," Becky points out. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she arches a brow, daring me to contradict her. I don't. "Life was happening to you. You were a victim of life. Now, you're taking life into your hands. You're being much more proactive. You're helping Sarah with a murder. You're befriending the girls here. You're opening up to the possibility of love and marriage. You just need to figure out what you want, Isla. And I think you know what that is. You just have to be willing and ready to admit it to yourself."
"I know what I want," I tell her. For some reason, I feel myself flushing and I have to look away. As bad and as upset as I am with Becky, she is still someone I trust. My eyes suddenly narrow as a thought occurs to me. "You can't make me dream things, can you?"
My tone is accusatory, but she can't blame me and doesn't. If anything, her eyes sparkle mischievously.
"Of course, I can't make you dream things," Becky tells me. "You took an Intro to Psych class in college, right? You know dreams are your subconscious resolving problems your consciousness can’t." She pauses, trying to read me. I can tell by the way her blue eyes glide over every inch of my face. "Tell me about your dream.”
"I dreamt of Matt," I tell her, because I have nothing to lose. I know she's not going to run and tell him, and I know she's not going to rub it in my face that she's right. Becky's not like that; she's never been like that. My heart pangs in remembrance of the type of friendship we had on Earth. I wonder if we can still have that, if I choose to stay here. "We had a family. We were married."
"You were domesticated?" Becky asks, aghast.
"I know," I say, slipping a smile onto my face. "I couldn't believe it either. Apparently, I even liked my children. And somehow I pushed them out without numbing the lower half of my body." I shake my head. "But I liked it. I want it, Bex. I want to be with him."
I hesitate. I hate myself for doing it, but I can't help it.
"Tell me, Isla," she says imploringly but also gently. "What are you afraid of?"
"I'm afraid of giving everything to him," I tell her. I feel my eyes water but I'm not sure why. I'm not emotional or sad or moved. Maybe it's just my body's way of reacting to my feelings. Or something. "I'm afraid of trusting who I really am to him and having my heart broken. And then I'd be stuck in some place I'm not even from with no one."
"You always have me, Isla," Becky tells me, and I can tell by her tone that she means it. "Just because we're two different people now doesn't mean that's changed. You know that, right?"
I nod once. It's nice to know, really, it is, but I can't seem to trust her just yet. Not the way I used to. Not the way I want to.
"The thing I've learned about love," she continues, and I can hear a slight hesitation in her voice. I know this is her choosing her words carefully, ensuring she thinks before she says anything. Not that she's ever said anything wrong. She isn't like me. It's one of the reasons I like her so much. She makes me think about things I've never thought about, look at it from a different perspective. "The thing about love is there's no guarantee. That's what makes it so thrilling and scary and the best thing that's ever happened to you. When it works out and you find this person who loves you—not for who you could be, but for exactly who you are, flaws and all—that's when your life changes. It's a risk—even true love doesn't guarantee happiness; that's your responsibility and no one else's—but it's one that's so completely worth it. It's one few people take a chance on, because they're scared, too. Or even worse, they sabotage themselves and their relationships because they don't think they deserve to be happy in this way for whatever reason." She pauses and looks me deep in the eyes. "Do you want to be with Matt?"
I nod twice. I don't even hesitate. “More than anything,” I say, even though I don’t have to. Because Becky knows. She’s always known.
I could never hide anything from her.
Before she can respond, there’s a knock on the door. I furrow my brow and shoot Becky a look. She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head.
“Isla?”
Matt’s familiar voice grips my heart tightly in its grasp and squeezes, preventing me from responding.
“It’s Matt. Are you busy?” A pause, and then, tentatively, “Can I come in?”
Chapter 17
“We need to talk about this,” Matt says. He’s barged into my room, even startling Becky, and his eyes narrow in on her with caution and suspicion.
I’m actually surprised. Usually, guys soften when they see her. She’s petite and pretty and looks innocent. They tend to like that. It brings out the man in them, thinking they need to protect her. Matt looks at her like she can’t be trusted regardless of how she looks. My heart swells with love.
Because I love him.
I haven’t even gotten a chance to process that because of everything going on.
“Who are you?” he asks, his voice tight. He’s trying to control his patience.
I know how important this conversation is to him. I owe it to him. I need to tell him everything. I need to be honest and unafraid. Because he deserves nothing less.
“A friend,” Becky says, slowly standing up. She’s not intimidating, but she’s pointed and direct. I can respect that. Matt can, too.
“An old friend,” I correct. “A friend who’s not really my friend because she keeps things from me and has her own agenda and”— Matt gives me a look that says I’m rambling and that I should make my point. I press my lips together and give him a reluctant nod. “Back in my time—forward in my time, I guess, if we’re speaking technically”—a cleared throat, another reminder that I’m babbling—“Right. Becky was my best friend. We did everything together. She was getting married. We were celebrating when I came here. Scratch that. When she sent me here.”
Matt’s eyes widen and he shifts his gaze to Becky, who’s still tall and tense. She doesn’t back down under his gaze and I almost smile—that’s the Becky I knew. But this woman in front of me, I don’t even recognize her. I don’t know who she is anymore.
And that’s a tragedy. That’s the definition of heartbreak. Not a boy or a failed romantic relationship. Not unrequited love.
The loss of a friendship hurts more than any of that. And it’s only then that I realize this. I realize I’ve been so angry at her that I never got to mourn the loss of our friendship. And it guts me like a fish at the worst possible time.
"She used to be my best friend," I tell him, keeping my eyes on Becky even though I'm speaking to Matt. "I have no idea what she is to me anymore." I throw my head so I'm looking at Matt now. "She's the reason why I'm here, you know. Apparently, I was born in the wrong time. I was supposed to be born here, but I wasn't." I shrug. "Happens sometimes, I guess."
From there, I tell him everything. I'm biting and sarcastic and I'm mean. I can admit it. I don't mind admitting it. I don't know why I have this tumultuous relationship with Becky anymore. I don't know if it's warranted or if I should be over it. But I do know we aren't friends anymore. The power in our relationship has shifted. She's a guardian angel, so she's not my friend, she's like my mom. She's looking out for me; we're not in this together anymore. And I'm really, really mad about it.
As usual, Matt is silent as I speak. He doesn't interrupt. He keeps his eyes focused on me. As usual, I've never been as seen as I am when I have Matt's attention. I feel like I matter. I feel important and special and what I'm saying actually means something.
He turns to Becky with a hard stare. I wouldn't call it a glare, per se, but it's an intense sort of gaze that would pin me to the spot if it was cast in my direction. Becky, to give her credit, doesn't flinch under his gaze. She meets his stare with a look of cool indifference, with her nose turned up in the air. If anyone was born in the wrong time, it's her. Although, where was she born? What time does she belong to? Was she ever human or was she always angel? Maybe I can ask her those questions later, once we've both moved past our issues.
Finally, he says, "Why me? Why did you send her to me?"
Becky softens and she clears her throat. "Because you were the perfect catalyst for her," she replies and it's clear how honest she's being in her tone. "Because she's the perfect catalyst for you. Isla is my best friend even if she's furious with me. She deserves nothing less than the best, and the best is you. You make the perfect team."
"You're saying we're destined to be together?" I ask with a wrinkle to my nose. Matt clears his throat or groans or something. I can tell he's offended by my insinuation, so I work hard to rectify it as soon as possible. Because it's the last thing I mean. If only he knew what I really mean. "Not that I dislike him, I'm just not a destiny kind of person. I like being in control. Most of the time."
"It's difficult to say," Becky finally replies, looking between the two of us. "If I say yes, you might feel as though you have no say in the matter and feel forced to be together. If I say no, you might think that this is a completely serendipitous moment. A happy accident. Honestly, it's a bit of both. It's whatever you choose to make of it. Destiny can get you guys to meet but can't get you guys to fall in love. Can't force you to like each other. That's on you. It's whatever you choose to make of it." She looks between us again and a small smile touches her face. "I think you guys have some things you need to discuss. I'll take my leave." Her eyes find mine and she stares at me, straight through me. "If you need me, you know where to find me."
With that, she sweeps off, through my door. It closes, latches shut, leaving me and Matt alone. The silence gets heavy, like a thick fog that inhibits sight and also fills up lungs so it feels like I'm suffocating. We haven't spoken since I saw Corsa on his lap, kissing him the other day. Or was he kissing her? Does it even matter? They were kissing.
&nbs
p; "Isla, we need to talk about Corsa," Matt says and I'm surprised how calm he is, how cool and collected he seems. How is he so easily holding it together while I'm bursting at the seams, one move away from coming undone?
"We really don't have to," I say, looking at my hands, then out the window. Anywhere but at him.
"I want to," he says, and I can tell he's trying to control the impatience that's threatening to spill out into his tone. "I need to. You need to understand the nature of our relationship."
"I don't though," I say, shaking my head and rubbing the back of my bare neck. "I really don't. Why is it so important to you that I do?"
"Because you're important to me," he says. "And I don't think you realize what you saw."
"She was on top of you," I tell him. "She was kissing you until you pushed her away."
"I think she's the murderer," he says. "I think she's the one that's been killing the other girls. I was trying to get information out of her."
"It's hard to get information out of her when your mouth is on hers," I point out and push up my brows. I should apologize for being trite, but I don’t.
"I didn't want to kiss her," he insists. "She kissed me."
"Matt," I say, and I finally look at him, I finally acknowledge him. "You don't have anything to explain. There's nothing going on between us. It's okay. I'm not your girlfriend, your partner, your wife. I'm nothing. You can do whatever you want with whoever you want and it's okay."
"That's bullshit," he says. "That's bullshit and you know it. There is something going on between the two of us. And if you don't think so, you're in goddamn denial."
Without warning, he leaps from his position and is suddenly on top of me, pinning me to the bed and pressing his lips on mine. I'm so shocked, I remain stiff underneath him for all of three seconds at the most. Then, my body begins to respond. My hands find his hair and my legs curl around his hips and he presses into me hard and intently. His lips pry mine apart so he can claim my mouth with his hunger, and it's just like a few nights ago when we were drunk and our teeth clunked against each other like we were inexperienced teenagers.
To Ruin a Rogue: Page 14
