Chasing Alys

by Morgana Bevan

  Ryan’s eyes dipped briefly to my grip. His lips quirked slightly before smoothing into a serious line. “Do you need any help?”

  “I’m sure your friends would want you to stay and watch.” My eyes drifted to the stage in the background and his friends plugging in instruments. The desire to stay was stronger than I’d anticipated.

  “It’s not that important. If you need company, I’m happy to help.”

  I studied him, gauging his sincerity. He watched me, braced to jump into action with just a nod of my head. I couldn’t figure him out. Worse, I believed that he’d abandon his friends’ gig to help me. I couldn’t understand why, and I didn’t have time to find out.

  I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. Enjoy the show.”

  With one last look at his striking eyes, I turned my back on his tempting smile and marched down the stairs. His intense gaze burned into the back of my head until I stepped into the chilly night. Forget him, Alys. You have a best friend to find.

  Chapter Four

  During the short taxi ride to the flat, I’d let my mind run riot. All thoughts of good-looking men were forced aside for the disaster show inside my head.

  Emily had never been a flake. She wouldn’t skip out on our plans without so much as a brief text. Especially not when those plans involved Rhiannon. Just like I’d begged her to swing dance, she’d spent the better part of five years nagging me to go to one of their gigs.

  My fingers ached from the tight grip I held on my phone for the ride across Cardiff, past the flashing lights of Winter Wonderland and the rush of people braving the cold November night to hunt for Christmas presents. My heart pulsed in my throat as I hit redial over and over. I got Emily’s voicemail every single time. Calling her was getting me nowhere, but I couldn’t stop trying.

  By the time the taxi pulled up outside our building, I was growling in frustration at the endless ringing. I had the passenger door open before the car crawled to a stop. I slammed it on the cabbie’s horrified screeches about road safety and ran across the street, dodging between parked cars, and down the short path towards the house some developer had decided to cut in half. I still thought it was a shame for such a stately building to be chopped up, but at least they’d maintained the original Victorian townhouse character of the area.

  The lights were out in our second-floor living room, but that meant nothing. I hung out in the dark watching a film all the time. Emily might have taken a leaf out of my book.

  Or she’d passed out before it got dark.

  I had our blue wooden door open in record time. No sticking locks today! I shoved it so hard it slammed back against the hallway wall. The bang that followed echoed in our small entryway and up the exposed wooden stairs.

  “Emily?” I shouted, flipping on the hallway lights.

  No answer.

  I took the stairs two at a time, thanking every deity I could think of that Emily and I had decided we couldn’t live with anyone else.

  I might have blown it all out of proportion. She could be fine and thanks to some miraculous event, she had forgotten about the gig. Or she’d decided she didn’t want to go and had forgotten to tell me.

  Even I couldn’t swallow that one.

  By the time I reached the top of the stairs, my lungs laboured, and I sucked in little bursts of air. I needed to start taking my fitness more seriously. One staircase at speed and a sharp pain stabbed my side. Ridiculous. Dancing religiously for a couple months each year didn’t mean I was fit. Make me do the jive, and I’d collapse in a sweaty heap after three minutes, gasping for air.

  I ignored our bedrooms at the back of the flat and turned right, following muffled sobs past the kitchen and into the bathroom. The cast-iron clawfoot tub of my dreams currently held an extra feature. She lay in a patch of yellow streetlight that filtered in through the huge casement window.

  I flipped the light on and drew in a ragged breath. Emily lay curled up in the foetal position, holding what I hoped was a clean towel to her mouth. Her face was red and blotchy, streaked with tear stains.

  “Em?” I asked, puffing as I caught my breath. Her head rolled towards me, but she didn’t respond. Her eyes were puffy and dull. “What’s wrong?” My voice cracked as I approached her.

  She shook her head, a choked sob escaping her white-tinged lips. She buried her face in her hands.

  Emily didn’t cry. She didn’t climb into an empty bathtub and bawl her eyes out. She was the sensible one who worked through her emotions with calm logic and jokes about setting an example for others. What the hell set her off so much?

  “Chocolate or wine?” I found myself saying.

  Instead of responding, Emily reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the tub. Message received. I kicked my heels off and crawled over the edge, somehow avoiding a hard knock to my knees or elbows. It was not graceful, but my only witness was blinded by tears, so to hell with grace.

  The moment we settled into a semi-comfortable position, Emily buried her head in my shoulder.

  “What happened?” I whispered, almost afraid to ask.

  Taking a shuddering breath, she lifted her head to look at me, her eyes filled with heartbreak. “I found him”—she swallowed, blinking back the moisture glistening in her eyes—“in bed with”—sob—“that kiwi”—sob—“exchange student.” Giving voice to it broke the dam. She choked and fresh tears flooded down her cheeks.

  “How long have you been in here?”

  Her reply was mangled by the sobs and my blouse.

  The ache in my chest deepened, radiating out and snatching my breath again. With her head buried in my neck and her tears soaking into my shirt, I couldn’t help remembering when the situation had been switched, when she’d had to hold me while I cried.

  I was eighteen. Liam and I had been together for almost the entire two years of sixth form. For at least half that time, people tried to make me see beyond the charm. They’d graduated from subtle to outright recounts of events, and I’d stonewalled them all. By the end of our time at school, our entire class was tiptoeing around me, sharing pitying glances when they didn’t think I was looking. Emily was the only one who put on a brave face and waited me out.

  She was there to whisk me away when I learnt the truth of their warnings the hard way. Thankfully, I had never caught him in bed with another. He hadn’t gone that far, which turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. I thought my nightmares were bad enough, but with a vivid imagination, sometimes not knowing was worse.

  Despite it all, I could only imagine how much worse seeing that betrayal first-hand must have been for Emily.

  “I’m an idiot for believing him, I know,” Emily mumbled into my shoulder.

  I frowned at the white subway tiles surrounding us. That wasn’t something my Emily said. My Emily was bold, brave, and didn’t take no for an answer. She didn’t curl up in bathtubs and blame herself for an asshole cheating. That was something I would do.

  “Hey, look at me.”

  She shook her head.

  Placing a finger beneath her chin, I tilted her head up and forced her to meet my gaze. My eyes took in her tear-stained face, and emotion got the better of me. My blood boiled. A ringing sound filled my head. Oliver was lucky that I wanted a free life.

  “This isn’t your fault,” I told her. “You did not make him cheat on you.”

  “I know, but what if I—”

  “No! What did you say to me when I finally had proof that Liam was the cheating scum everyone said he was?”

  Sighing, she let her head fall back against the tub. She met my stare with a look of reluctance. “Only the weak cheat. Better to be alone than waste your life with a weak man,” she mumbled between deep, controlling breaths.

  “And do you still believe that?”

  Her answering nod was sharp. “But what if I made it worse somehow?” she said in a tiny voice, watching me with uncertainty shining in her eyes.

  A growl of frustration escaped my lips before I
could swallow it. “You did no such thing. Fuck, you wasted three years on the asshole. If he doubted the relationship, he should have told you before he screwed around.”

  I couldn’t keep my voice clear of the disdain I felt for him and the sting of bitterness towards myself. I’d never liked him. I could never put my finger on it, but he’d felt slimy to me. After my initial dissent when they first started dating, what else could I do?

  “You’re better off without him.”

  Tears overflowed in Emily’s eyes. Another sob escaped her lips, and she buried her head in my shoulder again. “Logically, I know you’re right.” My blouse muffled her words again. “But I feel like such a fool.”

  I shook my head. “Nah, he’s the fool. You were too good for him. I bet he’ll be begging for you to take him back by morning.”

  “He’s already tried.”

  “That was quick,” I said, my voice careful and measured. The sod knew he’d messed up something good.

  “Too quick,” she sniffled in a subdued voice. “It felt like he’d planned for getting caught.”

  For a moment my thoughts stalled and I was right back in the club watching Liam pick up a random stranger. He’d been prepared for discovery too. My eyes itched as though no time had passed.

  For the majority of my relationship with him, there was always someone who could share accounts of him with one girl or another. Until that night, towards the end of our final year, I chose to believe his reassuring lies.

  When I’d seen it with my own eyes, it felt like someone had taken a hacksaw to my insides. For more than a year, I’d been in denial. I didn’t blow up. I didn’t rush over, crying and screaming. When I’d tapped on his shoulder in the darkened club with Emily at my back, I was serene with a touch of mild disdain. He’d pushed his girl away and swore it was the first time. Had I not spent a year shrugging off countless warnings, I might have fallen for his act.

  The fact one of the most important people in my life was now going through the same thing gutted me. She’d always been so careful with her feelings, selective with her trust. At first, it might have been nothing more than fear, but I thought it had served her well. Apparently not.

  With her arms wrapped tightly around my waist and her sobs shaking me, I wished time machines actually existed. I would go back in a heartbeat and stop them from meeting. Logically, I knew nothing I’d have done could have saved her from the pain, but that didn’t overrule the need.

  “You think he wanted to get caught?” My voice was subdued, distant, and somehow devoid of the remembered pain.

  She nodded, her face pressing harder into my shoulder as her body trembled with the effort of holding back the hurt.

  “What do you need? A night on the sofa with the cheesiest rom-coms, or get blackout drunk?” I nudged Emily as I spoke, willing her to smile.

  “Can I have both?”

  “Of course. Just don’t blame me when you can’t get out of bed tomorrow.”

  Emily chuckled. It was a strained sound, but it reassured me all the same.

  A strange vibrating started echoing through the bathroom then.

  “What is that?” I peered over the tub’s rim to search the room for the cause.

  Emily let out a groan. “He wouldn’t stop ringing.”

  I looked at her, my eyes questioning. She’d covered her eyes. “What did you do with your phone?”

  “Threw it across the room,” she said, peeking at me through her fingers.

  My mouth twitched, and I sank my teeth into my lower lip. “Where did it land?”

  “In the toilet.”

  Silence fell and I let it. I needed a minute to fix my poker face in place.

  “And you left it there?” My lips quivered, but my voice held no amusement. Her eyes were still covered, so she missed it.

  “It kept ringing, even underwater. I was hoping it would die if I left it,” she grumbled, lifting her head long enough to give me a sheepish look.

  “It’s kind of impressive. You have a waterproof phone! Explains why I couldn’t reach you, though.”

  She froze at that, her face changing as she remembered exactly what day it was. Emily studied what I hoped was my peaceful expression. Her mouth turned down at the corners and her eyebrows creased. But progress! She shed no more tears.

  “The gig! I’m so sorry, Alys. I completely forgot. I’m such a shit friend.” She wrapped her arms around my waist again, squeezing.

  “Nah. Although given the heart attack you gave me, I reserve the right to guilt trip you for the next month.” I squeezed her back.

  “A month! C’mon. These are extenuating circumstances.” Her tone was riddled with indignation. She rolled her head onto my shoulder and gave me her most innocent smile.

  “Can we get out of the tub now?” I asked, shaking her off and choosing to ignore her pout. The fact that she had finally stopped crying was a massive bonus. Staying in the bath would have tempted fate. Plus, it was November, meaning the old casement window was draughty and the enamel beneath my butt was freezing.

  “I don’t know,” Emily said. “I should keep you here until you revoke that threat.”

  “There’s a fatal flaw in that plan: we’ll need food eventually. Tears I can deal with, but you hangry? Not so much.”

  She shuddered. “I can’t deal with me hangry either!” Grabbing both sides of the tub, she forced herself up and stepped onto the tile, her movements clumsy.

  Step one: complete. Step two: prevent a full-blown emotional breakdown. Easy peasy, right?

  “Do you want Indian or Chinese?” I called after her, pulling myself out of the bath at a much slower pace. No need to fall and brain myself, thank you very much.

  Chapter Five

  “This film is so lame. Why are we watching it?” Emily slurred.

  We may have raided our alcohol cupboard while we waited for the Indian takeout to arrive, unearthing bottles I hadn’t seen in the four years since we’d moved in. Mixing liquors might not have been our best idea. Now I couldn’t see straight and the room kept spinning.

  Not long after the food arrived and we’d devoured it, we relocated to the living room and piled the sofa high with colourful blankets to cut the chill in the air. It had been a couple of years since our status as broke students ended, yet the habit of saving money on the energy bill would always remain.

  “He’s Just Not That Into You is not lame,” I said, enunciating each word with care. Words were hard.

  “How can you say that? It’s so sappy!” Emily shouted, inside voice forgotten. Oh hell, I was too drunk to care about the neighbours anyway.

  “It’s a rom-com. They’re meant to be sappy!” Indignation dripped from my words. I stopped myself from huffing and throwing my hands up so the concoction in my wineglass would stay put.

  Maybe I was a little defensive. But she was attacking one of my favourite films – it was justified.

  “Can we watch a horror instead? I need to see some stupid guy get his arms ripped off,” she muttered.

  I turned to her so sharply that the deadly mix in my glass spilt onto the blanket we shared. Oh well, better on the blanket than in my body.

  “Alright, madam counsellor. If someone in your situation said that, what would you tell them?” I slouched further down the sofa.

  “I’d say everyone grieves in different ways and as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, s’all good,” she slurred.

  Her glass rolled and the liquid sloshed towards me. I swiped it from her hands before she could decorate me or the sofa with it.

  “It’s okay to be angry. He’s single-handedly tarnished the last three years of your life. You’re allowed to imagine him getting hacked to pieces.”

  “But keep it to myself, right?”

  “Yeah, best not repeat it outside this room. You might find yourself in therapy instead of counselling spoilt brats.”

  “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “Going to therapy?” I asked, confusion
lacing my words.

  “Not counselling spoilt brats.”

  I frowned. “I thought you liked your job.”

  “I do. It’s just a bit too predictable right now. Not saying I’m going to quit. Just not loving it that much lately.” She sighed, focusing on the TV and firmly closing the subject while I reeled.

  Counselling kids was all she’d talked about through university. She specialised in child psychology. With litres of alcoholic drinks in my system, all I could do was chase that piece of information around in circles. I didn’t have the brain power to decipher her change of heart.

  On the screen, Ginnifer Goodwin moaned about a guy not calling her back while Justin Long offered up advice. It was my least favourite scene.

  I’d never stressed about a guy not calling me back. But then again, modern dating was a hell of a lot more passive-aggressive. If a guy wasn’t interested, his profile usually disappeared on whichever app I’d met him on and he blocked every social media we weren’t even friends on.

  “It all seems so pointless,” Emily murmured, her sad eyes fixed on the screen. “We waste all this time searching for the one, and more than likely the payoff for our efforts will be some unfaithful dickhead who believes he can have it all – the wife, the kids – and still go out every weekend to get pissed and fuck some bimbo in her hotel room. Why do we bother?”

  I chose to ignore the bitter bite to her words. This wasn’t everyday Emily talking. “Is that your professional opinion?”

  “Yes! No one deserves the emotional head fuck that is men. I may be finally coming around to your one-night stand idea. It’s far simpler. No family to impress or appease, no temper tantrums to deal with or arguing over who did what when. It’s genius, actually. I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” she said, each word tripping over each other in her excitement. She grinned for the first time all night.

  “Uh-huh,” I hedged, hoping she would breeze over the whole thing.

  She looked so pleased with herself. Someone had to burst her bubble and remind her that even one-night stands got complicated. Unfortunately, that someone was me.