by Colet Abedi
Then again. Damn it! I grab my phone and turn it off, making sure there is no way I can hear the ringer again as I try to digest it all.
So, I was used. Thoroughly. Completely. Used.
Played.
I have to sit down.
I literally collapse on the ground in front of the stand, the magazine gripped tightly in my hand. I look at the photographs. As if I’m watching myself look at the photos of the two of them from a distance, I note how good they look together. Their height and coloring complement each other very well. According to the article, it seems they have the same pedigree. Amelia’s father is some important person in Parliament or something, honestly, I can’t even focus. And his family loves her, his friends say. I’m sure they do. What’s not to love?
“Yo bitch, I think they just called for our plane,” Orie says behind me.
“Do you have any idea how germ-infested airport floors are?” Erik says in a horrified voice. “Are you insane? Do you want to catch the bird flu?”
I lift my arm up, holding the magazine in my hand. No words. I just hold it up. Someone, one of them, grabs it from me and they both take it in.
“What the hell?!” Erik practically screams.
“That motherfucking piece of goddamn shit!” Orie chimes in, enraged.
A few minutes go by and the two are now completely silent. A rarity. I know they’re probably staring down at me, wondering how in the hell they’re going to deal with me, what they’re going to say, what can they say, and just what they should do for me. I’m beyond pain. I’m beyond feeling. I’m in such a deep, deep state of shock that I don’t know what to say to them either. So many colorful adjectives come to mind, but I don’t think they would fully capture the essence of what I’m feeling inside. I actually don’t know if there are any words in the English language for it.
Erik breaks the silence, as I expected. “We all need to get a grip for a second and back the fuck up.”
I stand and face my friends. Erik holds the magazine in his hand and waves it around.
“Where did we go wrong?”
I’m incapable of answering him because I’m at a loss. I grab the magazine from his hand and turn to pay for it at the counter.
“Is that really necessary?” Erik asks me.
“I think it is.”
I hand the woman cash then look at them with zombie eyes.
“Are we going?”
They nod and follow my lead as I make my way toward the gate. I’m methodical, robotic, it’s like I’m having some type of out-of-body experience and this is not for real, none of it is, and I’m going to wake up. I’m going to wake up and I’ll be at home, in my parents’ place, and I’ll never have gone to the Maldives, I’ll still be a virgin, and I’ll think about this dream lover I had who was incredible. And a lying cheat. Christ.
I hand my ticket to the stewardess and walk onto the plane, Erik and Orie behind me, speechless.
I find my seat and collapse in it. My friends come to me, both staring at my pale face, waiting for some type of reaction that will show them that I’m still breathing, living, and sane.
But something inside me has died. Something was crushed so cruelly and completely that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to revive it. Recover from it.
“Are you going to say something?” Erik asks me, worried.
“What is there to say?”
“Something! Anything,” he says frantically, searching my face for signs of life. “This is so fucked!”
“Well, I’m going to say something,” Orie cuts in, with a look on his face of pure anger, a complete rarity for him. “I feel betrayed by this English asshole. What a crock of shit he is. A big, fat, motherfucking lie. From head to toe. And I hate him. I really hate him, Sophie. He’s a goddamn dick. If he were here, I’d beat the living shit out of him. Actually, he’s way worse than that, Sophie. He’s a cunt. Isn’t that a word the English love to use?” Erik nods in agreement, giving his boyfriend a high five.
“You couldn’t have said it better. He is a cunt,” Erik says.
I almost smile. And then I feel it coming. I think I’m … I think I’m …
“Oh shit! She’s gonna barf!” Erik screams out as he pulls out the barf bag and hands it to me.
I throw up into the bag.
“First time on a plane,” Erik says to someone who walks by and looks at me in disgust.
“Nerves,” Orie says as he grabs another bag and I continue to vomit my guts out.
I try and take a deep breath. I hand Erik the used bags.
“You do know how to test a friendship,” he says in disgust as he takes them from my hand.
Orie leans over me. “Talk to me.”
“But not directly in his face, you might make him puke, too,” Erik says.
I almost laugh. But then reality hits me again.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Tell us how you feel. But hold a hand to cover your breath.” Erik says trying to make me smile.
Unfortunately it doesn’t work.
“You’re both right. We were played,” I finally say. “All of us. He’s really good at it. So good that we all believed him. Obviously, me more than you two. But I did believe in his sincerity and in his honesty. I thought … ” What can I say that they don’t already know? I know I sound devastated. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought. The reality is shockingly obvious. Will you guys just go get me something to drink from that stewardess?”
“And a toothbrush. I’ll get the toiletry bag.” Erik says before he and Orie disappear.
I grab my phone from my bag and turn it on. It vibrates with the sound of a million voice messages and texts. I only allow myself to read his last text to me.
Clayton:
DID YOU SEND ME TO VOICEMAIL??!
Yes, you asshole, I did.
I think long and hard before I start texting him, but then I can’t stop myself. I have to say something. I have to let him know that I know what he is.
Sophie:
I DIDN’T REALIZE YOU WERE SUCH A CELEBRITY IN SINGAPORE AND LONDON. I SAW THE PICTURES OF YOU AND AMELIA ON THE NEWSSTAND. YOU KNOW, FROM THE DAY YOU CAME TO SINGAPORE FOR “BUSINESS.” YOU HAVE BETRAYED ME IN THE WORST WAY POSSIBLE. THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO SAY BETWEEN US. YOU ARE A CHEATER. EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED BETWEEN US WAS A LIE. I WAS A FOOL. CONGRATULATIONS, CLAYTON. YOU PULLED A FAST ONE ON ME. THANK YOU FOR BEING ANOTHER FIRST FOR ME—THE FIRST TO BREAK MY HEART.
I press send then decide to text one more thing.
Sophie:
I’M GOING TO FORGET WE EVER MET. NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN. GOODBYE. FOREVER.
END BOOK ONE
The sequel to
MAD
LOVE
by Colet Abedi
“The great question that has never been answered and which I have not yet been able to answer … is, “What does a woman want?”
–SIGMUND FREUD
1
“Alright Sophie, in a moment I’m going to count to three. And when I do, I want you to take a deep breath in and then slowly exhale,” Dr. Goldstein, my hypnotherapist, says to me in a soothing voice. “And when you release your breath, you will let go of all your pain. All your anxiety. And you will forget you ever knew Clayton Astor Sinclair.”
I take in a shaky breath and prepare myself.
“One.”
My eyes flutter like a butterfly and before I can stop myself I see a flash of Clayton pulling me into his arms.
“Two.”
His lips crush mine with savage intensity.
“Three.”
His tongue moves into my mouth to take full ownership and—
Dr. Goldstein snaps his fingers.
“Uh-hum,” Dr. Goldstein coughs loudly. “I said, three.”
It takes me a moment to remember where I am and more importantly, why I’m here. And when that happens the memories hit me hard.
When I open my eyes I’m pretty sure my cheeks
are on fire.
“How do you feel, Sophie?” Dr. Goldstein asks me with a raised brow.
I think about lying to him, but wonder if he’s a mind reader too. He’s the hypnotherapist that Erik recommended to get rid of bad habits. People usually saw him for smoking, alcohol addiction or binge eating. Not to forget sex with a man they met in the Maldives.
“Good.” I hope I sound convincing.
Dr. Goldstein brushes a hand through his silver hair and stands up to walk behind his large glass desk. I sit up from the black leather couch that I’ve been lying down on and smooth out my grey sweat pants. I watch Dr. Goldstein pace. His office could be the poster child for minimalist perfection. The walls are winter white, with three large iconic Ansel Adams framed photos. A simple black leather sofa with single metal chair for the doctor, are placed in front of his enormous glass desk. It is sparse, but strangely comforting in a non-threatening kind of way.
I watch as Dr. Goldstein moves to stand in front of the window that overlooks Santa Monica pier. He crosses his arms and a feeling of dread washes over me as he frowns at the view.
“Honesty is a requirement in this office,” he says. “Without honestly how do we know this is helping?”
I think about his words before I reluctantly answer.
“Well,” I begin slowly. “I guess when you told me to forget Clayton, I saw a flash of his face. Then I thought of his arms around me and kissing him, then—”my voice starts to get choked up, the tears, those damn tears of mine are dangerously close to falling. Again.
Dr. Goldstein waves his hand in the air.
“I get it. You see Clayton even though I keep telling you to stop seeing him. Same way you’ve been seeing him for the past three weeks.” He turns away from the window and sits down at his desk. He leans back in his chair and twirls his mustache between his fingers as he stares at me.
It feels like an eternity.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but since you’ve been coming here for three weeks now at three times a week no less, with no improvement whatsoever I’m going to have to say that I think you’re a classic case study.”
Classic case study?
I wonder what mental issue he’s about to diagnose me with.
“Tell me, Dr. Goldstein,” I say softly, ready to hear his conclusion and learn how to forget Clayton forever. “I can handle whatever you’re going to tell me as long as there is medication for it.”
I think Dr. Goldstein rolls his eyes but I can’t be sure because my eyes are blurry from the tears that I’m determined not to shed. Not anymore.
“There is no medication for what you have, Sophie! You don’t want to forget the damn guy.” He throws his hands up in the air when he says the last bit.
But I’m trying. I really am.
The last person I want to be with is a serial philanderer, always focused on the next conquest. Someone I can never trust and will always wonder about.
But the problem is that I’ve not been able to forget him. Not yet. The man who introduced me to passion. Who introduced me to love. The most perfect man in every way—Okay, except for one glaring flaw—okay, more than glaring, try epic flaw—oh whatever, Sophie! You’re the one who fell for him!
Clayton. The Cheater.
My plane ride from Singapore was like something out of a nightmare. Between the wine and the tears, I was sure I drove Erik and Orie crazy. I remember the two of them staring at me like I needed to be admitted to a mental institution. I sat in my seat in first class (not that I even noticed the luxury), cried my heart out and drank an obscene amount of red wine.
Erik, my dear beautiful best friend, tried his hardest to talk me out of the hole of darkness I had buried myself in.
“Get a goddamn grip! You need to be strong! You’re a woman now in every sense of the word. This is real life, Sophie.”
Real life? Was this my only choice?
“What Erik is trying to say,“ Orie chimed in with his usual gentle demeanor, “is that unfortunately this is part of the ups and downs of life. Of relationships.”
I turned my gaze away from Orie and stared blindly out the plane window.
“Sophie,” Orie continued. “I think the best way for you to handle this is to pretend like it’s a death. You can never go back because it’s gone. He’s gone. For good. It’s done. It’s over. It’s dead—”
“I think she gets it,” Erik interrupted. “But Orie’s right. If you look at this like a death you can give yourself real closure. Like, pretend a shark ate him in the Maldives. Or, I don’t know … something just as gruesome and painful because that’s exactly what the bastard deserves.”
But he wasn’t dead, he was alive and well at the resort. And probably zeroing in on his next victim. Moving her to the villa next to his. Getting ready to wine and dine—
“Jesus. Look at your face,” Erik said as he grabbed my hand. “It’s not going to be easy. But we’re going to be right here next to you the whole way. You will get over him. I promise you. You will. And one day, we’ll look back on this and laugh. The way I’m silently laughing at your teeth and lips right now.”
Erik put a small mirror in front of my face and I gasped in horror at how frightening I looked because of the stains from the red wine.
“You look like death becomes her,” he said trying his hardest not to smile.
He did finally manage to get a giggle out of me. But it didn’t last long.
And that was twenty-two days ago.
I’m all cried out now. Exhausted. Trying not to think about him even though I can’t stop dreaming about him. Hoping that I wake up and the pain will at least be a bit less. Something that I can deal with. Not this horrible feeling that no one will ever be as perfect as him. But there is no way I can be with a man who is unfaithful. No way. I remember a girl at school whose father always had affairs. It was awful and the worst part was after twenty years of putting up with his shit, he ended up leaving her mother in the end—no way I would let myself go down that road.
When I got home from the trip I locked myself up in my apartment and refused to see anyone for two days. My parents tried to force their way over but I avoided them by claiming I had a horrible flu and just wanted to sleep. I got a two-day reprieve and then made myself go to their house, or else I knew they’d have the police breaking down my door. Thankfully my tan hid the fact that I was such a mess inside.
I sat in the family room on the couch and stared blindly at the TV. My dad was watching CNN and my mom was in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes from dinner. We had opted to stay in so we could catch up. I was grateful because I was able to wear what had become my uniform since I returned: sweats, sweatshirt, with my hair tied up in a bun. My parents were dressed casually as well, but they were wearing nice track suits that didn’t have old stains on them. My dad looked relaxed sitting back on the cozy white sofa with a glass of wine in his hand. His silver hair was brushed back from his handsome face and I could tell he was enjoying the broadcast. I felt good when my dad was at ease. At least there was something in the world that could make me happy.
Dad had occasionally broken the silence by asking me a question about my vacation. My answers were abrupt and I’m sure he could tell that I didn’t want to talk about it. So he had stayed silent for most of the evening. I was happy for that because it gave me the opportunity to obsess about Clayton and analyze every single moment we had together.
“God what a frightening thought,” my father said out loud.
“Uh huh,” I replied automatically as I relived the moments on the Remington’s yacht when I first met Ameila Von Peters, the model.
“Just awful,” he went on.
“Sure is,” I nodded blankly as I realized I should have known from the looks she gave him that something was going on.
“To think we had the alien mother ship in our backyard this entire time and didn’t know it.”
“Yeah.”
Huh. Aliens. Amelia’s beauty r
eminded me of an alien. It was like something from out of this world—
“Sophie Walker have you heard a word I said?!”
Crap.
I looked over at my dad’s knowing look. I was so busted.
“What’s wrong, honey? Talk to me. This silence is so unlike you.” The caring tone in my dad’s voice was nearly my undoing. He looked so genuinely concerned about me. I wanted to tell him. A big part of me wanted to throw myself in his loving arms and hear him say that it would be okay, that he would keep me safe, as he had when I was a child. But I was so afraid of the disappointment I thought I would see when I told him everything that I couldn’t bring myself to.
“Nothing, dad.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “You know I can tell. Something is wrong. You’ve seemed off all day. Didn’t you have fun in the Maldives, honey?”
Fun? Try it was the time of my life until I found out—ugh, I didn’t want to go there again.
“It was great, dad.”
“Is it a financial thing? Are you in trouble because of the trip?”
I almost laughed. Even though we had paid for the villas in advance, Clayton had gone behind our backs and taken care of our entire bill. He had paid for our villas, our meals, activities, spa- the whole trip. I guess I could thank him for giving me a month of financial freedom that I didn’t think I had when I left on my vacation.
But now I needed to start making money. And fast. There was no way I would ever ask my parents for any help because that would lead to them arguing that I needed to go back to law school.
“I’m okay, dad.” I lied. “It’s just jet lag. I’m tired, that’s all.”
“Is it a boy thing?”
I almost started hyperventilating. My dad, being the perceptive lawyer, could see it on my face.
“It’s Jerry isn’t it, Sophie?”
Jerry?
I had almost forgotten about him.
“It’s not a relationship thing, dad. I told you, I’m just tired.”
I knew my dad didn’t believe me but I also knew that he would let up for a while and probably call me the next day to see what was going on. Thankfully, I’d be able to fake happiness on the phone much better than in person.