I watched them—my man and my best friend—entwine beneath the trees, hurry into the hotel, and later come out flushed and laughing, joined by several of his friends who had helped deceive me. They joked and chatted as if everything were a game.
I thought the pain of heartbreak would stop after it broke me, but when I heard one of them say in passing, "Talia looks pretty in makeup—she's not that different from Elaine," a new kind of nausea rose in me.
Talia hit the man playfully. "Don't compare me to Elaine. How many people are as delicate as she is and always want to be spoiled?"
They used me as the butt of their jokes, their teasing without limit. My throat dried and clogged with bile until I felt I would vomit. As they walked away, Talia opened the passenger door like she owned the seat I always kept for myself.
I couldn't stand it any longer.
I flung my car door open and ran at them. Iñigo looked shocked, his face gone pale. He instinctively tried to pull Talia down—only to be stopped by the first of my slaps.
"Iñigo!" My voice was raw; my chest ached. All the sweet memories—once like a parade of happy scenes—shattered into tears that fell and smashed on the pavement.