The Bet by Max Monroe

Thursday, April 5th

Sophie

When I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop the damn tears from streaming down my cheeks, I forced myself to get out of bed. The sky was still dark, but I knew my favorite bakery up the street from my apartment would be open.

So, I threw on some clothes, don’t even know what clothes, and walked the two blocks.

But when I got there and ordered my usual—a glazed donut and a coffee—I couldn’t even lift the donut to my mouth to take a bite. Couldn’t even take a drink. The idea of food or anything else made me want to puke.

I also think the fact that Rose, the little old lady who owns the shop, kept looking at me with sympathy and concern on her face wasn’t helping my current distraught state.

Surely my red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks weren’t giving her any reassurance.

To be honest, I hate that I’m so affected by what Jude said to me. By how he acted. By the way he seemed to turn into a completely different person when faced with the idea of more happening between us.

I feel as if I’ve taken ten steps back in the progress I thought I’d made.

I know I come with some serious baggage, but I also know that what I saw and felt couldn’t have been a figment of my imagination. He feels something for me.

Or felt something for you, at least.

More tears stream down my cheeks, and I swipe my hands over my face as a shaky breath bounces around in my throat.

Just. Stop. Crying. For. Fuck’s. Sake.

On a deep inhale, I force oxygen into my lungs and continue my path to the only place that makes sense right now.

The sun begins to make her way over the horizon just as I pass the doorman standing outside Belle’s building and step into the lobby. I know it’s early and I know she and John are probably in bed, but I can’t seem to find it in me to care.

I need my twin.

On the elevator and up the ten flights to her floor, I stare down at my shoes the whole way. They’re the oldest pair of gym shoes I own, and by the looks of the stains and ratty shoestrings, I should’ve thrown them in the garbage a long-ass time ago.

But who cares about shoes when you feel like someone tore your heart out of your chest, amiright?

The mental joke has the opposite effect. Instead of being a careful avoidance of my reality, it only serves as a stark reminder.

Cue more fucking tears.

Frankly, if Justin Timberlake didn’t actually write “Cry Me a River” about Britney Spears, then he could easily just tell the world I was his muse.

Am I pathetic for feeling like this? Maybe it all really was a figment of my imagination?

After another swipe of my hand across my face, I pull the key to Belle’s apartment out of my purse. It’s the one she gave me for emergencies, and considering I feel like I might be one crying jag away from someone having to put me in a straitjacket and ship me off to Shutter Island, I’d say right now qualifies for this 9-1-1, unexpected arrival.

When I step inside, John’s and her apartment is completely quiet, and I meander around in her kitchen for a little while, hoping that maybe she’ll wake up and come find her twin sister having a mental breakdown by her fridge.

But when the silence becomes too much for my racing mind and time feels like it doesn’t budge a second, I pull a Cristina Yang and walk straight into my sister’s bedroom, slip off my ratty shoes, and climb into bed with her and John like they’re my Derek Shepherd and Meredith Grey.

Thankfully, from what I can tell, they’re not naked. But at this point in my emotional rock bottom, I don’t even think I’d care about that.

Belle stirs in her sleep and turns on her side, her eyes blinking open and groggily staring into mine. “Sophie?”

“Hi.”

“Am I dreaming?”

I shake my head.

“So, you are, in fact, in bed with me and my husband.”

I nod.

John is awake now, sitting up on his elbows a little to look over Belle’s shoulder and directly at me. “Ah, hell. This really is happening.”

“No offense, sis. I love you very much, and I’m always happy to see you, but…” Belle pauses and clears the sleep from her voice. “It’s a little strange waking up to both you and my husband in bed. Mind explaining what’s going down here?”

“I need you,” I whisper, and it cracks open the flimsy dam, allowing my tears to come back full force.

“Oh no, honey,” Belle whispers and quickly pulls me into a tight hug.

“I think now is a good time for me to go make some coffee,” John announces quietly, and I feel the mattress shift as he gets out of bed. Without any questioning, he just walks out of their bedroom, and I hear the door click shut, his signal that he’s given us privacy.

Why does my brother-in-law have to be such a good guy? I sure as shit know he wouldn’t leave Belle in the middle of the night because he’s a fucking commitment-phobic asshole.

Another round of sobs, and I officially hate myself.

“Okay, you have to give me something here because I’m starting to get really worried,” Belle says quietly, concern very much evident in the inclination of her voice. “What’s going on, Soph?”

“Everything.”

Belle sighs. “Can you be slightly more specific, maybe? Everything is a lot of ground to cover.”

I wish I didn’t have to burden my sister with all my bullshit, but the strength it would take to keep all this bottled up inside me any longer is too much. I can’t do it. I can’t keep lying to my sister—or anyone else, for that matter. The only thing that feels right is to tell the truth.

So, through each shuddering, unsteady breath, I do.

“I’ve been having secret sex rendezvous with a guy I haven’t told you about. Even went to Vegas with him for a few days. And now, everything has blown up into flames.”

“What?”Belle leans her head back to meet my eyes, and the look of shock that is on her face makes me grimace. It also makes me cry harder.

“I’m sorry!” I sob. “I should have told you. I know I should’ve told you, but everything just got so out of control. And at first, I didn’t know what you’d think about me sleeping with the dancer from your bachelorette party, but then, he didn’t end up even being a dancer, and before I knew it, I was meeting up with him for hot sex in public places and he was stealing my panties and I was a Girl Scout in Vegas, earning orgasm badges!” I ramble on a wail and shove my face into her pillows.

“What the…?” she says and releases me from her arms to sit up and rest her back against the headboard of her bed. “Who was stealing your underwear? And when were you hanging out with Girl Scouts?”

“No!” I bellow and lift my head to meet her eyes. “There’re no Girl Scouts!”

“Holy hell, I feel like my head is going to explode,” she mutters and reaches out to shove some of my hair out of my face. “Honey, I’m going to need you to take a breath, calm yourself, and start from the beginning. But much slower this time and with a little more detail because I’m really hoping this story of yours doesn’t involve what I’m now thinking it does.”

Oh God. I’m really failing at the delivery of all of this.

With deep inhales through my nose and long exhales through my mouth, I try to slow my quick, hiccupping breaths down.

“That’s it,” Belle encourages with a gentle hand to my shoulder. “That’s perfect. Just keep doing that.”

Once my breathing slows and the tears stop streaming from my lids, Belle offers a soft smile in my direction. “Better?”

“A little.”

“Enough to tell me what’s really going on, but this time, in a way I can actually understand?”

“Yeah.” I nod.

“Because I have to say, I’m still a little confused and slightly horrified about how Girl Scouts and orgasms go together, you know?”

I should probably laugh at that because it’s fucking ridiculous, but humor is not an emotion I can feel right now. But thankfully, telling my sister everything is something I can manage. And while it’s difficult as hell and I shed more tears than I’d like, I crack my Jude box wide open.

I tell Belle how things started between us. How things progressed. I tell her about all our secret meetups and about Vegas and how I met his family.

I even tell her about the secret sex club where no sex happened because Jude wanted to leave. How it felt like things had changed between us and how horribly wrong everything went last night.

And I tell her how devastated I felt—still feel—when he left.

Once I’m finished, Belle just wraps me up in her arms and gives me a tight, loving hug.

“I’m so sorry, Soph,” she whispers into my ear. “I wish you would’ve told me about Jude before now.”

“I know. I should have.”

“Man, I can’t believe my bachelorette party was a catalyst for this,” she mutters. “But I can definitely understand the draw. Pretty sure any woman would understand. The man is like an irresistible Greek god with a smile that could light panties on fire. Although, I’m currently struggling with the urge to go track his ass down and straight up kill him for hurting you like this.”

Her mere mention of panties threatens to send me spiraling again, but I dig deep to push the unwanted emotion back down into my belly.

Belle runs her fingers through my hair, rooting me in comfort I really needed to feel, and we both just stay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling of her bedroom.

“I don’t want to ask you this, but I have to, Soph. Do you really think there’s no hope?”

I shake my head and swallow around the thick ball of emotion lodged in my throat. “It’s done.”

“God, I’m so sorry.” Belle frowns, and all I can do is shrug. But then she surprises me with her next line of questions. “Can I put in a request? No more secrets between us, okay?”

My therapy sessions with Dr. Winters pop into my brain, and I cringe.

Unfortunately, Belle doesn’t miss it. “What? What is it, Soph? Is there something else?”

I shake my head. Sigh. I even almost lie and tell her I’ve told her everything, but I realize that all of my lies and secrets played a role in leading me to this desolate state. “I’m not ready to say yet, but just know it’s not something you need to freak out about, all right?”

She searches my face, like she’s trying to figure it out anyway, but ultimately, she gives up and agrees, “Okay.”

A few minutes later, Belle gets out of bed, but I just lie there, mostly numb from all the crying jags, but also, my head still spinning around like a top over thoughts of Jude.

Why does it have to hurt so bad?

Because you’re in love with him.

I shove my face into my sister’s pillows again and fight back the tears with a groan. I know I shouldn’t have fallen in love with Jude Winslow, but it’s pretty fucking obvious that’s what I went and did.

“Okay, yeah.” Belle’s voice fills my ears. “I think it’s safe to say today is not a workday and I need to call Katelynn and let her know her ass better drive into the city because we need a Sage Sister day.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I mutter into the pillow, but my sister is undeterred.

“You’re not getting out of this one, Soph. We’re having a ‘fuck boys’ day!”

“Yeah, fuck those boys!” John yells from the kitchen, apparently hearing more of our conversation than he was letting on.

I lift my head from the pillows just in time to see Belle shout back at him with cupped hands around her mouth. “Mind your business! You have a dick, too!”

Before I know it, she’s keeping her word and grabbing her cell to call Katelynn. And by the time she hangs up the phone, Belle lets me know that our elder sister is going to meet us at Amelia’s Diner for breakfast.

I feel relief to be surrounded by the support of my sisters. But also, I feel dread over the idea of having to be out in public, when on the inside, I feel like half of my heart has been relocated into someone else’s body.

But as I watch the way my sister helps me get ready—brushing my hair, letting me borrow some of her clothes, doing everything in her power to lift my mood—I realize that I need to stop hiding shit and let her and Katelynn all the way into my life. I have to be more open to their support that I so obviously need.

It’s time you finally tell them everything—even your standing Wednesday appointments with Dr. Winters.