R. Griffin - Seamless

“Because I’m a stupid, stupid asshole.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I drove to my house, George’s house, and I couldn’t go in. I had the full intention to beg him to take me back, Mil, but my car wouldn’t stop. I guess I just need more time.”

“More time for what?” Millie prodded as she opened the door.

“I don’t know.” Stella shook her head and felt nauseous. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Millie pointed down the hall, concerned.

Stella suddenly felt hot and barely made it to the toilet before she threw up the chicken biscuit she’d eaten for breakfast while driving home. Her knees shook and she sunk to the floor of the bathroom. Hot tears streamed down her face. She was shocked she had any tears left. Stella felt Millie’s presence before she saw her. Millie sat down on the floor and Cooper lay next to them.

“What the hell is going on, El?” Millie’s voice was soft.

Stella’s head drooped. She felt so guilty about what she’d done with Patrick; he was her best friend’s boyfriend for fuck’s sake. All the emotions she felt were fighting with each other and making her sick. “Millie, I think I’ve finally had all I can take.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think this last bit of my life has been my undoing. I want to drive with Cooper and just keep driving. I’m tired, Mil. I’m so fucking tired of the fight that is my stupid life. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t have anything left.”

Millie smoothed Stella’s hair back, her gentleness bringing a fresh round of tears. Stella looked at the pastel-striped shower curtain and frowned; she didn’t deserve Millie either. The only people she hadn’t fucked over that meant anything to her were Jesse and Billy, and they’d probably hate her after this too.

“Patrick told you?” Millie asked.

Stella couldn’t form words, so she nodded.

“And you’re here?” Millie’s voice was surprised.

She nodded again. A tear streaked down Millie’s face and she wiped it away quickly, pulling Stella into a hug.

“You’ve been throwing up since Jamie?”

“Ugh,” Stella shuddered, “yes.”

“You need to go to the doctor. You could have a concussion or something.”

Stella shook her head. “I ran out of my medicine. This is the worse stress I’ve had in a while, so it’s probably just my body reacting to that.”

“I’ll go with you,” Millie coaxed. “I really think you need to see someone.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mil. I’ll call and make an appointment with my internist for this week, maybe they can fit me in.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “What happened with George?”

“I left him,” Stella half-sobbed in relief at talking to someone who wasn’t Patrick. “God, he’s so much better off without me, Millie, but selfishly, I just want to go and beg him to take me back.”

“He’s been out of his mind crazy, El. He’s been calling and texting me multiple times a day.” Millie looked at her hands. “You should at least tell him where you are and that you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay it’s ridiculous.”

“Well, call him and tell him you’re fucked up, but alive; tell him that you love him and miss him, but you’re staying with me for a bit. To get your bearings.”

“Mil.” Stella began shaking her head back and forth, then stopped because she thought she’d throw up again.

“Do. It.” Millie pushed Stella’s phone across the floor to her.

Stella opened the Voxer app and new tears fell seeing the picture of them smiling in Aspen. “George…” Her voice broke and she ended the message. Millie nudged her. Stella looked up, trying to stave off new tears, and tried again. “George. I love you and I miss you. I’m staying with Millie for a while to get my wits about me. I’m not sure where you are, but I’m sorry. For everything.”

* * *

The next day, Stella walked into FBI headquarters and through the metal detectors. Her heels clicked on the marble floor and she followed the hall to the office where she was supposed to meet Agent Harris.

She opened the door and saw him sitting at the table, alone. “Stella. I’m sorry. I really did what I could. The ATF pulled out the big guns on this one.”

“Well, that’s really great. Will the truth come out now?”

He shook his head sadly. “I doubt it, but that’s above my pay grade.”

Stella sighed and sat down. She put her phone on the table, she’d pressed record just outside the door. The screen had already faded to black.

“Ask your fucking questions so I can get to work please,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone.

“Had you talked to Jack before he showed up at Millie’s house?”

“Well, as you are aware, I’d been talking to him to get him to admit he shot me and kidnapped me.” She wasn’t giving him anything.

“What was he doing there?”

“No idea.” Stella shrugged. “He was trying to get me to go with him.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me that, only that he wished he would’ve killed me earlier.” She fidgeted.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Only that he knew I’d recorded one of our conversations for the FBI. I wonder where he heard that,” she spit out.

Agent Harris’ eyes widened at that accusation. He stood quickly. “Stella, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m truly sorry. If he came after you because you were helping us, I…I don’t know how he knew that.” It was the first time Stella had ever seen the calm, collected Agent Harris flustered in any way.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. I was shot at. Again. I’m lucky to be alive. Again. I won’t be making the mistake of helping the FBI. Again. Ever. If you have any other questions, please call Greg.”

Stella lifted herself out of her chair and walked out of the office, not looking back. She hadn’t blatantly lied. She answered the questions truthfully; that was the brilliance of Patrick’s plan.

She sighed. She missed him. He refused to take her calls and was ignoring her texts, which she completely deserved.

Millie was on a date with a lobbyist who wore bowties and Stella had the condo to herself. She was enjoying living in companionable silence with someone else; she had mastered the art of staying out of Millie’s way and Millie hadn’t asked her when she would be leaving.

She dialed his number for the millionth time in the last week and, just like always, he put her straight to voicemail. Fucker. Stella threw the phone as hard as she could on the bed. “Fuck!” She walked into the closet and put her feet in flip flops, even though it was freezing outside, and ran down the stairs. She got in her car before she could talk herself into staying home and angrily chewed the side of her mouth as she drove to her old house. This is stupid.

She let out a breath when she saw Billy and Patrick’s cars in the driveway; it was odd that they were both home on a Saturday night. She pulled in front of the house, walked determinedly up to the door, and knocked. Hard. Billy opened the door mid-laugh, but it caught in his throat when he saw her.

“El.”

She stepped around him and walked into the house. She saw Billy’s girlfriend sitting in one of the chairs in the den and looked around for Patrick. She turned to Billy, her face a question.

Billy leaned towards her and pulled her into a hug. It was the first time he’d seen her since Jamie was shot. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said loudly. Then he whispered, “You broke him,” and released her.

She glared at Billy, wondering what he meant. She turned to his girlfriend and gave her a fake smile. “Hey, Kayce.”

“Hi, Stella,” the cute brunette said, “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I just need to give Patrick something.” She started walking toward Patrick’s room.

“You may want to wait!” Billy called after her.

Just then, Patrick came out of his room in only boxer briefs and walked to the fridge. He looked into the den casually and stopped short when he saw Stella. He pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and drank it all in one gulp.

“Oh, shit,” Billy muttered behind her.

“Why aren’t you answering my calls or texts?” Stella asked.

Patrick’s eyes bored into her, hardening as he stared. He reached silently into the fridge for another bottle of water.

“Patrick?” a leggy blond girl in only a t-shirt asked from the doorframe. She smiled at Stella with her just-fucked face.

Stella fumed. Of course. Patrick threw the blonde the bottle of water. She caught it and gaped at Stella.

“Answer my fucking question,” Stella demanded.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do. Do you?”

They continued to stare at each other, making everyone else in the room decidedly uncomfortable.

Patrick shrugged. “I’ve been busy,” he relented.

Stella stepped into him and hissed, “See, I was right. I can’t trust you to do what you say.” She turned on her heel and stomped away, making it to the den before she felt his hand grab her arm hard, stopping her in her tracks.

“Fuck. You. Stella!” Patrick yelled into her ear.

The force of his words knocked her sideways and she closed her eyes. She felt like she’d been slapped across the face. Although it was unfair, Stella was hoping they’d be able to stay friends. It wasn’t fair to either one of them to think that way, but she didn’t want to lose him. She’d lost him anyway. Stella didn’t turn around, but looked at Billy, whose face showed disbelief. She ran through the den and out the door as fast as she could.

* * *

George was sitting on his hotel bed drinking whiskey straight from the bottle when his phone dinged with a Voxer message. It was Jesse.

“Sweaty Balls, you okay? I haven’t heard from you.”

“Plays with his Balls, not close to okay.” George’s voice was lifeless as spoke into the app. His phone rang immediately. “Hey, man.”

“Dude, your voice sounds…sad.”

“I am sad,” George admitted. He probably wouldn’t normally have shared that with anyone, especially a guy like Jesse, but he’d consumed almost half of his bottle of whiskey.

“Well, have you talked to her?”

“Yes,” he sighed into the phone, “it didn’t go well.”

“What do you mean?” Jesse asked.

“Well, she apologized for leaving.”

“Sounds promising…”

“It was, until I told her I couldn’t keep losing her. Every fucking time things get hard or she needs someone, she runs. And she doesn’t run to me—she runs to you, or to Patrick. That’s not how relationships work. You’re supposed to run to each other when you need someone.”

Jesse was silent.

“She ripped my fucking heart out, Jesse, leaving me with all her things in my house like she didn’t even care about anything.”

“But don’t you see, George? She didn’t give a shit about anything except running,” Jesse protested. “Jamie’d been killed right in front of her. Shit, from what I heard, his face exploded on her and all she thought about was that she destroys everything she loves. She told me she didn’t want to destroy you.” He sighed. “Now, I’m not saying that shit isn’t crazy. I’m just saying she wasn’t in her right mind, you know?”

“She ripped my fucking heart out,” George repeated.

Jesse chuckled. “Yeah, I got that.”

The whiskey still burned as it went down his throat, but it was getting smoother the more he drank. He’d been drunk since he read Stella’s note. “I think about her all the time. I wonder if she’s okay; if she’s hurting as bad as I am…”

“She is,” Jesse confirmed.

“You’ve talked to her?” Of course he’d talked to her.

“Yeah, man.”

“I told her I couldn’t keep losing her.” Where is this verbal diarrhea coming from?

“I know.”

“I called her a fucking liar.”

“I know that too.” Jesse sighed.

“Jess, she lied to me. She told me she was going to be with me for the rest of her life, then she ran. She fucking ran to fucking Patrick.”

“So what’s pissing you off more, that she ran or that Patrick found her and you didn’t?” Jesse laughed.

“Patrick,” George admitted. Fuck, he really didn’t want to tell anyone that.

“I guessed that one.” Jesse chuckled again. “You know he’s gone right?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s driving down to Atlanta now. He got transferred down here.”