Part II: Bea begins with a sense of dis­ori­en­ta­tion that even writ­ing can’t ful­ly soothe. Putting thoughts on paper is Bea’s only way of pro­cess­ing the impossible—what her life has become since Blanche’s death. Her best friend is gone, and the man she once trust­ed with her future might be respon­si­ble. That real­iza­tion hasn’t stopped echo­ing in her head since she woke up locked away, alone, in a hid­den room of her own home.

Every­thing about the room reminds her of Eddie—his plan­ning, his taste, his con­trol. The pan­ic room had seemed like an odd lux­u­ry at the time, an over-the-top addi­tion he’d jus­ti­fied with charm and prac­ti­cal­i­ty. Now, that very room has become a prison, and the man who held her close with love in his eyes might be the same man who mur­dered Blanche and trapped her like a crim­i­nal.

The shift in per­cep­tion is so dra­mat­ic that Bea strug­gles to believe it her­self. Even when Eddie brings food and sup­plies, his silence is loud­er than any expla­na­tion could be. Each vis­it rein­forces the sick­en­ing truth—this isn’t a mis­un­der­stand­ing. He’s not here to explain. He’s keep­ing her locked away, delib­er­ate­ly, and what­ev­er the rea­son, it has noth­ing to do with love.

Bea’s thoughts return to that final din­ner with Blanche, try­ing to trace the steps that led to tragedy. The din­ner was sup­posed to be a cel­e­bra­tion, a warm evening between life­long friends. But under­neath the clink­ing glass­es and shared mem­o­ries was a new ten­sion. Blanche wasn’t herself—too thin, too sharp, and hid­ing bit­ter­ness behind third mar­gar­i­tas and pas­sive jabs.

What stung most wasn’t the judg­ment about Eddie. It was Blanche’s refusal to be hap­py for her. Instead of joy, she offered skep­ti­cism; instead of sup­port, she deliv­ered warn­ings. Bea had want­ed to give her friend a moment—like the ones she’d seen in movies—where news of a pro­pos­al sparked squeals and hugs. But that moment nev­er came.

As they sat across from each oth­er at La Paz, Bea felt the shift—Blanche wasn’t just skep­ti­cal. She was resent­ful. She ques­tioned Eddie’s inten­tions, mocked the quick engage­ment, and refused to use his name, reduc­ing him to “that guy.” Her dis­missal hurt, but what cut deep­er was the sud­den real­iza­tion that Blanche may not want what’s best for Bea—she may want what Bea has.

Bea didn’t want to believe it at first, but the signs were there. The cold glances. The forced com­pli­ments. The jeal­ousy wrapped in con­cern. Blanche, once her fiercest pro­tec­tor and biggest cheer­leader, was now the one under­cut­ting her hap­pi­ness.

Still, Bea tried to smooth things over. She reached for con­nec­tion, even ask­ing Blanche to be her maid of hon­or in an attempt to sal­vage what was left. But even then, Blanche couldn’t let her have the win. Her final words dripped with condescension—implying Bea’s love wouldn’t last, mock­ing the ease of her life, as though suc­cess had made her soft.

That night might have been the turn­ing point. Not just for Bea and Blanche, but for some­thing else—something dark­er. Bea keeps cir­cling it in her thoughts: was Eddie already plan­ning some­thing? Did he see the frac­ture between the friends? Did he sense that Blanche’s dis­ap­proval might be a threat?

Now, in this room, Bea doesn’t have the lux­u­ry of doubt. Each detail of that week­end becomes fuel for sur­vival. She replays it not to mourn—but to ana­lyze. To under­stand.

She’s start­ing to notice pat­terns in Eddie’s vis­its. The rhythm of his foot­steps, the way he avoids eye con­tact, the small things he forgets—like that she likes her bananas green, not speck­led. Those details once felt like love. Now they feel like mis­takes she can exploit.

Bea isn’t ready to scream. Scream­ing won’t save her. But think­ing might. And if she can stay focused, if she can write it all down, maybe she can find the thread that unrav­els what­ev­er Eddie is hid­ing.

She’s not ready to call him a monster—not yet. But if he is, then she’ll have to become some­thing just as ruth­less to sur­vive him.