by L.H. Cosway
Who is this deep-thinking man and what has he done with the carefree, risk-taking boy I loved?
I stared at him, my entire body tense as his reasoning fed my thoughts. He was right. Man, he was so right it was scary—scary because he saw me so much clearer than I even saw myself. I couldn’t tell if I adored him for how much thought he’d put in to figure out the why’s of my behaviour, or if I hated him for making me feel so exposed.
“Who died and made you Sigmund Freud?” I asked defensively, the joke falling flat.
Trev ran a hand through his hair, his expression tender with a hint of self-deprecation. “I have been spending a lot of time in therapy. Maybe all the psycho-babble is rubbing off on me.”
I exhaled heavily. “Nah, you’re right though. I do feel less exposed if I don’t open my eyes. And subconsciously, I probably also feel a level of shame for living a life my parents wouldn’t approve of. Like I told you before, even when I hate them I still love them.”
“I really think you need closure. You’ve never told them how their actions affected you, how it felt to be shut out from a life that was all you’d ever known, how you had to fend for yourself, take out loans to finish uni and put yourself in massive debt. I think they need to hear it, Reya, even if they won’t apologise or admit they were wrong, they can’t hide from the truth inside themselves.”
“Yes, they can. Because their truth is the opposite of mine, and there’s never going to be anything I can do to change that.”
Trev’s expression sobered. “You’re wrong.”
I let out a sad laugh. “I appreciate you trying to help, seriously, I do. But you’ve never met my parents.”
Indecipherable thoughts flickered behind his eyes. Once again, I had no idea what he was thinking when he finally murmured, “No, you’re right. I haven’t.”
Twenty-One.
Past.
It was July 1st.
The start of one of the warmest months was always a cold time for me. Ever since I could remember, my family took a three-week holiday to Madrid around this time each year. My father would allow his staff to take care of the restaurant while we went to visit my aunt and uncle and various other relatives.
I loved it.
I loved playing on the street with my cousins.
I loved the oppressive heat and the strange, exotic plants.
I loved how cats in Spain looked just the tiniest bit different from cats in England.
But most of all, I loved being surrounded by people who loved me. Thinking back on it, the difference in my circumstances now as compared to when I was a child was like staring at a happy, smiling family portrait and then seeing pictures of the crime scene afterwards. Because some serial killer came along and hacked the happy family to death.
Yes, all things considered I was feeling pretty morbid.
The most painful thing was knowing that every member of my family was there now; my parents and sister, my brothers and their wives and kids. It was a Cabrera tradition, one that would be upheld despite the banished daughter. In fact, I was dead to them, only without the period of mourning associated with the loss of a family member.
I sat alone in my grotty little flat, counting the dirty coins and notes people had dropped in my hat while out busking yesterday, and wondered how this had become my life. I knew I was always welcome at Karla and Lee’s, but sometimes I felt like I was encroaching, like I was the odd person out.
I picked up my phone, my thumb worrying the screen as I considered sending Trev a text. He was in Manchester filming Running on Air. It’d been a few days since we talked, but like always, I knew he was busy.
In the end, I decided against a text and dialled his number instead. At least with a phone call he could either answer or not. If I texted I’d have to sit and agonise and wait for a reply.
It rang out and I thought he wasn’t going to pick up, but just when I was about to hit ‘end’ his voice filled the line.
“Reya, hey,” he answered, sounding out of breath.
“Trev,” I replied, relief filling me. It felt so good just to hear his voice. In an instant, my loneliness wasn’t half as overwhelming. “How’s everything going up there?”
Wherever he was, it sounded noisy. Someone was talking to him in the background and Trev didn’t immediately answer my question, instead putting his hand over the speaker to deal with the other person. I could hear the muffled conversation.
“I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Did you get the plan for tonight’s run?”
“Yeah, Barry gave me the gist earlier.”
“Well, we need you downstairs in five.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“Hold on, did you put an order in for dinner? We’re doing burritos.”
“Yeah, I told Jo. And can you get me some coconut water?”
I let out a long, frustrated sigh, the happiness I felt hearing his voice quickly dissolving now that I was being kept on hold. Why bother answering when he didn’t plan on talking to me? I stared around my flat as I waited for him to finish. My queen-sized bed was shoved up against the window, beyond which was my dark blue sofa and TV, then my tiny corner kitchenette. I wondered where Trev was staying in Manchester. Somewhere nice, I bet. There were probably Egyptian cotton sheets and a turndown service.
Trev’s voice came back on the line. “Reyrey, it’s so good to hear your voice.”
I smiled. “I was just thinking the same thing. I miss you.”
There was some more background noise and shuffling. Then I heard a door click shut and there was quiet. “I miss you, too. Things have been mad busy.” His voice dipped low. “I wish you were here.”
“Me, too,” I said, and not for the first time wondered why he didn’t invite me to come visit him. I had a sneaking suspicion his management company didn’t want a girlfriend hanging around. They wanted Trev to appear single because it’d work more favourably with female viewers.
“How’ve you been?” Trev asked and a brick sank in my gut.
I didn’t want to depress him by telling the truth, so I simply answered, “Good. The usual.”
“You sure?”
“Mm-hmm.”
There was a long pause and it grew awkward. Why did it feel like we had so little to say to each other these days? We used to be able to sit talking all night and never run out of words.
There was a pause before I blurted, “It’s the first of July.”
Silence. He didn’t remember? It was late afternoon and he still had no clue. We had dinner together each year on this day to help me survive the hurt. But now—
“Shit,” Trev swore.
“What?”
“I just realised the date. Are you okay?”
When have I ever been okay on this date? “Not really. Today’s been rough.”
“Reya, I—”
Abruptly, there was a loud knock before a voice said, “Trev! We need you downstairs for the meeting now.”
“Yeah, okay, I’m coming,” he replied gruffly then spoke to me. “Reya, I’m so fucking sorry about this but I have to go. Can I call you back tonight?”
My chest deflated. “Sure,” I said, even though I knew the likelihood of him calling me tonight was slim. “Go do your thing.”
“I will. Talk to you later,” he said, about to hang up.
“Trev.”
“Yeah?”
I swallowed and asked the question that had been weighing on my mind for weeks. “Why don’t you ever invite me to come see you? I’d drop everything in a heartbeat if you just asked.”
There was a long moment of silence and I knew I’d caught him off guard. His deep exhalation filled my ear. “Do you want to come see me?”
“Of course, I do.”
More silence. I knew he was going to give me an excuse as soon as he started talking. “Look, I’d love for you to come, but everything’s so busy and I—”
“Yeah, you already said that. Don’t worry, I get it.�
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“Please don’t be like that,” he said on a sigh.
Please don’t be like that? Like what? Someone who wants to see her boyfriend?
I rubbed at my sternum and had a sudden, stark realisation that none of this was ever going to work between us. It was always going to be me waiting around for him and him never having enough time for a girlfriend. For me. Pain seared my lungs as I made a split-second decision, though in truth it had been at the back of my mind for a while now.
“Look Trev, I think we should call it a day. This isn’t working out.”
“What?” he practically screeched. “Reya, don’t you fucking dare.”
“It’s just easier this way. I can’t keep sitting by the phone every night, hoping you’ll call. I can’t live like that anymore.”
Somebody started pestering him about the meeting again and he sounded stressed when he grunted, “Reya, I’ll call you tonight and we’ll figure things out. Don’t do this.”
A crack formed in my heart and my eyes grew watery. “It’s already done,” I whispered and hung up. I was so upset I flung my phone across the room and heard a loud crack when it hit the wall. Tears fell down my cheeks. I hated feeling so unbalanced.
Crawling into bed, I pulled the duvet over my head, squeezed my eyes shut, and cried myself to sleep in the middle of the day.
Was this how my life would always be?
Was I a fool for thinking someone like Trev could give me the love and consistency I wanted? Needed?
Maybe I was. Maybe I just had to get over this pipe dream of him being the perfect boyfriend and realise it was never going to happen. Trev was the boy you loved who never noticed you existed. I needed to love a boy who would make me his entire world.
The next morning, I brought my phone to the repair shop, but it was going to be a few days before it was fixed. In the meantime, I couldn’t afford a burner so I just had to do without. It drove me mad wondering if Trev had been trying to call me, but then again, maybe he hadn’t. I told him we were done. Perhaps I made it easy for him to simply let things lie and focus on what really mattered to him. His career. Now I could fade away and he could fully embrace his new life.
Maybe that was for the best.
“Unfortunately, the SIM was damaged, so we had to give you a new one,” said the repair guy as he slid my phone across the counter and rang up the cost. “But you can still keep your old number.”
I blinked and swallowed. “Oh, right. That’s, uh, that’s good.”
But a part of me was disappointed, because now I would be able to see if Trev tried calling. I would be able to listen to his messages. If he bothered to leave any. It might have been less painful to simply not know. Veins twisted in my heart, because even though I wanted him to want me, I wasn’t sure I had it in me to try again. To hope.
When I got home and powered my phone on, I tapped my fingers on the table top, anxious. A few seconds later it came alive, buzzing with missed calls and texts. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a panic attack coming on. After a few deep breaths, I managed to stave it off. Most of my missed calls were from Trev. They were accompanied by a string of messages spread over the last few days.
Answer your phone. Please. xxx.
We need to talk, Reya. Don’t shut me out.
I love you so bloody much.
Can you please just answer your phone?
Reya, I’m begging you. Don’t do this.
If I have to hear your voicemail one more time I’m going to lose my shit.
Really? REALLY? This is how you’re going to end things? I never took you for a coward.
My heart rate rose higher and higher the further I scrolled through his messages. Then it came to a crashing thud when I reached the final one.
Fine. If this is what you want I’ll leave you alone. Have a nice life.
The finality of his words cut me to the quick. I knew if I’d had my phone the last few days I’d have answered one of those many missed calls. I wasn’t strong enough not to. But maybe this was for the best. Talking to him would only suck me back in. I couldn’t rely on myself to think logically when it came to Trev. This clean break meant I wouldn’t have to test the strength of my conviction. Not seeing or talking to him would make it easier to stay strong.
In spite of this determination, I felt almost as low as I had when I left my parents’ house at eighteen; shunned, rejected, worthless. But I didn’t have the luxury of wallowing. I had to go out and earn money, otherwise my life really would fall into the gutter. I couldn’t afford to stay in bed for days, nursing my bruised heart.
I had to go out there and live.
After all, I’d survived worse.
About two weeks later I was busking in Soho, taking advantage of the tourist crowd, while I sang song after song about heartache. It was my only theme lately. I was probably depressing the crap out of my audience, but there was still a decent bit of cash in my hat. I guess everyone could relate to sadness in some way.
I was midway through a cover of “Elastic Heart” by Sia when I caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd. Trev stood outside a shop on the other side of the street, crowds of people passing by while his blue eyes stayed locked on me. The song was oddly appropriate.
Fire scored my veins.
Lack of air suffocated my lungs.
Pain consumed my heart.
But I never faltered. I pounded the keys with force, sat up straight and stared right through him. Then I closed my eyes and sang with everything I had inside. When I opened them again, he was gone.
Well, I thought to myself, I guess that’s that.
We’re done.
Twenty-Two.
I woke up wrapped in Trev’s arms for the first time in two years, and it was somewhat jarring. After our heart-to-heart last night, we lay down to watch a movie on his laptop and ended up falling asleep. His scent filled my nose and his front pressed flush to my back. I twisted a little in his arms to find he was already awake.
“Hey,” I murmured, tensing at his focused expression. It looked like he was thinking about something intently. Goosebumps claimed my skin.
“Morning,” he replied, his voice a tired, husky rasp.
His arm was draped over my middle, his injured hand raised up above his head. “Uh, how’s your hand?”
“Sore.”
“Yeah, it’ll probably be a while before it starts to feel better.” I moved to get up but his good hand held me in place.
“Don’t go yet,” he whispered and I stilled. I didn’t know what to say so I simply lay there. It was probably a bad idea sleeping with him last night, but how could I not? He owned my heart. I loved being in his arms. His hand flattened out on my stomach and butterflies flooded my insides. I moved my hips ever so slightly and heard a sharp inhale of breath.
“Trev! Barry’s coming over for a meeting. He’ll be here in ten minutes, so get your arse up,” came Paul’s voice as he banged on the door.
I immediately shifted away. Glancing across the room I saw that Callum’s bed was empty. I flushed at the thought of him coming in last night and finding Trev and me asleep together.
Trev sat up, his hair sticking out in every direction. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”
I tugged the duvet around myself and watched as he pulled on some jeans and a clean T-shirt. While he was distracted spraying his underarms with deodorant I slipped out of the room. Thankfully, my room was empty. I headed into the en-suite and turned the shower on, enjoying the hot spray on my weary body. When I was clean and dressed in some leggings and a light, flower-print summer dress, I joined everyone in the living area.
Barry sat on an armchair talking to the group. A few crewmembers were there, too, but they weren’t filming. I noticed Isaac in the kitchen making tea and gave him a nod. The mood in the apartment was tense and stress radiated from Barry like a tangible force.
I searched in the cupboards for something to eat, at the same time listening to Barry. “I’ve decided not to de
lay the schedule after all. Callum’s in good enough health to perform and Trevor can be on hand to supervise during the stunts. If he’s feeling up to it we can include him in some of the shots. Even so, his injury won’t hold us back as much as we thought. The accident and accompanying drama will be good fodder for the show. It’ll certainly keep our audience watching.”
I made eye contact with Isaac and he shot me a grin. We were both pretending not to pay attention while we listened to every word. I held up a box of cereal and he nodded, so I poured us both a bowl.
When I glanced up, I noticed Trev studying us. For a second, I thought he might be jealous like he was the other day when I was talking to Paul. But then he spoke and proved me wrong.
“Why don’t we have Isaac fill in for me while my wrist heals?” he suggested. Isaac had a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth when he dropped it back in the bowl with a loud clatter.
“Me?” he asked, disbelieving.
“Yeah, you,” said Trev. “We’ve all seen you run. It’ll be nothing to you.”
“But—”
“You free run?” Barry asked, his expression transforming as he studied Isaac like he’d never noticed him before, and he probably hadn’t. The director sized him up, took in the toned lines of his shoulders and his strong legs. Interest marked his features as he likely came to the conclusion that he could use him.
“We’ll give you a trial run. If I like what you do, you can stand in for Trevor until he’s well enough to run again. The rest of you, we’ll be filming street shots today so be ready to go at twelve.” He paused and cast a look at Isaac. “That includes you, kiddo.”
With that he stood and waved for the other crew to follow. Isaac watched them leave, open-mouthed. I smiled and reached over to tip his chin. “If you keep your mouth open like that, something’s gonna fly in.”