25. I Will Always Be Ugly

I quietly pulled away from the audience, who had now risen to their feet to get a good look. In a complete panic, I ran to the house, put on only my long coat, and grabbed my handbag. The keys to Sandor’s car lay on the kitchen table. I couldn’t think; I could only act. Getting into Sandor’s car wasn’t theft; it was my getaway car. And getaway cars need to be removed from the crime scene as quickly as possible. I couldn’t go home. The only home I had was in Scotland. I remember nothing about the drive to Rotterdam. I have no idea where I left Sandor’s car. All I knew was that I needed to get on the Eurostar to London as quickly as possible. For the first time in my life, I was lucky, and after just ten minutes, the train pulled into Rotterdam Central Station. Thank God I had tickets with an open date for the return trip because we didn’t know exactly when we’d be leaving.

It wasn’t until I was on the half-empty train into Belgium that the tears came. Of course, he’d chosen Sylvia. Given the choice, men always chose Sylvia. I’d fooled myself for a while that Ciaran would choose me, but when he faced like-minded people, he obviously didn’t choose the ugly duckling. How could I have fooled myself? How they would all laugh tonight as they celebrated their club’s brilliant success. How stupid could I have been to think he actually cared about me? Men are quick to use the word “love” when it meant getting free sex. I had given him my all, but it wasn’t enough. I would have given my life for him. If I could have saved him by sacrificing my own, I would have done so. Without a second thought. But it wasn’t enough. It never is.

It’s always Sylvia, and the bad part is, I can’t even blame HER. She is who she is, and it was natural that men were attracted to her. In my mind, I kept seeing the horrifying images of Ciaran’s mother voluntarily humiliating herself on that scene. I could clearly see the barbed wire digging deep into her flesh. Sylvia, please come up here on stage with me? Sylvia, please come up here on stage with me?

This time, I had to make the transfer from London to Edinburgh alone. Get used to it, ugly girl. From now on, you’ll have to do everything yourself. During the long journey north, I closed my eyes. They ached from crying. Everything hurt. How on earth am I supposed to go on? That question repeated itself with every mile I travelled. Where was I going? To a house that had absorbed all my money, but which I did not own and never would. If that disgusting display by that woman, with Donald J. wrapped up like a sissy, had made anything clear, it was that I had nothing more to expect from him. My house gone. My dream house here is gone. Ciaran gone. Sylvia gone. Alone in the world. Abandoned by everyone. I’d so often mentally blamed Ciaran for losing so much gambling. And what had I done? I’d bet much higher than he did, and I’d lost. I’d lost everything, including myself. Finally, sleep took hold of me, and I woke up just before we arrived.