The Billionaire Who Waited While He Drowned

1: 1

Two in the morning, and I stood at the foot of Sybilla Henson's building, watching Ferris James hold her, his face buried in the curve of her neck.

"She's just too much. Every single day, on and on about nothing."

His voice was muffled. "I can barely breathe."

Sybilla stroked the back of his head. "But you promised we'd never be apart."

"That's why I came to you."

Ferris gave a bitter little laugh. "You're the only place I can catch my breath."

The keyring slipped out of my hand and hit the ground with a clink.

They turned at the same time.

The color drained from Ferris's face. "Fiona Dudley… listen to me, the sleepwalking came back, I don't even know how I ended up here…"

"You've had this sleepwalking for three years now."

I looked at him. "And every single time it drops you right at Sybilla's door?"

His lips trembled. Nothing came out.

Sybilla looked down. "Fee, we…"

"Don't let me stop you."

I turned to go. "I'll move out tomorrow. I'll leave the keys by the door."

Ferris chased after me and grabbed my wrist. "Let me explain!"

I looked back at him. "Ferris, we've been together three years, and you can't even be bothered to come up with a new lie."

He let go.

Only then did I see it clearly. From start to finish, he had never once meant to keep me.

1

Back home, I didn't turn on the lights.

The dark wrapped around everything. Me included.

The shirt I'd bought Ferris was still lying on the couch, the tag not even off yet.

The one he'd worn out today, I had ironed that too.

I walked over and picked up the new shirt. Soft fabric.

Then I dug out the scissors and cut it apart, one slice at a time, into scraps.

The sound of tearing cloth was very clear in the quiet of the night.

My phone kept buzzing in my bag.

I didn't have to look to know it was Ferris.

I didn't answer. I let it ring until it cut off on its own, then start up again.

I blocked his number.

The world finally went quiet.

I started packing.

This apartment, where we'd lived together for three years, was covered in traces of me. And of him.

His toothbrush, the matching set I'd bought.

Trash.

The record he loved, an out-of-print copy I'd combed the whole city to find.

Snapped in two.

On the wall, the photo from a trip we'd taken together, him grinning wide, his arm around my shoulders.

I took it down and dropped it, frame and all, into the garbage bag.

My hands moved numbly, but inside I was hollow and shaking.

Three years ago, Ferris "sleepwalked" for the first time.

He vanished in the middle of the night, his phone unreachable.

I was frantic, nearly called the police.

He came back near dawn, dazed, saying he'd woken up on a park bench.

He said he might have a sleepwalking disorder.

I believed him.

I took him to doctors, read through endless material, took care of him so carefully.

To keep him from wandering off during an "episode," I tied a red string around his wrist and looped the other end around mine.

But later, the red string was always undone after I'd fallen asleep.

His "sleepwalking" happened more and more, the places stranger and stranger.

Sometimes the office. Sometimes a friend's place.

Not until tonight did I realize there had only ever been one destination.

Sybilla.

His college crush. Our mutual friend.

How fitting.

I packed a small suitcase with just the necessities.

At dawn, I dragged it out of that apartment.

The keys went under the doormat.

I didn't look back.

A text came in from an unknown number.

"Fee, where are you? Let's talk. It's not what you think."

Ferris.

I sent back two words.

"Get lost."

Then I blocked that number too.

I checked into a hotel, and the first thing I did was pull the covers over my head and sleep.

The exhaustion in my body flattened the pain in my chest.

I woke to my best friend Sandra Fox's call.

"Fiona, are you insane? Pulling a disappearing act? Ferris has been blowing up my phone!"

My voice came out rough. "I broke up with him."

Silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"Send me the address."

Half an hour later, Sandra showed up at the hotel room.

She looked at my red eyes, asked nothing, and just pulled me into a hug.

"Cry. You'll feel better once you cry it out."

I didn't cry.

I'd run out of tears last night.

I told her everything, exactly as it happened.

Sandra was so angry she stamped her foot. "I knew Ferris was no good! And that Sybilla, and to think you called her a friend! What a pair of dogs!"

She cursed for a good while, then looked at me, aching for me. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Find a place. Start over."

"Move in with me. I've got a spare room."

I shook my head. "No, I want some quiet on my own."

Sandra didn't push. She only said, "Okay. Anything comes up, call me anytime."

She stayed with me all day and didn't leave until evening.

Then it was just me alone in the room again.

I opened my phone and, without knowing why, pulled up Ferris's social media feed.

He rarely posted. His last update was from six months ago.

But today, he'd put up something new.

"I lost my moon."

Underneath it, a picture of a pitch-black night sky.

The comments were lively.

All our mutual friends asking what was wrong.

Sybilla had commented too. "Don't be sad. The moon's always there."

I let out a cold laugh and closed the app.

Such a performance.

If I really were his moon, how could he have stood to let me gather dust.