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“Don’t be an idiot, Estella. Just keep yourself together. Life is mostly
boring most of the time. Sometimes you meet a man like your father, or
Logan Crowne if you will, who just makes it all worthwhile.”
“It should be worthwhile just because. Without them. Just me. I should
make it worth—uh, I don’t feel so good.”
Like a shot, Bianca gripped my arm and pulled me to the hall bathroom,
where I unleashed a fifty-seven dollar salad into the septic system before its
time. She held my hair back while Mr. Tubbs yapped at the bizarre noises
coming from my throat.
“Hush now,” Bianca scolded the dog.
“I stand by my assertion,” I prayed to the porcelain. “It should be me. I
make me happy. No one else.”
“Happiness is other people.”
“I thought hell was other people.” I let loose again. It seemed
impossible that my stomach could hold that much.
“Who said that? Was he French?”
“You said it when I broke your windshield.” I pushed back and Bianca
let go of my hair. I rolled to a sitting position on the tile. “I feel so much
better. Thank you.”
Bianca snapped a hand towel off the bar and ran it under the faucet. “I
never knew you were such a lightweight.”
“Did you tell me hell was other people so I’d believe the opposite?”
“No. You were hell and you were a person. I was probably angry.”
“I’m sorry.”
She wrung out the towel and handed it to me. “You must be truly, truly
ill or possessed by something you haven’t expelled from your system yet.”
“I made it hard for you,” I said after I wiped my mouth, abruptly more
sober than drunk.
“You were a miserable bitch from day one.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Alert the media.” She took the towel. “Are you staying tonight? Your
room still has a bed in it. I think there are a few of your things still in the
closet.”
My old room. Logan’s house. The warehouse.
Three places to sleep for three stages of my life.
Which one did I want to live in?
None. But at least Bianca was finally being honest with me.