by T L Swan
It’s late and I lie in the darkness.
I messaged Ed earlier tonight when I got home but he hasn’t yet replied.
Elliot hasn’t called to say goodnight either. It’s not like him, he’s usually so attentive.
Weird.
Did he have something on? Was he going somewhere?
I’ve got this sick feeling in my stomach, like something is wrong but I don’t know what. I mean, he was a little bit evasive today but surely not enough to warrant this anxiety.
Is my gut telling me something?
My phone pings with a notification and I smile. Ed.
I jump out of bed and grab my phone and flick the table lamp on.
Hi Pinkie,
Sorry I haven’t messaged you in a few days. I’ve been away seeing my family.
How are you?
I smile and reply:
That’s okay, I missed you.
Tell me about your trip.
His reply bounces in.
My trip was incredible, Kate came with me and met my family. Although I should have known it was all going too well.
I frown. What?
Why, what happened?
I got an email last night, I’ve finally found the artist that I’ve been searching for.
I smile. Oh my God. He found her.
Excitement fills me.
This is amazing!
No, it’s not.
She’s not an old lady as I thought, she’s young and beautiful.
Unattached.
I frown. What does that mean?
I read on.
I know who she is, I’ve seen her at auctions and have wanted to chase her before to ask her out. I’ve always felt like she was someone that I was supposed to meet.
I searched for her, even made my brothers follow her once.
And now to find that it was her paintings that have been calling me for so long . . .
I fear my fate has come to find me when I’ve finally found someone who makes me happy.
No.
Wait . . .
I read that last message again and my chest constricts.
What?
I put my head into my hands; this can’t be happening.
No.
You believe this woman, the artist, is your fate?
I don’t want to have regrets.
I can’t go forward with my life and always regret not going to her and finding out what may have been.
This woman has been in my heart long before anyone else.
The words blur as tears cloud my vision.
What about Kate?
I’m confused.
For the first time in my life, I’m happy with where I am, who I am with.
I feel complete, and yet . . . I can’t stop thinking that I have to go to her.
To see for myself if this is where I’m supposed to be.
Why now?
Why have I only found her now when I’ve been searching for her all along?
Why has fate been so cruel to deliver her to me when I care so much for someone else?
I sob out loud.
I’m going to lose him.
What should I do, Pinkie?
I slam my computer shut.
The lump is big in my throat and painful, and I angrily wipe my tears away.
This isn’t happening. Tell me this isn’t fucking happening.
I begin to pace, back and forth. What do I write back?
The worst part is, I already know what a friend would say.
A friend would tell him that he should go to her, that he should follow his gut feeling and find out if she’s the one he’s been searching for all along.
That he’s stupid if he ignores his heart, because it’s never wrong.
How could he ignore this sign and be with another?
But I love him.
My chest hurts and I sob out loud.
A deep sense of dread fills my every cell.
I walk into the bathroom and turn the hot water in the shower on, climb in, and cry.
It’s 3 a.m. I lie in the darkness.
A sense of dread is slowly pumping through my veins as if the hope is draining out, and I know that life isn’t fair sometimes.
Over the last month I’ve been happier than I’ve felt in years. Elliot brought me into his home, shared his farm animals, and showed me what it felt like to be truly cared for. He introduced me to his family and for the first time in a long time, I felt included, as if I were one of them.
The thought of not seeing his family again is another dagger to the heart.
Elizabeth.
I know that I’m standing on the precipice of heartache, and I can’t even begin to understand the depths of the darkness that await me if he goes.
I love him.
Maybe more than I love myself, because his happiness is what I want above all else.
I want him fulfilled, and what good is he to me if his heart is with her? I get a painful lump in my throat because, deep down, I know the truth.
It was always with her.
Oh . . . This hurts.
The worst part is, I can’t even tell him that I know.
This stupid fucking game of online chatting we play . . . has come back to haunt me.
This is what you get for lying to someone, Kate.
I deserve everything I’m getting and then some.
I’ve deceived Elliot for weeks, and I knew it was wrong and I was going to tell him, but the right time never came around.
I thought it was harmless, I now know it’s not.
With a shaky breath I get up and open my computer. I write to Ed.
You should follow your heart Ed.
A message bounces straight back. Why is he still awake?
I don’t want to hurt Kate.
I screw up my face in tears. Too late.
The computer screen is blurred.
It’s your heart that you have to live with, follow it.
Kate would want you to be happy.
She loves you.
Xoxo
Hello darkness, my old friend.
It’s been a while since you graced me with your presence, I can’t say that I’ve missed you.
I sit at my desk and stare out the window. It’s 3 p.m. and I haven’t heard from Elliot.
I don’t expect to.
A million emotions have run through me: sadness, regret, anger . . . but mostly disappointment.
I can see it so clearly now—he and I had fun, but he was always searching for the dream, the fairy-tale ending.
And I’m not talented or special, least of all extraordinary.
It was never me.
And I hate that for a brief moment I forgot that—it hurts.
I remember the love that we made, the laughter we had. The tenderness we shared.
It felt so real.
Like a fairy tale to me, only better.
My eyes fill with tears and I blink them away.
Maybe he won’t go?
Paul walks past and glances in and then stops in his tracks and comes back. “You alright?”
“Yeah.” I fake a smile with a subtle shake of my head. “Sorry, just had some bad news about a relative.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“No,” I answer way too fast, I don’t want Elliot to know that I know. “I’m fine. Just a bit teary, don’t pay me any attention.”
“There’s some birthday cake in the staff-room fridge, you want some?”
I smile, grateful for the kindness. “I do. Bring the whole damn thing.”
It’s 11 p.m. and I sit at the window and stare out over the street.
The house is quiet for the night and my facade has dropped. I went out to dinner with Daniel and Rebecca tonight and had to pretend that everything was great between Elliot and I.
I couldn’t tell them what I know or how, and I’ve been lying to them about my Pinkie persona too.
This situation is one big fucked-up
deception and I deserve to have my heart broken alone.
And maybe if Elliot cared enough to want to see me, I would tell him so.
But he doesn’t.
Because he’s at Enchanted thinking about her.
My eyes well with tears and I close them in regret. I hate this, I hate the whole fucking thing.
A car comes around the corner and I watch it slowly pull in and park. Elliot gets out.
Oh no.
Shit.
I run and dive into bed, pick up my phone: five missed calls from Elliot.
I hear a knock downstairs and then Daniel’s voice.
I pull the blankets up over me and pretend to sleep, my heart racing hard and fast, and I inhale deeply to try and calm myself down.
My bedroom door opens and Elliot comes in and sits beside me on the bed. “Babe,” he says softly, “are you awake?”
I roll toward him and he takes my face in his hand and I stare up at him.
“Hi,” he whispers sadly.
“Hi.” I force a smile.
“I have to go to France tomorrow, sweetheart,” he whispers.
My heart constricts. He’s here to say goodbye.
I nod, unable to push a word past my lips.
“Can I stay?” he asks.
I clench my hands into fists; how am I supposed to do this?
Say goodbye with love when he’s breaking my fucking heart?
I should be kicking him out, I should be punching him square in the face.
I should hate him.
He takes his clothes off and climbs in beside me. His lips take mine, and I can feel the heartbreak as it radiates out of him. He’s right here in hell with me.
This isn’t his fault, he’s a good man.
His eyes search mine. “Tell me you love me,” he whispers. “Just once.”
My heart begins to ache and I know this is it, our last dance together; his silhouette blurs. “I love you.”
We kiss, and my face screws up against his.
Don’t go.
For a long time, we kiss, until my heart can’t take it anymore. I need this goodbye over . . . I can’t do this.
I’m not strong enough. “I need you,” I whisper.
He crawls over me and slides in deep, his head buried in my shoulder, and I screw up my face as I stare at the ceiling.
He moves slowly, carefully, as if I’m breakable. He always said that he loves me when I’m vulnerable.
Here I am in Imax; I’ve never felt so unprotected in my life.
Defenseless.
His body heats up and he moves slowly to bring himself closer. He spreads his knees and wraps my legs around his hips, but I have no chance of climaxing tonight.
How could I possibly feel physical pleasure when I’m in such pain?
He may as well be stabbing me in the heart, it would feel the same.
He holds himself deep and shudders as he comes. His lips run up and down my neck, a tender love song of affection.
I stare at the ceiling, lifeless.
I feel the hot lone tear roll down my face and into my ear.
He rolls off me and falls onto his back, glances over and sees my tears, and throws his forearm over his eyes, as if to shield himself. He’s unable to deal with me.
Or unwilling.
After a while, “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers.
I stay silent and stare at the ceiling, my heart shattering into a million pieces.
Go to hell.
The dawn light peeks through the side of the blinds, and I watch him put his suit on from my place in bed. Gone is my tender lover from last night.
Elliot Miles is here this morning, and I’m glad. Because he’s easier to hate.
“When will you be back?” I ask.
“I’m not sure,” he says as he pulls his jacket over his shoulders.
He can’t even look at me.
He pats his trouser pockets as he checks he has everything; I should ask him if I can have my heart back before he leaves. He’s had it in his possession since the first night we spent together, unashamedly so.
His eyes find me across the room and I force a smile. “Have a nice trip.”
“I don’t want to go,” he whispers.
“But you will.”
We stare at each other and eventually, as if making an internal decision, he closes his eyes. “Goodbye, Kate,” he murmurs.
“Goodbye, Elliot.”
He walks over to me and takes my face in his hands and kisses me, and this time it’s his face that screws up against mine. He knows, he knows that if he does this then we are done.
Without one word, he turns and walks out, and the door clicks quietly behind him.
I inhale with a shaky breath.
He went anyway.
Chapter 23
ELLIOT
The rain comes down heavy and hard, and I walk on to the plane like it’s a galley.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Miles.” The pilot smiles.
“Hello.” I shake out my umbrella and fold it away.
“We are scheduled to take off in fifteen minutes, sir. I trust you’ll have a pleasant trip.”
“Thank you.” I walk through the plane and take my usual seat.
Just fucking go, already.
My phone lets off a ding and I glance at it. Kate.
I open up the message and frown.
It’s a song, “Never Enough” by Loren Allred.
Fuck.
I drag my hand down my face and eventually, curiosity gets the better of me and I put my headphones on and hit play.
It’s a slow song, of love and loss.
I put my head back against the headrest and exhale heavily; I want this over with.
Just fucking go already.
“Mr. Miles.” The waiter smiles. “We’ve been expecting you, sir. Miss Boucher is waiting.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“The private dining room is this way.” I follow him through to the glass atrium; there are fairy lights strewn across the top of the glass and the table is candlelit. I see her sitting alone at a table for two by the fire.
She looks up, and our eyes meet.
“Hello.” She smiles softly.
My heart flips in my chest.
She’s absolutely breathtaking . . .
“Hello.” I frown—she makes me nervous—and my stomach flutters. “Sorry I’m late.”
She smiles up at me with her big eyes. “Better late than never.”
KATE
I sit at the window seat and stare out over the road as the rain comes down.
Even the weather is miserable. Like a dark heavy blanket of sadness.
I glance at my watch, Elliot will be in France now.
I get a vision of the two of them sitting in a romantic location, staring into each other’s eyes.
I’m in a literal hell.
“Is everything alright with your meal, ma’am?” the waiter interrupts me.
“Oh.” I look down to see my untouched cold dinner. “Yes, I’m sorry . . . I’m . . .” I pick up my fork. “A little distracted.”
“Perhaps some wine?” The waiter smiles hopefully.
“Yes.” I nod. “That would be lovely.”
He raises his eyebrow as he waits for something.
“What is it?” I ask.
“What wine would you like?”
“Oh.” I shake my head, embarrassed. “Surprise me.”
“Very well.” He disappears into the kitchen and I take a forkful of pasta into my mouth.
Ugh, my stomach rolls and I clench my teeth to stop the gag reflex.
I make myself swallow; food is the very last thing I can handle tonight.
I don’t even want to go home to my roommates, because then I have to pretend that everything is okay . . . or tell another lie, or worse still, tell them the sordid truth.
Neither of the tasks I feel capable of while I’m this weak.
I’ll just wait until e
veryone goes to bed, it’s easier that way.
It’s 9 p.m. and . . . in a few hours, I will know.
Elliot will either call me . . . or he won’t.
I know he will . . . he loves me, I know he does and I believe in us. He will call me.
He has to.
I’m not in this alone. I haven’t imagined this entire thing. We do have something real.
I know we do.
I can’t be this gullible.
I force another mouthful in and my stomach rolls and I heave.
I think I’m going to throw up.
One a.m.
I walk up my street toward my house in the rain. With two bottles of wine under my belt, I should be happy.
What I am is . . . devastated.
He’s with her.
I take out my phone and check it for the ten thousandth time tonight.
“Call me,” I whisper angrily. “You fucking call me, goddamn it.”
I screw up my face in tears. Why is this happening? What on earth did I ever do to deserve such fucking shit in my life? I lost my parents, my sister is the devil, and now the man that I love . . . doesn’t even love me back.
“Why?” I cry out loud. “What have I done to deserve this?”
I get to my apartment and I can’t face going inside, because then I have to sleep.
And then it will be morning, and too late to go back on what happened last night.
And I will know what he did.
I get a vision of Elliot and her waking up in bed and him being all witty and charming and wowing her with his sexuality and her falling madly in love with him.
How could she not?
There’s a lot to love about Elliot Miles.
I drop to sit on the bottom step and I stare into space. And as the rain comes down on top of me, wet, afraid, and alone . . . I cry.
It’s the silence that kills you. The things that aren’t said.
The closure you never got.
Three days.
Seventy-two hours. Four thousand, three hundred, and twenty minutes.
Too many seconds to count.
The clock ticks in my office. It’s like a megaphone, loud and annoying, reminding me of how time’s going by . . . with not a word.
Not even a text.
He’s with her.
I know that now, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.
I really thought he loved me.
My faith in humanity is smashed to smithereens.
Did he even care about me at all? He couldn’t have . . . nobody could treat someone that they care about like this. The joke of it is that he doesn’t even know that I know what he’s doing in France.