Cruel Trust

Twenty-Five

When Julia got to the condo, I could tell she was still a little annoyed with me, which I resented since I had done nothing to her. She came in and all three of us took a seat in the living room. She was looking around, almost like she'd never been there before, with a look of—what was that? Envy? Disgust? When had Julia ever looked at anything related to Andrew or me with such contempt?

But then she was looking at me, waiting for me to speak. When Andrew spoke instead, she looked at him in surprise.

"Julia, we have to ask you a question, and it means a lot to us that you are honest in your answer," he started.

She curled her lip a little. "Umm, okay? As if I'm not usually honest?"

He shook his head and continued. I cocked my head to the side. "Did you press charges against Covington for his attack on you?"

For a moment she was taken aback but recovered quickly. "Yes, of course. I told you I went to the police station the day I got out of the hospital."

Lie.

"Then why did Detective Sherman tell Charlotte that you hadn't?"

She crossed her arms. "I'm sure I don't know." She looked at me. "Why would you ask me this? You trust some pig more than you trust me, your best friend?"

My mouth dropped. Some pig? Julia's grandfather is a retired police chief, and her father is on the force in Bowling Green. I've never heard her speak ill of the police.

"Julia, what are you talking about? Pig?"

"Pig? Cop? Come on, Jameson, get with it," she quipped.

"I know what 'pig' means, Julia, I've just never heard you use that term seriously before."

"There are a lot of things you pay little attention to, aren't there, Charlotte?"

"Okay, that's enough—" Andrew started, but she whipped her head around so fast her ponytail wrapped around her neck.

"Aww, am I hurting your precious fiancée's feelings? Poor little Charlotte," she mocked, and I stood up and walked to the window, looking out toward the west.

I crossed my arms and shook my head, not looking at her.

"Julia, what the hell?" Andrew yelled. I whirled around to look at him. He was on his feet now, almost as angry as he was when I told him Liam was still around. "What's your problem? We called you here to talk about this as friends, and you have the—"

She cut him off, standing up. "Oh, shut up, Emerson. You know what? This is for you too, Char," she said, a sardonic emphasis on my nickname. "So what if I didn't file charges against Liam? What's it to you?" I gasped and walked over to them, and we stood in an awkward triangular formation.

"What's it to me? Really?" 

"Yeah, really. So you got attacked by a dude you were infatuated with. Big fucking deal," she spat.

I don't know what happened, but I saw red."Big fucking deal?! Are you serious?! I had a miscarriage, Julia. He killed our child! How dare you?" I was crying by that point, and I turned around, bumping into Andrew. He wrapped his arms around me, and I knew he was glaring at Julia.

"Julia, I think you should leave," he snarled. "You've said enough."

"Gladly. Catch you on the flip side, princess," she jeered. She snatched her purse off the floor and stormed out of the condo, slamming the door behind her.

Andrew and I looked at each other in silence; there was nothing else to say.

The two weeks after our blow up were the longest Julia and I ever gone without speaking. We had been friends since we were sixteen, and even in our dramatic high school days, we didn't go this long. Maybe she was waiting for me to call her? I sighed and picked up my phone again, dialing her number. I waited as it rang once, twice, three times. Finally, the call went to voicemail. I disconnected before it beeped, throwing my phone down onto the bed. 

We never ignored each other's calls, never left each other on read. No matter what. This was bullshit. If she was going to ignore my calls, that was fine. When she breaks down and calls me, I won't answer and run back to her like nothing happened. Forget that. No more sweet little Charlotte who just takes her nonsense like it's nothing.

I stood up and started rifling through my purse. I am an angry cleaner, and one of my favorite things to do was clean out my purse. I dumped the contents out onto the bedroom floor and pulled the wastebasket over to me, throwing away receipts, gum wrappers, and ATM cash envelopes. My eyes landed on the brown leather journal Liam had given me in our first appointment. I rolled my eyes and opened it to the first page.

I read the first couple pages, feeling sad but accomplished at the same time. I was so far from that person now. But as I turned the pages and saw my reaction to Liam's good looks, I hated myself a little. What was I thinking? God...I had Andrew right in front of me and I got mixed up with that psycho? I must've...Wait. A sentence caught my eye as I read.

"I'm lucky Julia works for my insurance company, or I may not have found a doctor as good as Dr. Covington."

I didn't think about it until just now, but it was strange that Julia didn't Google Liam before giving me his name. And I'm pretty sure she didn't because she would have told me what he looked like. There's no question about that. And furthermore—I guess I was only thinking this because I was angry with her—but if she had never given me his name, I would've never gotten into this mess. I wrinkled my nose and kept reading.

I rolled my eyes for a solid two pages and shivered when I realized just how long Liam had been following me in the BMW—he started within a week of meeting me. How did I not see what a creep he was? And when I told him about the noise I heard in my room the morning after Andrew stayed over? That look of what I called "concern" on his face? Yeah, it was concern. Concern for himself, afraid he was about to get caught. The more I read, the more disgusted I became, and I shoved the journal under the bed. I never wanted to look at it again.

Another week passed with no word from Julia. Andrew has been working a lot at the bank since tax season is coming up, and I've been going back and forth to work as usual. I've started going by my house more often, though, since Andrew and I are likely going to move in there after the wedding. It's becoming easier and easier every day.

I pulled into the driveway after work, jogged up the front steps, and unlocked the front door. Looking around, I noticed that dust had settled on the surfaces, so I looked under the kitchen sink for a dust rag and polish and set to work. I started upstairs so I could get that over with, and when I was halfway down the stairs, something caught my eye under the sofa. I narrowed my eyes and walked over, getting on my hands and knees to reach it.

It was an unfamiliar looking pill bottle. I grabbed it and turned it in my hands—Julia Stone. What was a pill bottle of Julia's doing under my sofa? I glanced down at the prescription name: Invega. I thought back to my one health science class I took in high school when I had a fleeting thought of going to med school. The drug didn't ring a bell, so I flopped onto the couch and googled it.

What I saw chilled me to my core.

"Invega is an atypical antipsychotic medication used to treat certain mood disorders, such as schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder." I read aloud to myself. Schizophrenic? Julia? How was it possible I did not know this? Julia and I have been best friends since we were 16. The thought of her being schizophrenic was foreign to me. How could I not know?

Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. I felt like I didn't know Julia at all. What in the hell was going on?

I jumped up, threw the bottle into my purse, and when it rattled as it hit the bottom of my bag, my body broke out into gooseflesh with the sudden realization: the bottle was over half full.