The Bed That Never Had Room for Me

Grace's POV

I got out of bed, threw on my clothes, and headed toward the door.

My boyfriend, Lyle Holloway, called after me, "Where are you going?"

Ignoring him, I kept my head down as I laced up my shoes.

Under the threatening glare of my best friend, Pamela Sinclair, he ultimately apologized, though he sounded reluctant. "I guess I… went a bit too far earlier."

Still, I walked straight out the door.

At this point, Lyle's patience completely ran out. "Haven't you had enough? Where could you possibly go in the middle of the night? Does the whole world have to bend over backward for you because of your mother's tragedy?"

Before I could answer, Pamela ran over and grasped my arm, gripping it so tightly it hurt. Her eyes were red, and tears were already streaming down her face.

"Grace… I'll explain things to you. Please don't do anything rash. Don't do something you'll regret!"

I lowered my gaze to look at her hand. Then, I chuckled.

I freed my hand from her grasp. "The dumbest thing I've ever done in my life was letting you move into this apartment, Pamela."

My tone was as flat and lifeless as stagnant water. "Growing up, I always gave you whatever you liked. When you said you liked my dresses, I bought you matching ones. When you said you wanted to get into the same university as me, I risked a disciplinary demerit to slip you the answers. Now, since you like my boyfriend and this bed, I can give them to you, too."

Tears trickled down her face. Her lips parted, but she couldn't find her voice.

I looked at her apathetically. "Are you satisfied now? If you are, stop bothering me! I have nothing left to give you."

With that, I pushed the door open and walked out.

The early autumn wind surged into the stairwell and made me shiver, but I didn't slow down. Under the harsh glare of the streetlamp, my shadow was cast against the pavement.

I looked down at my slippers. The pink bunny ears were already caked in dirt.

The memories I had tried so hard to suppress came rushing back through my blurred vision.

When Lyle and I first got together, he treated me well. He knew that ever since Mom died beside me, I was afraid to sleep alone and couldn't bring myself to turn off the lights. So he deliberately bought a place in the same apartment complex where Pamela was living.

At the time, Lyle told me, "Pamela lives close by. When I'm away on business trips, she can come over and keep you company."

Pamela later fussed about how worried she was about leaving me on my own. Initially, she only stayed the night every now and then. Before long, she was spending several nights a week with us.

Eventually, she ended her lease and moved into the apartment Lyle and I shared. When Lyle found out, he said, "It's better if you two stay together. That way, you don't have to bounce between two apartments."

I didn't suspect a thing until the couple's mug set in the living room became a set of three and a third slot was added to the toothbrush holder. The pajamas, slippers, and even the new bedsheets I bought later all had matching versions for Pamela.

She would always grasp my arm with a sweet smile, her voice sickeningly sugary. "Grace, let's buy these together. Besties are supposed to match!"

Even our mutual friends joked, "Grace, you're so lucky! You got yourself a boyfriend, and he came bundled with a girlfriend."

I didn't get it back then. I wholeheartedly believed that I had hit the jackpot with both love and friendship. Now, I realized that even they were more clear-headed than I was.

My friends had realized long before I did that there had always been a third person in this relationship.

I wiped away my tears, kicked off my slippers, and tossed them into the trash can beside me.

As I stood there barefoot, a chill crept up from the soles of my feet, spreading throughout my entire body. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, scrolled to a number, and dialed it.

"I've made up my mind, Aunt Hannah. I'm willing to go abroad with you."