Campus is abuzz with the voices of fellow students trooping out of the lecture hall, faint laughter rings out as friends chat behind me. I meander through the dim-lit corridor like a woman on a mission with only one goal. Get away from Josh. On stepping out of the large building home to many of my classes, I close my eyes and let out a deep breath.

A voice calls out my name, my eyes jerk open, I resume walking with no clear location in mind. My hands tighten around the handle of my handbag which swings in tune with my walking step, I quicken my pace as the voice grows louder. Times like these make me wish we are in different departments, it will be easier to ignore him without him trying to catch my attention every two seconds. That boy doesn’t understand the word: space.

Someone throws a hand over my shoulders, my elbow rams into their side before it occurs to me to find out whoever it is. The arm slides off my shoulders, I spin to face the person and gasp, placing a hand over my mouth as my eyes run over her stooped frame.

“Jesus, girl.” Clarissa wheezes, hands on her knees as a bout of cough racks her body. “You have to take it easy.” Her eyes flit to mine, I freeze. “Not everyone is out to get you.”

Doubled over, she doesn’t see me reaching for her or so I think until she has my hand in a tight grip behind me. Pain travels up my joints, my bag drops to the freshly mowed grass. I grimace at the glare she throws my way, an apology works its way out of my lips.

Yeah, Clarissa is cool until she isn’t.

Clarissa frowns. “How does this feel?”

“Sorry,” I whisper and she slowly lets go after a frightening sneer. I rotate my shoulders, muster an apologetic smile and retrieve my bag, making sure the contents are intact. I hate my phone sometimes but I can’t have it getting spoiled anytime soon. When we resume walking with her leading the way, I continue, “I thought you were Josh. Sorry.”

“Are we still ignoring him?”

I fight the urge to smile. “Yes,” I reply and switch my bag to the other hand. Sometimes, I don’t understand why I bother with them but all of my things won’t fit into my pockets.

She chuckles but says nothing in response, I ruffle her hair and race to the car once I see it in sight, groaning when the passenger’s side of the door refuses to open. I hear her cries from behind, something about how long it took her to achieve this look and I scoff. What look? Winged eyeliner and red lips? Besides, if I don’t ruin her hair, who will?

Smiling at her as she approaches me in her faded jeans and polo, an outfit similar to mine with her hair flying all over her face, I stick out my tongue and she huffs. Her eyes dart to my hair, she tugs on my braided ponytail and I snicker. With how sleek my hair is, the amount of gel used, she will have to try her hardest to get a strand out of place.

Her lips pucker into a pout, I wink and we relax our weights on the car, a content smile plastered on our faces as we stare at the large expanse of land in front of us with our arms folded on our chests. The mini fountain with long, empty benches surrounding it.

My school. Our school.

Tugging on my forearm, she sniffs and I look her way. “Are you going home today?”

“No.”

Brandon can do without seeing my face another day. All we do is fight. That familiar feeling of anger courses through me, I close my eyes and let out my breath slowly. I so badly want to hurt him. Thinking of him now fills my mouth with a bad taste, I swallow.

In a clipped voice, I say, “Can we go now?”

The atmosphere is tense as I slide into the passenger seat, I fasten my seatbelt in silence, fingers already reaching for the radio but she stops me. As usual, she is not fazed by the murderous glare I direct at her, only dumps my handbag in the backseat with a smile.

“He called me,” she volunteers.

I clasp my hands on my legs, staring with odd interest at my skin peeking through the cuts of my jean. I should get extra pairs, they don’t require much work to slay in them.

“Nice.”

Seconds go by, she realises I won’t say more than that and her heavy sigh stabs the air.

“Yesterday wasn’t the first time,” she adds. The hand smoothening my jean stills, I stare straight ahead, barely registering the view in front of me and she takes it as her cue to continue. “He called a few times to check up on you, told me not to say a word to you.”

Squeezing my knees together, I nod and my heart clenches lightly. I should be glad he cared enough to check on me but her words run through me like water in a basket.

“When?” I hear myself asking. My voice comes out weak, I clear my throat. “When?”

From her response, I figure his calls started pouring in after I blocked him, I smile, it is more than enough reason for him to remain on my blocked list. It explains why she was always asking to know if he called me, that cold man. I cast her a scrutinising glance, her body tilts in my direction and her brows crease in worry as she awaits my reply.

Of recent, all I have done is stress her pretty little head with my marital issues. I sigh. Gone are the days our lives revolved around fine men, studies, gossip and money. I can’t wait for this phase to be over. To invite her over so we can get lost in that big house.

I offer her a weak smile. “Aren’t you breaking his trust by telling me this? Why now?”

Her shoulders sag, she drags my hand to her laps. “You are not happy, I want you to be happy.” I nod, I want to be happy too but he makes it hard for us and I am tired of trying. “At first, I didn’t understand why he was calling me and not you but your fat ass-“

“I don’t have a fat ass.”

Clarissa rolls her eyes, tucking her errant hairs in place and we burst out laughing.

The irony, she is thicker than I am with all the curves, flesh in the right places. My most remarkable features are my height and legs for days. Breasts count too if you prefer them firm and perky rather than humongous. We never spoke about it but as I stare into Clarissa’s smiling face, I wonder which one he prefers. Is he an ass or a boob man?

“Fine. Your skinny ass,” she murmurs and I pout, that’s more like it. “Your skinny ass wouldn’t turn on your phone neither were you forthcoming with your answers.” It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Stubborn ass. At least I know where all of that food goes to.”

In my defence, she was always asking if he contacted me. She did that every single day and it got irritating real fast. I am not even mad she didn’t tell me about his calls, it would have made no difference. That man needs to understand how partnerships work.

“Good for him,” I finally say, tucking my hands between my legs, her head shakes like she is holding back a snarky remark. If he has access to Clarissa, he should have found another way to reach me. What is the use of all that money if he can’t contact his wife?

We fall into silence so heavy I am forced to turn on the radio. She cannot understand.

“El,” she starts moments when I think this talk is over, “don’t do this. You want him too.”

My eyes close, I relax into the seat and tug on the hem of my shirt. The music changes, I nod along. “What makes you think he wants me?” She grunts a reply. “He cut his hair.”

“Yeah, I love the new look.” My eyes fly open and my head whips in her direction. Her lips press into a thin line, she shrugs. “You should too. It looks good on him, I like it.”

Swallowing my words, I offer her a tight smile and nod. Right, it looks good on him. She claims to be my best friend yet she is on his side. Awesome. Her lips move but I already lost interest in the conversation. I should organise a date for them to gush over his new appearance and bond since she finds it okay and he would rather call everyone but me.

A tap on my shoulder draws me out of my reverie. The hand holding her phone drops to her laps, she stifles a giggle when I roll my eyes and I let out a long hiss. Not funny at all.

“See.” Her polished fingers move across her screen, opening the cursed Instagram app. I feign nonchalance but my eyes tail her movements. “He wants you, he updated his bio.”

I unbuckle the seatbelt to get a better view of the page on the phone which she purposely keeps at a distance from me, she shuts the radio off like it is affecting my eyesight, I flick a finger on her forehead and she screams like a banshee. Drama queen.

“What bio?” I ask, managing to sound uninterested.

She shoves the phone in my hand when I maintain the indifference. “See for yourself.”

Against my wishes, the butterflies in my stomach go helter-skelter, I suck in my lower lip and read his Instagram bio over and over again until I have memorised the words.

Under a picture of him with his full hair, the man I fell in love with, is the revised bio and my heart flutters. I pout, flushing with embarrassment at the sinful thoughts that flood me. A visit to the nights spent crying, lying awake and my fascination fades. Stupid man.

Clarissa nudges me with her elbow, I stare at his verified bio and whisper the words.

Brandon Stark
Husband to @elnamahle
Businessman.

Stupid. Anyone can do this. I am not falling for this lame move, he will change it in a few days. A wave of emotions crashes over me, my toes curl in satisfaction and my lips curve into a blinding smile which I desperately try to wipe off when Clarissa glances my way.

He identifies himself as my husband first. That should mean something. I lick my lips, it does, it means a lot. To me. My heart grows heavy, I groan, it doesn’t change what he did.

“You are almost at one hundred thousand followers,” she says, “at this rate, you will be getting verified soon. You will become a celebrity.” My eyes go wide, I giggle. That is not how it works but I don’t want to dampen her mood. “Please.” She folds her hands in front of her as if in prayer. “I want to manage your page.” Her head bobs, I jut my lip. “There are so many trolls, I want to tell them something real quick. Let us have a chat.”

A few days back, I might have been bothered by the trolls but now, I don’t care. It is my username that’s on his bio, not theirs. Crossing my arms, she bats her eyelashes and I click my tongue. “What happened to stay away from things that ruin our peace?”

“Sometimes, a little,” she starts, pressing her index finger and thumb so close to each other to make her point, “violence is needed to achieve that peace. You feel me?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t feel you at all.” She never gets a chance to input a word, uncertainty runs through me and I motion to her phone. “I know I should be glad he did this but I am not as excited I should be.” Those thick brows raise, I sigh, maybe I am being an ingrate. “Is it normal for me to still feel the need to punish him? Does it make me a bad person? My husband is trying his best and all I care about is hurting him for something...”

I leave the words hanging because I have no idea how to complete it without sounding callous. Pounding my fist into my leg, I sigh. I am becoming like him. Retaliating, hurting him—myself. But he hasn’t apologised. My nails dig into my palm, I groan. I am allowed to feel this way, he deserves it but it hurts to think of causing him any more pain.

Clarissa’s hands find mine, I draw strength from her touch. “Yeah, it’s okay.” I swallow hard, bracing myself for her next words. If anyone has the power to convince me to let go, it is her, Brandon has that power too but he’s the one I need to punish. “It’s justified.”

“Your husband was a royal asshole,” she says, I giggle in agreement, “and I agree, he deserves to be punished. What you feel is completely okay.” A shaky smile flits to my lips, she squeezes my hands. “But if you can, forgive him. Not for his sake but for yours.

“You are hurting yourself too much by hanging on to the pain he caused you,” she adds. If only it is as easy as she says, I pinch her cheeks which turns pink when I make kissy faces at her, she has grown so wise. “But.” Her index finger goes up, she wiggles her brows and sends me a wink. “If you insist on a punishment, I have the perfect idea for one.”

The car fills with our infectious laughter, I slap the back of her head and she lets out an exaggerated yelp. Just when I was about to change my mind. I draw her in for a hug before she can retaliate, letting her scent surround me. That was what I needed to hear.

* * *

Many hours, a change of outfits and words of encouragement later, the Audi slows to a stop in front of Brandon’s office. My gaze travels the length of the tall building and I shiver, the last time I was here, he couldn’t get his hands or lips off me. He cherished me.

The look Clarissa sends me unleashes nervous butterflies in my belly, I wipe my clammy palms on my knees. It is not too late to back out from this mistake of a plan, I can spend another night at her house, away from him. She cracks a familiar joke, I fake a laugh and put up a brave front to mask the war going on inside me. We are here. I am doing this.

“No throwing up today,” she says. I nod, afraid to speak for fear of the nerves slithering into my voice. I don’t trust myself to say anything sensible. To quit. “El.” My eyes raise from the jacket hiding the flimsy material underneath it. “You will be fine. Just swallow.”

“You are a horrible friend,” I mutter. The AC does nothing to ease my discomfort, sweat trickles down my face and I hug myself. She shouldn’t have put this idea into my head.

“That’s why you keep taking my advice.”

The muffled sound that follows her reply tells me the door is unlocked, all I have to do is open it and get to business. But my butt is glued to the seat. I don’t want to go. What if I mess things up? What if I throw up all over his office, his face? I have poor gag reflexes.

“El, you’re overthinking it.” Okay. Maybe I am. Pulling me in for a hug, her hands run in circles at my lower back and I exhale. I can do this. “You will do just fine, I promise.”

Pulling away to stare at her face, I pinch her cheeks and she slaps my hands with insane speed. I frown, she scowls. “Thank you. You are an awesome friend, the best of the best.”

“I know.”

With an eye roll, I step out of the car and smoothen the invisible creases on the jacket coming to rest above my knees. Clarissa calls out my name, I turn to her, expecting her usual hype or a compliment but what I get is her gagging as her hand runs up and down an invisible penis. I flip her my middle finger, she giggles and the Audi roars to life.

“Love you.”

“Love you too,” I reply and wave her off.

No one stops me as I sashay to the sliding doors, not even the suited security guard whose eyes tail my moves. On cue, everyone freezes when I walk in and some of my confidence dissolves. The click-clack of my heels grows louder with each step forward, I shove my hands into my pockets and plaster a fake smile on my lips, redirecting my feet to the receptionist, a pretty blondie with blue eyes and a smile faker than mine.

“Hi,” I say, leaning across the desk. Blondie stands and I clear my throat, if this doesn’t end well, I will have Clarissa’s head. “I am here to see Brandon. Brandon Stark.” Her eyes dart to her computer, I shake my head. “I don’t have an appointment. I’m El Stark.”

Recognition fleets across her pretty face, her head bobs like a malfunctioning robot. “Hi, welcome. I know who you are.” She casts a furtive glance at the other staff rooted to the same spots, I muster a smile in their direction and the spell is broken. “We all do.”

Oh. At a loss on what to say, I flash her a smile. I guess he is not as secretive as I think.

Coming around the desk to stand beside me, her flowery scent tickles my nose and she motions to the empty corridor. Did I scare everyone off? I hope not. “Please, follow me.”

The command is softened by her gentle voice. I nod, doing my best to keep my eyes on her face. Today is Tuesday and she is putting on a blouse tucked into a jean with frayed hems partially covering her suede boots. With the company’s reputation, Brandon’s style, I expect them all to show up in corporate attires all days of the week but comfort seems to be the order of the day. In a way, I like it, their freedom, the air of friendliness.

“Congratulations on your wedding, Mrs Stark,” she says as we make the short journey to the elevator. I tower over her by a few inches but her legs move faster than mine and I struggle to keep up with her in these death heels Clarissa thought were a great idea.

“What’s your name?”

Stopping in front of the elevator, she rocks from side to side as we wait for it to open. “Medina. Everyone calls me Dina.” I nod, she taps on the button again, sending me a shaky smile. “This will lead you straight to his office floor. First door by your left.”

The metallic door slides open, I flash her a smile. “Thank you, Dina.”

Alone, I try to rearrange my thoughts, giving myself a mental onceover. The sheer lace material of the matching underwear I am putting on leaves nothing to the imagination. But that’s the point, he can feast his eyes but he’s not allowed to touch. The red lipstick calls attention to me from a mile away, complimenting my light makeup. Anticipation has my insides in a twist, I tug on my ponytail, trampling the urge to free my hair.

It stays up.

A sound goes off, the door opens and my hand jumps to my chest. I am at my stop. I put one foot forward, almost overwhelmed by thoughts of failure. Taking deep breaths, I take wobbly steps towards the door Dina mentioned and knock gently on it.

This is it.

“Come in.”