What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 4)

by Selena Kitt

  I’ve done something terrible, I’m not sure how you’ll react. And I certainly don’t know how to even tell you. These people, you may have emailed with a bunch of them, the guys from Microsemi, they were of course expecting to meet up with Richard instead of me. They had this trip fully planned out accordingly, I think they got on well with him. I don’t quite fit in. They like a drink, or lots, food (so far so good) and women.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect when they insisted on taking me out. After a few encouraging pats on the back and statements such as “Go on, you’re our customer. We’ll take good care of you…” – we left the show around 5 and took a cab into town. Our first stop was some flash looking bar.

  It wasn’t clear what they were up to at first. We stayed there for hours, sharing industry gossip. Who had left which company and joined where. Competitor’s quality issues and other fuck-ups; the usual. At around 9 or 10, I’m not quite sure, one of them – Jules – started to get impatient. He mashes up his French and English when he’s drunk, I could barely understand a word of what he was saying. Anyway, so he’s telling the others something, finally they agree on whatever. As I said, I couldn’t quite understand him. We get up and leave for the next place. A nightclub.

  Very awkward, I thought. A bunch of us suits, in town only for the Electronics show, in a club filled with what looked like teenagers. I actually felt old the second we walked in. Strangely, while the other guys were all around 40, it didn’t discourage them one bit. They immediately started to mingle, spend on drinks and generally act obnoxious. A lot of the young girls didn’t seem to mind, in fact they happily accepted the attention and free booze. It seemingly took a matter of minutes for them all to be paired up. That’s when the problems started.

  I managed to find myself a seat because honestly, I wasn’t about to make an idiot of myself on the dance floor with them. But another one of the guys noticed me and kept insisting I shouldn’t be such a bore. I tried explaining I’m not comfortable with this but it made no difference. The drinks kept coming (though I did switch to coke at that point) and things got a bit crazy. Two of our group disappeared with some girls and when they came back it seemed like they were on something other than just booze.

  The club was starting to get quieter, no idea what time it was and someone decided we should move on elsewhere. I tried to slip away but the other guy again intercepted me and wanted to have a lengthy conversation about why I’m acting like a pussy and I should just chill out. He went on and on about how we’re just a bunch of guys enjoying themselves and it’s ‘only a fucking night out’; about how ‘we don’t meddle in each other’s business’ (odd, since he was meddling in my desire to just go back to the hotel), I don’t appear to be married so why am I not just enjoying my freedom.

  All I wanted was to just get rid of him so I explained, told him about you. I told him I didn’t want this supposed freedom. It was like talking to a wall. He just laughed and said: “We’re men! We’re on this earth just to spread our seed. What our women don’t know can’t hurt them.” That sort of bull.

  Long story short I couldn’t get rid of him and he was starting to get extremely agitated. I didn’t want my first face-to-face with these people to go south so I agreed to just stay for another round and that would be that.

  We ended up in another place, a strip club. I fear that’s when things got totally out of hand. As I said; I don’t remember how many drinks I had, but I kept ordering coke which seems strange as I think back now. At one point things turned to a blur. I don’t recall everything that happened really. Next I know that we ended up in a private booth with a few dancers somehow. It was bizarre. Wrong.

  The girl dancing in front of me couldn’t have been much older than 18. She did look really, really young. I’m not sure what exactly happened next, it all seemed to merge into a dream. I was thinking of you. I know I observed you in the shower and it was so wrong but at the same time I couldn’t look away. You had captivated me completely and it was such a big turn-on. I thought back to the alley on our way home on Tuesday, how tempting you looked. How you made me feel on top of the world. I opened my eyes and there was the same dancer, rubbing up against me. One of the other guys handed her a banknote. I tried to move away, but I couldn’t and then it went all fuzzy again.

  God, I don’t know how to explain any of it; I don’t think I’ve ever lost control to that extent. One moment I was reliving those beautiful, moments with you. The next she has her hands on me, then her lips. I wanted it to be you. I’m so sorry Cath. It was supposed to be you. But something felt off, it was rushed and awkward and I opened my eyes and there she was. I couldn’t look at her. Panicked, I pushed her away and got up. The others were too preoccupied to notice and she just stared at me blankly like she didn’t really care either way.

  So I zipped up my trousers and ran. Luckily there were cabs waiting outside already so I got into one of them to get back to the hotel. You sent a text, I didn’t see it until back in my room. You wished me good night. That was 3 hours ago. It’s too late to phone you back now but I need to feel close to you somehow, I suppose that’s why I’m writing this. I’ve changed my flight to tomorrow morning and I’m not sure how to face you when I get back.

  Yesterday everything seemed so simple, your photo, our talk at night. Everything was alright. I keep looking at you, at your face. You loved me then, but now?

  I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve fucked up so badly and thrown everything we have away. You have every right to be angry, I’m so very angry at myself right now too. Every time I look at your picture on my phone I wonder, when I tell you about what happened, will I be able to explain? Will you want to hear the explanation even? Or will you – rightly so – be furious and feel betrayed and maybe this is going to be the only reminder I’ll have of a time when you didn’t hate me yet.

  That’s why I’m writing it down, this is how I’m going to tell you. And I hope you’ll read it until the end. Having stared at your picture for about half an hour now, I’m crying because I may have lost you. I hope you’re still reading, because I need to tell you truthfully; I didn’t want this to go so wrong. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. If you leave, I’ll have nothing.

  I know I don’t deserve you, but know that I need you nonetheless. Punish me if it helps, just don’t go.

  I’m so very sorry. You’re everything to me and I love you so much it hurts.’

  I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut, trampled on even. My eyes are starting to well up but rather than express my hurt, I’m frozen and in shock.

  How could he keep this from me? In everything that’s happened so far, I’ve come to develop certain expectations. He’s been honest, dependable, or at least I thought he had been so far. Sure he acted weird yesterday, making me wonder now if his distrust towards Mark had been just an excuse to disguise guilt due to his own behaviour.

  Instead of letting myself get annoyed at having to be on the defensive yet again, I had tried to manage the situation then. Afterwards, everything had seemed back to normal. How could he hide something so big and yet convincingly pretend we’re fine? Maybe he’s not the man I thought he was. Not trustworthy at all but actually rather manipulative.

  I can understand why he would shy away from telling me about this, worried about how I might react. But had that been the case, surely I would’ve noticed something off about him. Instead he was just how he’s always been. I feel like I’ve been tricked.

  Reading through the last page again, the initial shock wears off and is replaced by cold detachment. All of this is too far-fetched, too surreal. I can’t deal with this right now.

  Finding a pen within the same pocket of the bag, I take a deep breath attempting to focus. I need to think. More than anything, I need to get out of here quickly and without any complications.

  ‘If only you’d been honest and told me when you had the chance.’

  Taking care not to make any noise, I sneak i
nto the bedroom and leave the pad on the pillow next to him. After that I gather up a few crucial items of clothing, my bag, and leave. I can’t even bear to look at his face right now or I might lose my cool.

  My walk home through the rain is suitably depressing. By the time I get home I’m frozen and numb all over, not just on the inside. I can’t think of what else to do so I draw myself a bath and curl up in the tub, finally giving in to the sense of loss I should probably have felt earlier.

  I don’t notice how much time passes while I continue to cry. The water turns cold, so I decide to top it up. The phone rings, but I’m in no mood to talk to anyone right now so I don’t even check.

  Another while later it rings again and I decide to switch off the sound. It’s Jason.

  Blinking some of the tears away, I figure actually he’s the only person I would like to talk to.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hey darling, just wondering what you’re up to,” Jason’s tone tries but doesn’t quite manage to cheer me up at all.

  “Nothing.”

  “Your voice sounds really weird, where are you?” he asks.

  “In the bath.”

  “OK, Cath, I love you – you know I do. But I didn’t need the mental image of you, naked, in the tub!” Sadly his joke misses its desired effect completely.

  “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  I take a deep breath but instead of starting to explain what happened, I just burst into tears again.

  Finally, minutes later and with plenty of encouragements from him, I do end up telling him about the letter.

  “Are you sure, he didn’t drop any hints? There was no indication at all last night that anything was bothering him at all?” Jase wonders out loud. Similar questions had been going through my mind ever since I reached home, to no avail.

  “Nothing.”

  “Has he tried to contact you?”

  “I don’t know, I mean the phone rang earlier but I didn’t check who it was. You’re lucky I picked up just now.” I say.

  “From everything you’ve told me about the guy, this just seems bizarre. Completely out of character. Nobody acts that well!”

  “That’s what scared me, Jase! Either he’s a brilliant liar, or I’m way more gullible than I thought. Either way, I’m fucked.” Tears start to flow more heavily again.

  “I don’t know what to do. Only yesterday I would’ve done anything for him… I realise this sounds utterly stupid, clearly I have no clue who he is.”

  “Keep it together, Cath. You’ll be fine, eventually.”

  “I loved him! Or who I thought he was anyway. It fucking hurts, way worse than with Greg, I just didn’t see this coming at all…” My nose is leaking uncontrollably, causing me to sniffle.

  “You’re one of the most sensible people I know. Take your time to think it all over and if he gets in touch and you’re up for it, even hear his side of things if you like. You’ll realise you’re doing the right thing.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Thanks,” I say.

  “Any time. Now you get out of the damn tub, wear something fabulous and stock up on whatever variety of Haagen-Dazs you deem appropriate. And don’t you forget what an absolute catch you are! If anyone has lost out here, it’s him.”

  The mental image of me strolling down to the shops to buy ice cream in the type of outfit he’d pick out for me does amuse me, if only slightly.

  When I hang up, I realise he’s very right about one thing. I need to get out of this tub before my skin dissolves. And then… well I’m not about to face the outside world like this; puffy eyelids hiding red eyes and a drippy similarly coloured nose. No way.

  Instead I wear something fleecy and comfortable and carry my duvet with me to the sofa. Perhaps I’ll watch some TV, but instead I sit motionless and stare at the black screen. I’m still dissecting and analysing everything that’s happened since yesterday afternoon.

  But I can’t quite focus on the helpful things that would give me confidence in my choice to leave; the letter, the lie, his implied accusation about my absence when he reached work yesterday. These things fade almost immediately to how vulnerable he looked when he said he’d be lost without me. How I insisted that I wouldn’t change my mind about him or leave and yet now I have.

  Surely his actions have forced my hand though? I might not have been this upset if he had just come out and told me what happened in Germany. Instead he tricked me into making big commitments and promises, and still kept his secret.

  Then I remember how utterly shocked he looked at the moment here in my living room when he realised that I liked him as well. It feels like ages ago, because so much has happened since then. We moved so fast I guess because I had been thinking about him for so long and he had similarly fantasised about me. We were essentially playing catch up with our bodies because our minds were way ahead of reality.

  Did I fall for him, or my fantasy of him?

  The memories of how he would look at me force their way into my mind; with affection, warmth, desire, I thought with love too. He could not have been faking all that, could he?

  How about protective John; when he saved me from Dick and felt so terrible afterwards because he let me go into his office alone. Was he only acting?

  I mentally go through every event, every conversation and it just confuses me further.

  And then his letter, so weird and disjointed. It hardly made sense, as if he was quite drunk when he wrote it. Or…

  A few things bother me about it, now that I’ve had time to think. If he was indeed trying not to get drunk by opting for coke instead, how come things got so out of hand anyway?

  And what bothers me even more is the tone of the letter. So remorseful, so deeply sad and the exact opposite of his carefree mood last night. Which was the act and which was truth? In amongst the disturbing facts of his night out was a tragic declaration of his love for me, which could very well just have been fabricated to gain my sympathy.

  But what if it wasn’t?

  My phone rings again and seeing his name on the screen just tears me in half. I want things to be how they were. But they’re not. And if I answer the call, I won’t be able to do much but blubber incoherently, so I decide not to.

  Minute after minute passes and I’m still sitting there, legs pulled up against my chest with one arm around them. The phone in my other hand has since gone on stand-by.

  A knock on the door startles me, but it can’t prepare me for what I hear next.

  IX.

  “Cath, are you home?” I say, my voice sounds shaky.

  Please, please be home!

  I knock again, louder this time and then rest my head against the door, listening for any sign of movement inside. There is nothing.

  Dialling her number again, I hope and pray that this time she answers. But my heart is pounding my throat and I’m not sure I’d be able to say much if she does pick up. She doesn’t.

  I try hitting my fist against the door once more. As if hoping and wishing she’s here could make her magically appear in front of me.

  “Please, if you’re home, let me in.”

  The only response I get is from the flat next door, a raspy female voice yells at me to fuck off as I’m clearly wasting my time. Indeed. I expect that nothing I could do or say will sway her to forgive me, but I have to try to at least apologise or explain.

  Her note from earlier was pretty clear though unnecessary.

  Had she only left the pad without any additions, I would’ve understood as well. The lengthy letter to her in my own handwriting was very troubling to read initially because I don’t recall writing it, all the more so due to its contents.

  She thinks I’m a monster and I can’t blame her. How on earth did I get so wasted that I can’t remember what happened? The last memories I do have are from the nightclub but anything after that is just gone. Blank.

  When I woke up for my flight yesterday, I felt a bit confused. My head was fuzzy and achy and I couldn’t rememb
er how I got back the night before. I assumed that I had drunk more than I thought. It scared me how miserably I had failed to stick to my plan of quitting after a few rounds.

  I must have no self control and I hate myself for it.

  Had I found the pad yesterday, I wouldn’t have been able to hide it; the guilt would’ve been written on my face. That’s the one thing I want to explain to her, even if she won’t want to hear it. I didn’t actively try to deceive her; she deserves the truth however horrible.

  If she’s not home now, I’m sure she’ll have to come back at some point. With my back against the wall, I lower myself and sit down on the cold tiles outside her door.

  At least two hours pass and nothing happens except the occasional door opening and closing and footsteps further down the hall. None of Cath’s neighbours think to look around and my presence goes completely unnoticed.

  Another half hour later my thoughts are interrupted with a louder click and a rush of air right beside me. I rush to my feet and forget everything I had planned to say when I see her shocked expression in front of me.

  “Oh!” Cath exclaims.

  I have to remind myself to breathe but it’s not working. She stands still in front of me and I hardly dare to look at her face. Still it’s obvious that she’s been crying, a lot.

  Her lips are pressed together tightly and she seems to be holding her breath. She avoids eye contact similarly but I can make out that her eyelashes are still wet.

  If I don’t break the silence now…

  “You must think I’m a terrible person,” I say, finally.

  She looks up at me, frowning. Waiting.

  “I didn’t know… I mean…” Deep breaths, you can do this!

  I clear my throat and keep my eyes fixated on the ground. If I look at her again, I’ll lose my train of thoughts completely.

  “I don’t remember much from that night, not even writing the letter. I know that sounds stupid…” I glance in her direction and note that the crease between her eyebrows has deepened quite a bit.