My Boyfriend Chose Her. So Did My Two Best Friends. Chapter 05

My Boyfriend Chose Her. So Did My Two Best Friends. Chapter 05

“Cassidy, you’ve had your phone off for a whole day. Where the hell are you?”

That was the first voice memo I heard after landing in Melbourne and turning my phone back on.

Weston, sent at 3:17 a.m.

Four more messages followed, tone shifting from irritation to real panic.

“You don’t have to talk to me, but at least send one word back.”

“I went to your dorm. Delaney said you moved out. What is that supposed to mean?”

“Cassidy, where did you actually go? Where’s your stuff? Where’s the picture on your desk?”

“Call me.”

I didn’t call.

Melbourne’s morning was just starting; the airport terminal was cold with air conditioning.

I dragged my suitcase toward the arrivals area, scanning around with my phone in hand.

My pickup was holding a small sign with my name.

Company arranged.

At the apartment, I set my bags down.

A 240-square-foot studio-a bed, a desk, a tiny kitchenette.

Barely enough space for one person’s life.

Perfect.

My phone lit up. A message from Graham.

[Cassidy, Weston can’t find you anywhere, he’s losing his mind. Did something happen? Don’t scare us.]

Scare us.

Someone who was never on your mind to begin with goes missing, and your first reaction is “don’t scare us”.

Not are you okay. Not are you safe.

Just-don’t scare us, don’t cause us trouble.

I texted Graham back.

[I took a job overseas. Everything’s fine.]

Seventeen seconds later, Graham called.

“What did you just say?”

“I moved to Melbourne. Got an offer from a design firm.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’m not.”

“You-when did you decide this?”

“A month ago.”

“Does Weston know?”

“He does now.”

“Cassidy, is something wrong with you? Your boyfriend didn’t know you were moving abroad? You decided

this all on your own?”

“You don’t need to worry about Weston.”

“I’m not worried about him, I’m… why didn’t you tell any of us?”

“I did. I said I had good news to share. You were all busy talking about Harlow’s cake.”

Silence on the other end.

“When was this?”

“The day I got the offer.”

“I don’t remember…”

“Of course you don’t. You never remember anything I say.”

Graham went quiet for several seconds.

“Did you post it in the group chat?”

“I did.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“Scroll up.”

I heard him flipping through his phone, then a long silence.

“…it’s right above Harlow’s cake photos.”

“Yeah.”

“Cassidy, I-”

“Graham. You don’t need to apologize. That’s not why I left.”

“Then why?”

“Because out of the five of us, I was always the one who didn’t quite fit.”

He didn’t say anything.

I hung up.

I set the phone down, opened my suitcase, and started hanging clothes in the closet, slowly, methodically, like I was confirming each piece actually belonged to me.

My phone buzzed nonstop on the desk.

Weston.

Message after message.

[Graham said you’re in Melbourne? Have you lost your mind?]

[You left without even breaking up with me first?]

[What kind of person does this? Is this normal?]

[I’m buying a flight to come find you right now.]

The last one was a voice memo, his voice hoarse.

“Cassidy, don’t do this. Whatever’s making you unhappy, tell me, I’ll change, okay?”

You’ll change.

Change what?

Change never inviting me to the sunrise. Change leaving your charger at Harlow’s. Change having time to fix her laptop but not my printer. Change draping your jacket over her while telling me I should’ve dressed

warmer.

These weren’t one or two incidents.

They were two years, accumulated one small cut at a time.

Not a single violent blow-but having my feathers plucked out, one by one.

By the end, you think I’m still there. But I’ve already forgotten how to fly.

I didn’t reply to him.

I opened my laptop and logged into my new work email, sent HR my acceptance confirmation.

The moment I finished typing the last word, my phone rang again.

Desmond.

“Cassidy, are you trying to make Weston chase after you? If you want him to prove something, you didn’t

have to run this far. You could’ve just said so.”

“I don’t need anyone chasing me.”

“Then why’d you run?”

“I didn’t run. I went to work.”

“You’re alone in another country? You don’t know anyone, what if something happens?”

“These four years, when something happened to me, did any of you ever show up?”

Desmond paused.

“What do you mean?”

“Sophomore year I had a fever. Said so in the group chat. You were all helping Harlow set up her photo

exhibit. Nobody came. I went to the ER myself. Hit 103, got three bags of IV fluid.”

“…I remember you said you were fine that time.”

“You believed it.”

“You said you were fine, of course I believed it.”

“Desmond, when someone says they’re fine, it doesn’t mean they actually are. You needed me to be fine. So I

said I was fine.”

Long silence on the line.

“Cassidy, if you really think we treated you badly, say it to our faces. Not just-vanish without a word.”

“I did say it. To your faces. Many times. You called it sensitive. Called it holding grudges. Called it throwing a

tantrum.”

“That was-”

“That was what?”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Desmond, don’t call me again. I’ve landed. Everything’s fine. Tell Weston not to come.”

I hung up.

Set the phone on the desk, turned off notifications for every social app.

Outside the window, the sky was very blue, the sunlight very white.

A new city. Nobody here knew me.

Nobody needing me to keep sustaining a relationship in which I’d never once really been seen.

The phone lit up one last time. Delaney.

[Landed?]

[Landed.]

[Cold there?]

[It’s fine.]

[Cassidy.]

[Yeah?]

[You’re braver than you think you are.]

I looked at that sentence and, out of nowhere, my eyes went hot.

I wiped the corner of my eye and typed back one word.

[Yeah.]