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Jade
"What the fuck," I whisper, staring at the messages on his phone. "What in the actual fuck is this?" I continue, feeling my pulse escalate and heat flush my face. It has to be early morning, judging by the soft light filtering in through the curtained windows.
Dawson stirs and mumbles, but within a few seconds, his breathing evens back out, completely dead to the world.
Dawson. My Dawson. We've been together just over four years now and everything has been incredible. We're the definition of high school sweethearts, or so I thought. We met in middle school and became best friends nearly instantly. Dawson, Emily, and I became an inseparable trio, continuing our friendship into high school and college.
Though things have been a bit more complicated since we've been in college, we've maintained our friendship and still get together a couple times a week when our schedules work out.
As a matter of fact, we just saw Emily last night when she was here at our place, hanging out after a night of drinking and karaoke. We had gone out to the bar for a few hours, then crashed here, promising to take her back to her dorm in the morning. She's still here, sleeping in the guest room down the hall.
Scanning over the texts again, I take Dawson's phone and quietly slip out of bed, careful not to risk waking him. I need some space to figure out what the hell is going on. Padding on bare feet, I slide the glass door to the patio open, stepping out into the crisp morning air.
EMILY: Does she really have to know though?
DAWSON: We can't keep having these conversations, Em. She's going to find out eventually.
What conversations is he talking about? Everything prior has been deleted from his phone. As if that isn't suspicious as hell.
EMILY: Ughhhhhhh. I guess you're right. It's probably best if we're just honest with her about it now. I just don't want to lose you guys because of this whole mess...
My stomach churns, threatening to spew all of the alcohol from last night at any second. My head spins, making me feel dizzy and disoriented.
There's no way this is happening.
Locking his phone, I place it face down on the table next to me as I watch the sunrise, desperately trying to extinguish the burn in my chest and calm my pulse. Acting insane isn't going to fix anything. I just need some time to figure out what's going on and how to move forward from here.
Nearly tiptoeing, I place the phone back on Dawson's nightstand before heading for the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. While that is brewing, I put a few of the dishes away, clearing the space of any unnecessary clutter.
My mind is whirling with a trillion thoughts as I absentmindedly grab a mug from the cupboard and open the fridge door for the creamer. "Fuck!" I start, nearly jumping out of my skin, hand flying to my chest. My heart is beating erratically against my ribcage from the scare. "I didn't hear you come in."
Emily stands on the other side of the kitchen, rubbing the back of her hand against her eye. She groans before dropping onto one of the bar stools and holding her hand out for a coffee. Withholding the eye roll, I pour her a cup of coffee and hand it over, which earns me a tiny hint at a smile.
Before I open my big fat mouth and say what's on my mind, I place my mug on the counter and head off toward the bedroom. I hadn't planned on starting the day with a shower, but I need space before I explode.
With Dawson still asleep in our bed, I quietly close the bathroom door and turn on the hot water. While waiting for it to warm up, I stare at my own eyes in the mirror, searching for I don't even know what at this point. Hope? Understanding perhaps? Maybe even a hint at what I'm supposed to do going forward.
While I don't have all the answers, it seems pretty obvious that Emily and Dawson have been seeing each other behind my back, even if it isn't spelled out in black and white in the few texts I found. Roughly pulling my hand down my face, I turn from the mirror and focus on things I can control for now. Removing my pajamas, I step into the hot water, steam now rolling from the walk-in shower.
This shower is hands down my favorite part of the entire house. We had it custom built when we bought the place. It's all black tile with gold grout with his and hers rainfall shower heads. There is also a handheld sprayer for each side and shelves built into the wall in the middle. There's even a bench made into my side for when I want to relax in here.
I step into the hot water, hands clasped around the back of my neck in a pathetic attempt to ease some of the pressure building there. It's starting to give me a headache and that's the last thing I need right now. I take a huge breath, filling my lungs until they feel as if they will burst, then exhale all at once. With that, the first tear slips down my face, joining the rest of the water drops circling down the drain.
Going through the motions, I finish cleaning myself before I collapse onto the bench, turning the handheld sprayer toward my body so I can keep warm. Pulling my legs up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them, leaning into the wall, and let my world crash down around me. Wave after wave of grief threaten to take me under.
I grieve for my relationship. My friendship. Our future. We've all been intertwined so long I can't even imagine moving forward without either of them now. As I'm trying to pull myself together and gather the courage to leave the shower, I hear the door open and the shuffling of feet.
"Babe?" Dawson mumbles, still half asleep. "You never shower this early. Is everything okay?" Of course he would ask. I always shower at night, close to bed time.