My phone buzzed incessantly while I lay on the bed in Matt's bedroom. On autopilot, I walked through the apartment and fell back on the mattress. I hadn't moved for the last half an hour.

My breathing grew heavier as I tried to make sense of what Carrie was insinuating at the bar. I didn't want to believe her, but deep down knew none of it was a lie. I knew it from the ache in my stomach and pounding in my head.

The phone rang again, and I couldn't take it any longer. Propped up by a couple of pillows, I checked the lock screen and let out a sigh of relief when I saw Zaire's name.

"Hey bumblebee, where are you? I have to ask you something." Zaire's voice became clearer as the music faded out. I recognised the pop song playing in the background. CeCe must have been on a break or had finished her set for the night. "I looked around the bar, but no one's seen you for a while. Come to the staff room."

"I can't." My eyes stung even though tears had yet to fall. Hoping to shield myself from the discomfort, I covered them with my arm. "I'm not there. I–I came back to the flat."

"Why? You okay?"

No. "Yeah, everything's alrigh'. Just have a headache. I'll be back before midnight."

"Get a taxi, okay? Or ring one of us to get you. Don't walk in the dark."

"I will." I felt awful for lying to Zaire because I wouldn't be back. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Well, I guess it's more of a tell or advise or–not sure, really." The clang of metal sounded over the phone. He blew a lengthy breath and continued, "Think I'm gonna kiss CeCe at midnight. But I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or think I didn't care about Saffron or–"

"Do it," I cut in. "No regrets, Z. Just promise you'll never lie to her, okay?"

"Okay. You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, go have fun. And Z? I love you. I'm happy for you both. CeCe's amazing."

"I love you, bumblebee."

I hung up the phone and burst into tears. Even if it was only for a few minutes, holding myself together, while lying to my best friend, was draining. Staring at the ceiling, numbness infused my body. I had to leave but couldn't find the strength to take that first step.

I had no idea how long I stayed in that position, but slowly my skin prickled with annoyance and every muscle tensed. While I'd looked through the photos on Liv's phone, she told me about Bailey, in more detail than Matt ever did. One drunken night, he had confessed everything to Freddie who in turned had told his girlfriend.

Matt blamed himself so much for her death that he believed he needed to save everyone. Each girlfriend after Bailey had something he thought he could help them with. And once he realised they didn't, or he deemed they were healed, well, he simply moved on. Carrie had shrunk into herself as Liv explained everything better than she ever could. She'd been a casualty in his self-imposed mission.

Not able to rest until I found the box Carrie spoke of, I sat and scanned the room. His chest of drawers. I opened each drawer, felt around until I reached the wooden bottom and ran my hand along it, hoping I would find at least a photo. Without a second thought, my feet forced me to his wardrobe, and I looked through his clothes, the shelves, and the boxes on the floor.

This wasn't me. I didn't usually snoop through other people's belongings, but I couldn't help myself. I had to check at least once, to compare our faces again. Maybe I was mistaken at the bar. The lighting was poor and everything happened so quickly.

Stretching to the back of the wardrobe, my fingertips brushed against a sharp edge. I clawed at the side, moving it closer until I slid an old shoebox all the way out. I held my breath, squeezed my eyes shut out of fear and pulled the lid off.

There they were, letters and photos of his first love. I wasn't angry about the contents of the box. I expected he kept momentos of her somewhere. That was the normal process while grieving. She was a part of him, and there was no denying that. I would have never taken that away from him. No, the betrayal I felt was in the lies. Whether they were small or not, the fact remained that Matt had lied to me, about his Instagram account, about how similar Bailey and I looked. I wanted him to love me, not be a replacement for something he lost.

Being loved second was not the punishment, but filling someone else's shoes was torture.

In spite of the fogginess clouding my judgment, my attention was on high alert and I sensed the change in the air as keys slipped and twisted into the front door.

I slammed the lid back on the box and kicked it under his bed, but one photo remained. I grabbed the incriminating evidence and swept it under a pillow.

"Hey babe, you in here?" Matt shouted from the hallway. His keys jangled as he set them down in the bowl at the entrance. I had heard that same action time and time again. But unlike every other occasion where I couldn't wait to see him, dread took hold, making a home in my limbs.

"You okay? I was worried about you. Why didn't you tell me you had to leave? I would have taken you home."

"I got a taxi."

"You okay?" He kissed the top of my head and I flinched back.

"A headache." I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. "You know what? I have to go home. You shouldn't have left work." I stood and packed the small rucksack I had kept at his.

"I had to see if you were okay. Zaire said you came back on your own. I was worried."

In my mind, I lost it and threw my bag at him, screaming. In reality, I had nothing left to give.

"That's why I have a headache. You're suffocating. I can't breathe anymore without you there."

"Where's this even coming from? We were fine earlier. More than fine. Bea, babe, tell me what's wrong."

"This." My hands were shaking as I reached under his pillow for the photo of Bailey. "Explain to me why me? It's not a coincidence is it, that we look identical? And Carrie as well?"

His expression hardened. "Carrie." His hands tightened into fists by his side. "She put this in your head?"

"She didn't need to, did she? The proof is there?" l waved the photo in his face and chucked it at him.

He reached out, but I stepped back so he didn't make contact. I couldn't have him touch me in case it broke my resolve. My throat narrowed and my eyes misted over.

"Liv told me how you met her. And what it was really like after Bailey," I added, my voice softening despite despair hollowing me out. "I thought I could trust my gut feeling but guess I was wrong there as well." I actually gripped my stomach as if in physical pain.

"You can. I've done nothing wrong." A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he swooped down to pick the photo of Bailey up. He gazed at it for a few seconds and slid the image in his back pocket.

"What was it? You saw some sad sap at the bar and thought she made an easy prey. Heard Zaire talk about how pathetic I was and couldn't help yourself?"

"That's not it at all. I think you're the strongest person I know." He attempted to close the distance between us, but I kept my arms up to stop him.

"Bullshit. Weak. You only liked me because I'm weak." A whimper escaped and before long I was choking on heavy sobs. I wiped my face with my palms, but no sooner had I cleared my vision than it blurred again with a burst of fresh tears.

"Who are you going to believe? Someone you just met or me? Bea, it's me. I haven't changed since that first night. I adore you." He stared down at his feet and his voice broke on his last sentence.

"The signs were all there. You wanted me after a fucking panic attack. You broke your therapy vow so you could have one last fix of saving someone. Every time I told you I needed you, it was probably a wet dream come true." I clutched at my neck and my cries wracked through my chest. All the rage I had unintentionally bottled up over time poured out of me, and I could no longer stop my attacks as they tore through each layer of my relationship with Matt.

I shook my head and winced, recalling our first time together. "Ew, no." I covered my mouth with my hand and gaped at him in disbelief. Surely, our first time was real. But as nausea washed over me, I couldn't help thinking it was part of his need to rescue something damaged. "You were so attentive the first time we had sex. Making it all about me. What guy does that with a one-night stand?"

"Fuck's sake! Will you listen to yourself? How can you believe that shit?" He bellowed and pounded his fist into his thigh. After taking a deep breath in, his tone steadied. "I'll admit its wrong, but Bailey sent you to me. I'm sure of it. When Zaire told me about you, I thought it was too good to be true. You'd gone through the same as me. Finally, someone that would understand what we were going through. No one else gets it. Not even Zaire because he didn't cause the death."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "But it wasn't my fault." Did he think it was, just like everyone else?

"I know, it wasn't mine either. It was an accident."

My pulse sped up as heat flushed through me. "This is so fucked up."

"But when I saw you, everything just clicked in place. I had to know you, to be with you. She sent you to me." His gaze locked on mine imploring me to listen to what he believed was true but it only sliced me raw.

"I can never compete with a dead girlfriend." I touched the ring on my hand and sniffled. "You'll always be comparing me to her. Especially if we look the same. Why can't you see that it's messed up?"

"It's not about competing with her." He scowled and ran his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends of it as if he wanted to rip it out. "You know what? Fuck you."

"Fuck you, too! I hate you."

"That's the thing. You really don't and that's what scares you and why you're pushing me away. You don't hate me." His shoulders drooped, and he covered his face with his hands.

"Stop, you're breaking me." You were supposed to put me back together. Instead, I felt destroyed. All that hope I had gambled on us evaporated with all the lies.

"And you're breaking my heart." He glanced back up, his eyes rimmed with red. "I can't do this. I can't. I'll give you some space. Think about what you want because I know what I want. But the one thing I will never do is force you into anything. I told you that and I stick to my word."

Without a second thought, he turned and stormed down the hallway.

As I watched him walk away, I asked myself if that was what I really wanted. Even while I felt like pieces of myself had been ripped apart, did I want him gone?

I chased after him and clasped his arm. "This is your place. I'll leave."

He stared down at my grip and shrugged me off. "I have to go back to work, anyway." The door slammed, leaving me standing alone in an empty apartment.

Both of us had fought to be heard, believing they were right, but in this battle through grief and emotions, neither one of us came out victorious.

Defeated and drowning in sorrow, I clutched my rucksack to my front. My fingers trembled as I swiped my phone open. I didn't want to cause him any more worry, so I tried to hide the tremor in my voice. "Hey Dad, can you come and get me, please?"

Without questioning my need for him to pick me up instead of grabbing a taxi, he agreed and hung up. The moment he was off the line, I shattered. Like the windscreen when I crashed my car and killed my best friend. Like the glass over Halloween. Like the glass figurine, I couldn't quite piece back together.

***

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