“Be grateful that I bought the good shit,” Grant boasted before taking the first hit with his money. “Now it’s a party, ladies.”
Julia rolled her eyes and turned away from Grant. It was almost as if looking at him made her sick.
If only the tabloids knew about his little side hustle. The golden boy wouldn’t seem so shiny.
I took the bill from him, leaned over, and plugged one side of my nose, inhaling the little bit of salvation. As I came up from the table, I looked at Julia and offered her the bill.
Julia seemed reluctant to take it but eventually said, “Fuck it.”
Grant just laughed in the background as he always did. A haughty sound that grated my nerves. He would purse his lips and watch the room like he owned it. His father had more money than God, a fact Grant capitalized on. But who cared about Grant?
At some point, I left him downstairs in the living room, giving him full reign of my liquor cabinet. Julia followed me upstairs so I could finish getting ready.
Thankfully, she sat quietly on my bed as I changed into the outfit Beaute sent over. It was a tweed skirt with a matching button-down jacket. My trench coat was also custom-made to fit the theme of black and white. The heels I slipped my feet into were mile-high and sure to give me blisters, but they didn’t say there was a thin line between fashion and pain for nothing.
I didn’t even bother showing Julia. She wouldn’t have appreciated it. Fashion wasn’t her thing.
As I walked out of the bathroom, I saw Julia fumble with an orange bottle. Her grip faltered and it rolled to my feet.
When I went to pick it up, she shoved me. “Julia,” I gasped, shocked at her behavior.
“Stop, Grace!” Julia shouted, her hands flying everywhere.
The bottle rolled behind me, so I turned and grabbed it, elbowing Julia to block her from intercepting it.
Turning it in my hand, I saw it was a prescription pill bottle. I had barely gotten the chance to read the label before Julia forcefully snatched it away from me.
Zoloft.
So Julia was on antidepressants. Why didn’t she tell me she was depressed?
I pursed my lips, looked at her, and muttered, “Sorry.” I then went over to my walk-in closet to get my lipstick and crossbody. I had to get out of the room and away from Julia’s disapproval.Away from the glances of disgust as I primped in the mirror that made my stomach do flips.
When I said sorry, I really didn’t even know which part I was apologizing for.
I’m sorry I didn’t know you were struggling.
I’m sorry I’m not who you want me to be.
I’m sorry you’re not who I need you to be.
I’m sorry all of this is weighing on you.
But of course, I didn’t verbalize any of that.
When I stepped back into the room, Julia made a dash out of the door wordlessly. At least she didn’t pick a fight with me. Thank goodness for small blessings.
As I heard her footsteps on the hardwood stairs, I snapped out of my daze and followed quickly behind her.
She couldn’t leave—no, not like this.
I had to fix this.
Who knows how long it would take for her to visit me again after this fiasco.
“Jules, wait,” I called from behind her.
She crossed her arms and turned to face me. Her face was red from anger, embarrassment, and probably exertion from running down the stairs.
