Every month, the second my twenty-thousand-dollar salary hit my account, I kept exactly two hundred for myself.

The rest, without fail, got funneled straight into the shared account for me, my best friend, and my boyfriend.

The summer after senior year, Tristram Henson and Naomi Sullivan both graduated straight into unemployment.

I couldn't stand watching them mope around all day, so I clapped a hand to my chest and reassured them.

"Don't panic. I'll earn the money. I've got you both."

That "got you both" stretched into a full year.

For that whole year, I pulled late nights and overtime every day, scrimping on everything, wearing clothes until the edges frayed because I couldn't bring myself to replace them.

Today, I sent the transfer like always, and a nearby account's post floated to the top of my feed.

In the photo, Tristram and Naomi had their faces pressed close together.

Their private little joint account had just received twenty thousand, with a note that read: the loyal pet's monthly tribute.

Someone had commented underneath:

"Who's that? So generous to you two?"

Naomi had replied with a grinning, teeth-baring emoji.

"A dog my boyfriend and I keep."

"Faithfully hands over our living expenses every single month."

Right before those two lines popped up, I'd just swallowed a bite of the dense, unleavened roll I'd bought that morning, and it lodged in my chest, leaving it tight and aching.

Now, I turned and dropped the rest of it into the trash.

Then I opened my banking app, screenshotted every transfer, one by one, and posted them in the little group chat that belonged to the three of us.

"I won't even round it for you. Two hundred sixty thousand total."

"Three days. Pay it back."

Push an honest person far enough and they'll curse; corner a dog and it'll bite too.

——

Unfortunately, less than three seconds after I sent it, Tristram, the group admin, deleted it.

He messaged me privately.

"Whatever the issue is, don't make a scene in the group."

"Naomi's going through a rough time right now. If she sees that, she'll read too much into it."

I asked them to pay back the money, and Tristram turned around and pinned an "acting out for no reason" label on me.

I took a sip of water, forcing down the tightness lodged in my chest.

"I'm not making a scene. I'm just asking you to pay me back."

He pressed on.

"Did something happen?"

"No."

"Then why are you suddenly demanding money?"

That last line hardened all at once into an interrogation.

I leaned against the hallway wall, staring at those words, and felt the strength drain out of my whole body.

Back when I first started giving them money, Tristram used to refuse over and over.

"I should be the one earning and taking care of you. Having it the other way around, what does that even look like?"

Naomi's eyes would go red too, and she'd grip my hand as she turned it down.

"One salary supporting three people. That's too much pressure on you."

I'd shake my head right in front of them, saying it was fine, that we'd get through this rough patch.

But in the end, I was the only one killing myself to get through it.

Last month, I was in a meeting and didn't check my phone, so when my salary landed I didn't transfer it right away.

Naomi fired off twenty messages in a row.

"Ellie Swanson, isn't it about time to send this month's living expenses?"

"Why aren't you answering me?"

"Ellie, is it that you… don't want to support us anymore?"

Tristram chimed in to hurry me along too.

"Whatever you're doing, reply the second you see this."

"Where's the money? When are you sending it?"

In the end, to apologize and make up for it, I didn't keep a single cent for myself.

So now, they took the whole thing as a given.

They'd even, behind my back, gotten into something murky between them.

My phone buzzed, and a message popped up.

I opened it. Tristram had sent me five dollars.

"Use this to tide you over for now, and don't go bothering Naomi."

"You only eat two rolls a meal anyway. It won't cost you much."

I curled my fingers into a fist, more and more certain that every ounce of kindness I'd given had been thrown to the dogs.

It was only after we finished talking that Naomi surfaced in the group chat.

"Ellie, what did you post?"

"I was in an interview just now. I didn't see it."

But in that post from a moment ago, they were clearly sitting in an expensive Western restaurant, the mall behind them lit up bright as day.

Over the past year, Naomi had gone to no fewer than a hundred interviews.

Every single one ended in failure.

She'd lean against my shoulder and ask if I thought she was useless.

I'd comfort her, tell her the right chance would come along someday.

Only today did I understand that all of it was just the excuse she used to brush me off while she was out with Tristram.

The short break ended.

I put my phone away, and when I got back to the office, my manager called me over.

"That Southport project—you're the only one I trust to handle it."

"Two years. When it wraps, you come back with your salary tripled."

"Ellie, think it over."

I looked at the contract in front of me and didn't waste much time deliberating.

"I'll go."

An opportunity had landed at my feet at exactly the right moment. I had no reason to turn it down.

When I got off work, I didn't expect to see Tristram standing at the company entrance.

Naomi was there beside him.

Rain was coming down outside, and the two of them shared a single umbrella.

Tristram had the umbrella tilted entirely over Naomi's side, leaving his own shoulder half-soaked.

When he saw me, his eyes lit up.

"Ellie, over here."

I opened my umbrella and walked over. Tristram slipped underneath it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He was too broad, and he crowded me halfway out from under it.

Naomi pressed her lips together, and something I couldn't quite name crept into the way she looked at me.

Like jealousy, and like hatred.

"What are you two doing here?"

Tristram turned, staring at me in surprise.

"It's your birthday and Naomi's today. Don't tell me you forgot."

I froze. I really had forgotten.

Two straight weeks of grinding around the clock had left me with no energy to spare for things like this.

He put his arm around me and steered me forward, while Naomi came up and hooked onto my other arm.

"I booked a restaurant. You're both going to love it, I promise."

We arrived, and it was a Sichuan restaurant.

The place was loud and crowded, and the thick wave of heat and spice rolling out at me made me sneeze.

Once we sat down, Naomi expertly ordered a few dishes, then slid the menu over to me.

I closed it and pushed it back.

"I can't handle spicy food these days."

She looked up at me, hurt, her eyes misting over.

"Ellie, did I do something recently to make you upset? Didn't you used to love spicy food?"

Tristram cut in before I could answer.

"Of course she didn't. She's just reading too much into things herself."

I took a sip of water and swallowed it down with the bitterness underneath.

"I said it in the group chat yesterday. You two just didn't care."

Three in the morning. I'd only just finished my overtime.

I said my stomach was aching, a dragging kind of pain, that I'd taken a pill and was about to sleep.

The two of them were in the group chat, giggling away about some game, saying the other one's skills were trash, cursing out how lousy their opponents were.

My message sat buried in their string of stickers, ignored by unspoken agreement.

Not one person asked a single thing.

Naomi's expression turned a little awkward, her fingernail scratching at the table.

Tristram saw the mood had soured and pulled out two gifts, sliding them in front of us.

"Go on, open them. I got you both the same brand, so it's completely fair and even."

My reaching hand stopped short.

In front of his girlfriend, he was talking to another girl about being fair.

Naomi opened her box and let out a delighted gasp, lifting out a bracelet to show Tristram.

“Put it on me,” she said.

She draped her hand over his arm with practiced ease, her nails trailing along the inside of his forearm. It was an intimate gesture.

Naomi's skin had always been fair, and the bracelet only made it look creamier, more flawless.

Then Tristram reached over and opened the box in front of me.

“Let me put yours on too,” he said.

He picked up the earring inside and brought it toward my earlobe. Only up close did he realize I didn't have a single piercing.

His hand froze.

I looked at the earring pinched between his fingers. Such a tiny thing.

The bracelet, same brand, cost five times as much.

This was what Tristram called fair.

One look from him, and Naomi rose and clamped down on my hands.

“Ellie, hold still,” she said.

Tristram aimed the sharp post at my earlobe, as if he actually meant to force it straight through.

“I've seen other people pierce ears like this. I'll do it fast, it won't hurt, I promise.”

I thrashed like mad. “Let go of me!”

In the struggle, Tristram's grip slipped and the earring dropped, rolling off into a corner.

The place was packed, and it ended up kicked away somewhere no one could see.

I pushed back my chair and stood, my face burning red.

“You two eat. I'm leaving,” I said.

The dinner broke up on a sour note.

That night, lying in bed, I opened that shared-account post again.

Through her profile picture, I went to Naomi's page.

There were two shared accounts.

One was the three of us. The other was hers and Tristram's.

It was called Naomi & Tris Forever, and there was still thirty thousand left in it.

Tapping in, I could see every post she'd made.

While I was pulling day-and-night shifts at the company, run so ragged my feet barely touched the ground.

She and Tristram had gone to the amusement park together, seen the movie I'd wanted to see for ages, eaten at all kinds of restaurants.

Behind every expense, a photo of the two of them.

It was a full-blown relationship scrapbook.

When I scrolled to April twenty-fourth, there was an expense of fifty-two hundred.

The note said: Day One.

I remembered that day.

Because that was the day I collapsed at my desk, after four straight days on four hours of sleep.

When I came to in the ER, my first instinct was to call Tristram.

It rang and rang. No one picked up.

So I texted Naomi.

I waited forever. The message thread stayed empty.

So that day, with my money in their hands, they'd been busy celebrating Day One of something new.

Like some form of self-torture, I scrolled all the way to the bottom, tears sliding from the corners of my eyes into the pillow.

The next day was the weekend, and I started clearing out the things in my apartment.

I'd be leaving for Southport the following week. Time was tight.

To be closer to the company, I'd rented the place myself.

It was small, only big enough for one person.

It was crammed full of my things.

The toilet leaked, the walls were spotted with mold, and there wasn't even any air conditioning.

The one good thing was that the rent was cheap enough.

The first time Tristram and Naomi came over, they'd flatly refused to step inside, planting themselves at the door.

“What kind of dump is this? Fit for rats,” they'd said.

My hands had stilled over my things back then, and I'd gone red from my ears down my neck, hot with shame.

I opened the cabinet and dug out some of the old things.

The couple's outfit Tristram and I had bought, the embroidery on the chest faded now.

The ceramic mug Naomi and I had made together, a crack running along the bottom that I hadn't noticed until who knows when.

I found a big bag, packed all of it inside, tied it shut, and tossed it into the trash room.

The moment the bag left my hand, I felt lighter than I ever had.