I Was the Fifth Friend, Until They Made Me Nothing Chapter 07

I Was the Fifth Friend, Until They Made Me Nothing Chapter 07

“Does anyone know the address of Evelyn Parker’s studio?”

The message appeared in the group chat while I was in Helmut’s office presenting the final storefront concept.

Ryan had sent it.

Ethan replied, “She won’t tell me.”

Miles wrote, “I asked too. She wouldn’t give it to me.”

Sabrina’s response made me pause.

“Ryan, why don’t I ask her? Evie might be a little nicer to me.”

A little nicer.

She always cast herself as the gentle mediator.

As though her sweetness could resolve every conflict.

As though I wasn’t answering because I had a bad attitude, not because I wanted no contact with them.

Ryan replied, “Ask her.”

Sure enough, Sabrina messaged me ten minutes later.

“Evie, Ryan wants to come see you. Can you send me your address? I promise I won’t tell anyone else.”

“No.”

“Why not? He’s really worried about you.”

“He isn’t worried about me. He’s embarrassed that I left him.”

Sabrina sent a shocked emoji.

“Evie, how can you say that about Ryan? He has barely slept for days.”

“He barely slept before either, because he was staying in the studio with you until midnight.”

She didn’t reply.

A while later, she wrote in the group chat, “Evie won’t give me the address. Don’t panic, Ryan. Give her time.”

Give me time.

I was already gone, and she was still beside him, playing the endlessly understanding one.

Helmut tapped the desk.

“Evelyn, I’ve finished reviewing your concept.”

“What do you think?”

“The client emailed. They want to meet you in person for the presentation next week.”

“All right.”

“You adapted faster than anyone else in this cohort.”

“Thank you.”

He adjusted his glasses.

“But you seem distracted today.”

“It’s personal. It won’t affect my work.”

“If it does, tell me.”

I nodded.

Kilian walked with me for part of the way home.

“You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is your ex still trying to find you?”

“He isn’t looking for me. He’s looking for his wounded pride.”

Kilian laughed.

“That’s ruthless.”

“That’s clarity.”

When I reached my apartment, I opened my laptop and found an email.

It was from Ethan.

Not a text. An email.

He had used the university email address I’d created freshman year.

“Evie, you won’t answer the phone or reply to my messages, so I had to email. Mom said you told her you were safe, but she’s still worried. So am I. Will you please tell me why you left? Did I do something? Tell me what it was, and I’ll change.”

I’ll change.

The same words Ryan had used.

I typed a line and deleted it.

Then typed another and deleted that too.

In the end, I sent one sentence.

“Ethan, do you remember the ribs I made on your birthday?”

He answered quickly.

“What ribs?”

He didn’t remember.

I had spent two hours making his barbecue ribs, and he didn’t remember.

But he remembered the restaurant Sabrina had chosen.

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What doesn’t matter? Evelyn Parker, can you please finish what you’re saying for once? You always do this. You say half of something and stop.”

I always did this.

He thought I was the one who stopped halfway.

But every time I tried to finish, Sabrina interrupted, or he told me I was being dramatic, or he skipped over my words to make some new plan.

It wasn’t that I only ever told him half.

He was only willing to hear half.

I closed my email.

That night, Ryan posted on Instagram.

It showed an empty studio, with an unfinished portrait resting on an easel.

The caption was only two words: “Come home.”

Sabrina was the first person to like it.

She commented, “Hang in there, Ryan.”

Then she added a raised-fist emoji.

I took a screenshot and stared at it for a long time.

He was publicly asking me to come back.

And she was beneath his plea, cheering him on.

As the two of them performed this little drama, did either of them realize what they looked like?

They looked like partners worrying together over a stubborn younger sister who had run away from home.

Not a boyfriend begging his girlfriend to return.

The two of them together, trying to bring an unruly person back into line.

I closed Instagram.

I muted Ryan’s and Sabrina’s posts and stories.

Then I opened the studio project and worked until two in the morning.

I slept when I was tired and drew when I woke up.

I didn’t have to wait for anyone’s message, analyze anyone’s tone, or wonder who was spending time with whom.

Zurich nights were clean, final, and quiet.

For the first time, silence didn’t mean I was being ignored.

It was something I had chosen.