The Bed That Never Had Room for Me

Every single time I get intimate with my boyfriend, Lyle Holloway, I notice he always changes the bedsheets afterward. After a frenzied release, I can't help but ask him about it. Lyle gently twirls a strand of my hair around his finger and smiles tenderly. "Of course it's because your best friend sweats buckets. Every time before I do it with you, she gets jealous and insists on going first. Ever since I met her, I've realized that women really are made of water." His response catches me off guard, and I stare at him in utter disbelief. "What did you just say?" He stubs out his cigarette, a half-smile playing on his lips. "Grace, your mom was tortured to death in bed by your dad, not by me. So, every time you lie in bed like a corpse, it really kills the mood. That's your trauma, not mine, and you shouldn't expect me to pay the price for it, got it? "In fact, you should thank your best friend. She's helping you maintain our relationship!" My best friend, Pamela Sinclair, rushes in with tears in her eyes and immediately slaps Lyle across the face. "Apologize to Grace right now, you bastard!" I gaze at the two of them, but all I can taste in my throat is bitterness. Turns out, all these years, I've been nothing more than a burdensome killjoy in Lyle's eyes. I'm done squeezing into a bed that was never big enough for three of us… Chapter 1 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." Chapter 2 Grace's POV My aunt Hannah Graham's cautious voice came through the phone, brimming with delight. "Have you thought it through, Grace? Before your mother passed away, the person she worried about most was you. "That whole tragedy left you with such a deep trauma… I've always been afraid you'd get stuck in it. Now that you've finally come around, I'm just so…" She paused for a moment before regaining her composure. "I'll book your ticket. How does tomorrow afternoon sound?" I blinked my dry, aching eyes. "That sounds fine. I'll go back and pack my things. I'll see you at the airport tomorrow afternoon." After hanging up, I found a nearby hotel and checked in. The bed was clean and untouched. No one had slept in it, and it was free of anyone else's scent. For the first time in a long while, I slept remarkably well. … I slept until the following afternoon before returning home. When I pushed the door open, I realized no one was home. I headed straight for the master bedroom to pack my belongings. The moment I pushed the door open, I froze in my tracks. Even though I had prepared myself for the worst, the scene before my eyes still drove a knife straight through my heart. The bedsheets were crumpled into a heap at the foot of the bed, and the pillows were crooked and shoved to one side. A pink lace bra with ruffled edges was draped over the edge of the mattress. It was the one Pamela wore all the time. On top of the sheets lay a pair of pink panties, streaked with stains. Every detail made it painfully obvious just how intense things had gotten between the two of them after I left. I dragged myself forward, and my eyes immediately locked onto the bra strap, where the words "50 min" were written in black marker. At that moment, my heart completely died because that bra belonged to Pamela. Those glaring numbers instantly transported me back to three years ago—to the day Pamela moved in. That night, she and I lay on the bed, chatting about our love life. Pamela told me she had recently started seeing someone, but because of his unique line of work, they couldn't make their relationship public, and they rarely got to see each other. I had noticed, however, that there were often numbers written on the straps of her bras. Sometimes it was 35, other times 48, and the highest I'd ever seen was 72. Unable to contain my curiosity, I pressed her to tell me what they meant. Lying beside me, she giggled and said, "It's how long my boyfriend lasts in bed every single time we do it. It's our little secret code." Back then, I laughed and teased her, genuinely happy that she had found a good man. But now, I realized that the man she had been talking about was Lyle all along. What was going through her mind when she was bragging to me back then? Was she treating me like a joke, playing me for a fool, or just taking pity on me? As if possessed, I turned around and walked into Pamela's room next door. I opened her closet and immediately saw rows of lingerie hanging neatly along the wall. The straps were densely covered with written numbers. Several had hearts drawn around them, while others had been traced over twice in red ink, like a calendar meant for only one person's eyes. At that moment, I wanted to cry, but I couldn't shed a single tear. My eyes felt so swollen and sore that they seemed ready to burst. My phone rang, and I answered with red-rimmed eyes. An urgent voice came from the other end. "Am I speaking with a family member of Pamela Sinclair? She's in critical condition right now and needs immediate surgery. You're listed as her emergency contact. Please come down as soon as possible to sign the consent form!" Chapter 3 Grace's POV After wrestling with it for a long while, I ended up taking a cab to the address the doctor had given me. At the end of the day, Pamela's life was on the line, and I couldn't just stand by and watch her die… When I burst into the hospital, I saw a familiar face. It was Lyle; he was leaning against the wall with an anxious look on his face. When he heard hurried footsteps, he lifted his head to glance at me. Before I could even ask what was going on, the doctor stepped out of the operating room. The moment he spotted Lyle, he fumed, "You youngsters are seriously too reckless! You need to show some restraint in bed! Your girlfriend had a ruptured corpus luteum cyst this time. "Fortunately, she was brought here before it was too late. If not, she could've suffered massive internal bleeding. That could've cost her her life!" I stood rooted to the floor, as if someone had slapped me across the face. A ruptured corpus luteum cyst… So I had rushed all the way here just to be humiliated one more time. Right then, the doctor noticed me, and his tone softened slightly. "You must be Ms. Sinclair's family. Her boyfriend got here in time and has already signed the consent form." The corridor lights were stark white, casting a cold glare on my face. Lyle looked at me, a hint of nervousness creeping into the depths of his eyes. He thought I would lose my shit and make a scene. However, I merely smiled. "That's good to hear." After watching the doctor head back into the operating room, I turned to leave. Lyle sprang to his feet. "Hold on. Pamela wants to talk to you." I didn't turn around. "What does she want to talk to me about? The position you two used last night and how long it lasted?" His voice dropped. "Haven't you kicked up enough of a fuss, Grace? Pamela has never wanted to compete with you for anything. She's the one who has been wronged all these years. Instead of appreciating everything she's done for you, you're going to humiliate her?" I balled my hands into fists. My nails dug into my palms until I felt nothing. I closed my eyes and tried to take another step forward. However, he grabbed me by the wrist from behind. I tried to break free, but I couldn't shake him off. While we were stuck in a brief standoff, the nurses wheeled Pamela out of the operating room and into a hospital room. Lyle dragged me in after them. Pamela was propped up in the hospital bed. Her complexion was so pallid it was almost translucent, and an IV was still inserted in her wrist. Yet, when she saw me, she tried to push herself up. "Grace… you're here…" Without uttering a word, I eyed her coldly. Her eyes misted over again, and she shot Lyle a look. He knitted his brows, but he still reluctantly stepped out of the room. Pamela straightened up with great effort, reached under her pillow, and pulled out a sheet of paper before handing it to me. It was an abortion report dated three years ago. Looking me dead in the eye, she spoke, her voice trembling. "Grace, believe it or not, I never intended to come between you and Lyle. Three years ago, I was pregnant with his baby, but I didn't keep it. I had an abortion, and because of that procedure, I might never be able to conceive again. "I admit I hesitated back then, but ultimately, I chose to go through with it because I didn't want to lose you. Compared to you, an unborn child meant nothing to me." Right after saying that, she drew a breath, as though she were using up the last of her strength. "I'd like to ask you for one selfish favor today… Forgive me for the sake of the price I've paid for my mistakes. Last night was the last time I let myself go. "Lyle has already given me his word that he'll never betray you again. I'll move out. If you'll still have me, we can still be best friends, and Lyle can still be your boyfriend." Chapter 4 Grace's POV A wave of utter absurdity washed over me. It turned out that when pain reached its limit, it somehow began to feel almost laughable. I curled my lips into a mocking smile. "So what, I'm supposed to thank you now for aborting my boyfriend's child?" Her lips quivered, and she reached for my wrist. That was when I noticed a silver ring on her ring finger. The silver was distinctive, with a muted, grayish-white sheen. My whole body went rigid. I recognized it in an instant. After Mom died, I had mixed a small amount of her ashes into molten silver and personally forged this simple band. The first night I gave myself to Lyle, I slipped the ring onto his finger. Back then, he promised me tenderly, "I'll never take it off, Grace. When we get married, I'll put it on your finger and let your aunt see with her own eyes that you've found a home." But now, it was on Pamela's finger… My whole body began to tremble. "Where did you get this ring?" Pamela averted her gaze, yet she was at a loss for words. That was the second I snapped. Like a madwoman, I lunged at her to rip that ring off her finger. Pamela was knocked to the floor, letting out a bloodcurdling scream. Lyle hurried through the door. The moment he saw Pamela slumped against the edge of the bed, with the IV needle already ripped from the back of her hand, he rushed up to her to support her. When he turned around to look at me, his gaze was ice-cold. "Have you lost your mind, Grace Rochester?" I didn't look at him. I crouched on the ground, clutching the ring, my whole body trembling. "You can humiliate me, but you can't humiliate Mom!" Lyle sprang to his feet and glared at me. The very next second, he swatted the ring right out of my palm. The silver band clattered against the tiled floor. "Enough is enough, Grace! Your mother was tortured to death back then because she was a loose woman! Your mom's dead, your dad has lost his mind, and yes, I feel sorry for you, but the whole world doesn't revolve around you. I don't, and neither does Pamela! Now apologize to her!" I swallowed the dull ache in my chest, a look of absolute resolve flashing in my eyes. "Not a chance!" After hearing that, he sneered and pulled out his phone to make a call. Moments later, a caregiver came in. My eye twitched, and a bad feeling surged in my chest. Lyle bent down, picked up the ring from the floor, and walked over to the window. "Fine, you don't have to apologize. I just hope you can handle the consequences." I belatedly realized what he was about to do and charged at him. However, it was already too late. The caregiver pinned me down, rendering me immobile. Lyle wrenched open the window and hurled my ring out of the hospital window. "No! Don't do this! Please, Lyle!" Yet no matter how desperately I cried and pleaded, it was useless. The caregiver only let me go after I had cried until my voice was hoarse. I remained on my knees, my cheek pressed to the cold tiles, tears and snot slathered all over my face. Lyle had already escorted Pamela out, not even sparing me another glance. God knew how long passed before I forced my numb body back up. Using the wall for support, I made my way out of the hospital, one painstaking step at a time. With every step I took, the dull ache in my chest gradually faded. I didn't go home. There wasn't a single thing in that apartment that was mine. I hailed a cab and told the driver to take me to the airport. As the city lights blurred and receded outside the window, my tears finally ran dry. I thought to myself, "May we never cross paths again, Lyle."