Betray and Be Betrayed
Tom came into the flat and nearly collapsed right inside the door, his shoes flung off as if they weighed a ton. He stretched, made a half-hearted attempt to unknot his aching back, and sighed. What a day. From the moment hed sat down at his desk, emails had landed in his inbox way faster than he could delete them, all of them about urgent changes to a project that, naturally, had already been finished. Next came the meetings, piling up one after another like an exceptionally tedious game of Tetriseveryone proposing their brilliant ideas, all of which absolutely had to be implemented immediately, of course. And throughout it all, the deadline hung over his head, breathing down his neck in that sort of menacing, Friday-the-13th way deadlines do. Only one thought kept him going: hot shower, a strong cup of tea, and half an hour with his book, earplugs firmly in to shut out the world.
Somewhere deeper in the flat, the gentle hum of a computer was going, as familiar and comforting as an old kettle. Tom trudged down the hallway.
Sophie, you in? he called, raising his voice, not energetically; just enough to cover the distance.
No reply. He frowned a little, but reasoned she might not have heard over the whir of tech.
When he pushed open the living room door, Tom stopped dead. The scene looked odd. Sophie was at his desk, hunched towards his monitor. A USB stick jutted out from the tower, and the screen was displaying a windowcopying files. Something in her posturetense, the guilty quick jerk of the neck when she realised he was behind hermade his heart squirm unpleasantly.
What are you doing? he asked, aiming for the most neutral, emotionless tone he could manage.
Sophie jumped as if shed been caught pilfering biscuits before tea. She stabbed at the mouse, slamming closed whatever shed been doing.
Nothing special. Just looking for something, she replied, trying for casual, but her voice wobbled with nerves.
Tom walked further into the room, feeling a growing prickle along his spine.
Looking for what, exactly? he pressed gently. You know theres nothing on there but my work files. What were you after?
She spun to face him, a prickly glint in her eye.
Do I have to account for every little thing now? she snapped, eyes darting just about everywhere except his face.
That threw Tom a little. It was only his computer, after allnot the Crown Jewels. And it was definitely password protected. How had Sophie got in, anyway?
No, you dont have to account for everything, he said after a pause, choosing his words like they were chess pieces. But it is my work computer. What were you actually looking for? And what was going onto the USB?
Why do you care? Anything, really! her voice ratcheted up a notch, sharp as vinegar. Its none of your business.
I think it actually is, said Tom, feeling his fists begin to clench, still trying to keep things cool enough for Wimbledon. Ill say it againit’s my computer, my work stuff. Youre rooting about in my folders without asking.
Oh, dont act like some blameless saint! Sophie shot to her feet, already assembling her case for a row and her subsequent grand exit. No doubt, she reasoned, with a bit of drama she’d at least be doing her mate a favour. Youre always at work, never home. What am I supposed to do? My laptops dead, so I used yours. Dont make it out like Ive committed a terrible crime.
Tom stayed measured, jaw tight but voice iron-flat. He knew if he lingered on this track, things would explode.
Its not about that, though, is it? he said, quietly. Whats on the USB?
Sophie paused. She stared, weighing up whether to keep up the charade. She let out a huff, her last drop of uncertainty evaporating.
Fine. I was copying your latest project files. For Jamie.
For Jamie? Seriously? Tom stared at her, gobsmacked. After what he put you through?
Deadly serious, Sophie crossed her arms, chin out. Nobody puts baby in a corner. Hes in trouble. If he doesnt get these files, hell get sacked. You wouldnt understandthe place is a one-off; he can’t just replace this job.
Tom stepped back as if needing more air. He simply couldnt wrap his head around it: Sophie, choosing thisit felt like betrayal with a capital B. Three years together, and now this?
And you decided to help him? His voice was chilly with disbelief, the sort of disbelief you get seeing snow in June. At my expense?
She shrugged, as if what else could she possibly do. So what? Im fed up, you know. Youre going nowhere. Lifes passing me by!
Tom laughed dryly, the cold flat sound of someone whos just remembered all their favourite footballers have left for Spain.
Passing you by? he repeated bitterly. So nicking my work will make your life a carnival?
I wasnt stealing, I was helping someone whose life genuinely depends on it! Sophies voice trembled, but she pulled herself tall again, trying to sound very certain indeed. And for the record, he told me Ive been on his mind all this time. Never forgot me!
Tom shook his head. How could she be so naive? Believing the lines from a man whod left her without so much as a text. Couldnt she see Jamie wanted nothing but a shortcut to save his own skin?
Of course he did, Tom muttered, barely above a whisper. Thats why you couldn’t wait to save him. Didnt pause to thinkif I got caught, Id lose my job. Worseend up in court. Did you even think about that?
Have you ever thought about me? she shot back, frantic, not much left of composure. Did you care that I sit here alone all the time? Youre always at work or too busy. At least Jamie loves me! He was so happy to see meand you know what? I dont care what happens to you! Jamies the only man I love!
Tom recoiled. That stung more than he could admit. So thats how it was. She truly didnt care.
So three years mean nothing? Im just a placeholder?
She raised her chin, eyes blazing, almost daring him to say she was wrong.
Maybe! With him, I actually felt alive! With you Im just a convenience. What am I, some sort of decorative item?
Tom gripped the USB, pressing so tightly his fingers achedtrying to hold onto something, anything, that might still tether him to what they had.
Im working hard so we have a future, he said, each word weighted. So I could propose, set us up…
His voice wobbled, but he quickly reined it in. The silence that followed was burdenednot peace, but noise without sound, packed with unspoken things and ghostly hopes.
A future? Sophie barked a laugh that was pure sorrow and exhaustion, nothing funny about it. You dont even see what I need. I want to feel needed, here and now. Not someday, maybe, when you finally get round to noticing me.
Tom flexed his fingers, USB still hot in his palm. Sophies words had shone a harsh light on what hed not wanted to see: their lives were out of sync, as if conducted in two different time zones, with neither clock adjusting. He hunted for somethinganythingthat wouldnt make this blow up.
So nicking my files was your way of feeling needed? He shook his head slowly, voice careful even as his insides screamed. Do you understand this could cost me my job? My freedom? Did that cross your mind at all?
I dont care, she shot back, eyes flat, voice flinty. Let it fall as it will. My only concern is Jamie, and myself.
Tom stopped, really seeing hertense, lips set, gaze cool and certain. She wasn’t the woman hed shared lazy Sundays and late-night takeaways with. Not anymore.
You know what? Im leaving. Actually, I might not even bother coming back, Sophie snapped, heading straight for the bedroom. Although, why would I?
Where will you go? Tom called, taking a step unwillingly after her, already knowing the answer.
To Jamie, she threw back, not bothering to look around. Or wherever I pleaseat least now I can. No more lectures from you.
She wrenched open the door, hesitated a moment on the threshold, as if hoping hed say something. Tom said nothing. There was nothing left to say.
Tom stayed motionless among the chairs, the USB now as heavy as a brick in his palm, burning with regret. He slumped into the armchair, staring at the doorway as if it would explain what just happened. Thoughts thundered and clashed in his head, but not a single one made sense. He knew, with cold certainty: this wasnt going to be fixed with magic wordsthose didnt exist.
That night was nearly sleeplessTom replayed their conversation like a miserable highlight reel, sleep only coming in fretful snatches. In the morning, he felt as if hed never slept at all.
He gathered Sophies leftover things from her side of the wardrobe, then her bits and bobs from around the flat: a book on the sofa, cosmetics perched in the bathroom, scarves on the hallway peg. He packed it all neatly, taping each box as if sealing up a chapter.
As evening approached, Tom drove across town to Sophies mums place. Heart banging, but jaw set, he trundled the boxes upstairs and rang the doorbell. It swung open almost instantly, revealing a startled middle-aged woman who clearly hadnt expected him.
Tom? Is everything alright? she asked, genuinely puzzled.
He didnt explain, just pointed to the boxes on the floor and steadied himself.
These are Sophies things. If youd pass them along, please, his voice flat, impersonal, feeling nothing like himself.
But she lives with you, doesnt she? The confusion in her eyes made something twist inside him.
Not anymore, he said shortly, not allowing it to become a conversation. Goodbye.
Not waiting for her reply, Tom turned and headed for his car. His feet carried him faster than he meant them to. In the rear-view mirror, he spotted Sophies mum watching him leave, bereft. He didnt look back, didnt slow down. Just got on with it.
He drove around the city in a fog, traffic and signs and zebra crossings blurring into one grey river. Only one thing played in his mind: the last things Sophie had said, that cold look, the final slam of her words and the door. The ending of it all. No more future, no more plans for us; just a messy, silent goodbye.
Back at work, the world went on. Colleagues chattered about their weekends, passed round biscuit tins, traded office gossip. Tom nodded in all the right places, mumbled agreement, but his mind was somewhere in the stratosphere. He shuffled papers at his desk but couldnt make them add up to anything. Over and over, he saw Sophies last words, her hand clutching the handle, her calm Im leaving. Work became his only raftrows of numbers, neat columns, reliable as ever.
At lunchtime, Tom wandered outside, convinced that some real, proper English weather would help. London hummed along as usual: commuters hurrying beneath umbrellas, lorries grumbling at crossings, Greggs windows flashing neon offers. But it all felt a bit fictional, as if he were watching someone elses film through a dirty pane.
He shuffled back to his desk, glancing at the USBan unremarkable bit of plastic, and yet in his eyes, the distillation of everything that had gone wrong. He turned it over, feeling its coolness, then with a deliberate gesture, rose, walked across to the bin, and let it drop.
At that moment, Anna, his teammate, came in, catching his move. She shot a quick look at the bin, then at Tom.
You alright, Tom? she asked quietly, genuine concern in her tone.
Yeah, fine. Just swamped, he mustered a smile, hoping it didnt look as forced as it felt.
Well, if you want help, just say, Anna laid a printout on his desk. These are the project reports. Need the figures checked.
The calm, practical way she spoke grounded him a little. Tom nodded and got stuck into the numbersat least, he decided, maths was fair.
***
Sophie rushed to Jamies flat, rehearsing a dozen versions of how this would gohim welcoming her, arms wide, all forgiving and bursting into a reunion ending with violins and a lovely bottle of red. The sort of foolish optimism that feels possible only on a cold and terribly disappointing evening.
She stopped outside his building, tidied her hair, then rang the bell. The door flew openJamie stood there looking tense, old disappointment radiating from that well-known jaw. No smile. Just a brisk, irritated, Well? Got it?
Sophie faltered, her anticipation draining instantaneously.
I well, no, she stammered, the dread rising. Tom took the USB. I tried copying the files, but he came incaught me. He took it away.
His face darkened. He grabbed her arm without ceremony, yanking her inside and slamming the door. The noise echoed, drawing all the warmth from the hall.
So you did nothing, then? His words spat out like boiling tea. Couldnt even manage this simple thing?
Sophie tried to find some wordsany words. I did try She pulled back slightly, but his grip was iron. I thought Id have time, but he came back early
Tried Jamie mimicked, the word poisoned by scorn, finally releasing her wrist. Trying isnt doing, Sophie. You failed. Absolutely useless.
The words struck her full in the face, more shocking than any real slap. She took a tiny step back, devastated. She hadnt expected a gold medal, but she didnt expect to be kicked while she was down.
But you said you loved me. That you always thought of me Sophies voice cracked, praying for somethinganythingthat proved this wasnt her worst error in judgment.
Jamie laughed, a sound as cold as British drizzle. No heat, no comfort, just contempt.
I said it, sure. Sonly words, isnt it? The fact you believed me, wellcongratulations on being even more gullible than I thought.
You you didnt. Sophie shook her head, bracing against his cruelty. But you said
I needed the files, not you, Jamie intoned, arms folded, not an ounce of regret evident. You were a tool. Temporary. Now youre not even that.
Sophie stood rooted to the spot. She couldnt make her feet move. Inside, the cold suffocating grip of despair wound itself tighter. She searched his face for any humanity, but all that looked back was blank calculation.
But why? she whispered, her voice threatening to vanish. How can you be so cruel?
Because life isnt a fairy tale, Jamie said, and shrugged as if explaining why porridge was served on weekdays. Lifes about who can use who. You failed. Goodbye.
He strode to the door, held it wide, his meaning unequivocal.
Out.
Sophie wandered onto the landing, the door shutting behind her with all the finality one could wish for. She slid down the wall, tears streaking her cheeks.
The sky was black, heavy with rain. Orange streetlamps reflected in puddles, shimmering across the pavements. Sophie barely noticed the weather. Rain ran into her collar and down her back, but none of it registered. Everything shed trusted had turned to ashhis declarations, her hopes, the whole silly dream. Jamies words pounded in her ears: Useless Not needed Just a means to an end
She staggered through town, no real idea where she was headed. Thoughts churned, knotted, knotted again. At some point, without planning it, she ducked into a tiny café illuminated against the dark. She sat by the window, ordered tea, and stared at the steam, letting it cloud over everything.
The confusion slowly settled into recollections. She remembered how Tom had looked at her that nightnot furious or theatrical, just quietly hurt. He hadnt begged her to stay, hadnt shouted, hadnt even protested as she left. He just let her go. Then JamieJamies voice, Jamies chilly eyes, his shameful words.
He never loved me, she realised with a leaden certainty. That fact changed nothing, but at least placed the blame in the correct column.
She pulled out her phone. The reflection on the screensmudged mascara, swollen eyes, rain-matted hairmade her grimace. She scrolled to Toms number, hands shaking, heart pounding like the opening act at Glastonbury. She pressed call.
The ringing lasted ages. Then his voice, calm, a little distant: Sophie?
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Tom, she managed, and her voice broke.
A pause. No interruptions, just patient waiting.
Im sorry, Sophie pushed the words out. I Ill call you another time.
She hung up, staring at the screen until it was black again. She knew talking would be pointless after everything shed done. Shed demolished it allToms trust, their life, their illusions.
Her tea had gone cold. Sophie left plenty of change on the tablefar more than was needed for a single cupand wandered back out into the rain.
The city bustled on; cars crashed through standing water, people rushed beneath umbrellas, storefronts glowed through the drizzle. For Sophie, it all felt remote.
No Jamie. No Tom. No illusions. Only herself, and a silent, icy vacancy where hope ought to be.
She stopped at a crossroads, checked left, right, ahead. Where now? Her old flat was someone else’s now. Mother would have endless questions and no easy answers. Or she could just wander until even her own mistakes grew tired and left her alone.
Honestly, she hadnt a clue.
