Lose Me: (New Adult Billionaire Romance) (Broken Idols)

by M. C. Frank

  I wouldn’t call what we managed to do ‘wonders’, but ok. She says I should be incredibly proud of myself, so I’ll write down all I’ve done since I last wrote here in a quick list, before I lose my nerve.

  1. I turned my phone on.

  I told my dad to delete all calls and messages before giving it to me, so that I wouldn’t be tempted to read them. Then I texted Wes. It was long and complicated and weird, but I didn’t wait for him to reply. I turned it off immediately, and went out to buy a new one.

  I’m not proud of it, but this is what the text was:

  Hi, Wes. I want to thank you for everything you did for me. I’m so sorry I haven’t spoken to you in ages, but I want you to know that I’m thinking about you and I haven’t forgotten you. It’s just, with everything that’s happened to me lately, I can’t. . . bring myself to remember the happy time we spent together. It reminds me of how much pain I was in, and of how much I hurt you and everyone involved. I want to put that behind me now. Please understand.

  I read it to Katia first.

  She said, “Eighty-six the crap about thinking about him and haven’t forgotten him, and add that you don’t want to speak or hear from him ever again.”

  Appalled, I stammered that that would be rude.

  She replied, “What do you think closure is, exactly?”

  “What closure? Kat, I’m not even sure I. . . ”

  “Do you want him or not?” she interrupted me, in a no-nonsense tone. “It’s as simple as that, Ari. If he’s human at all, he’ll be mad as hell at you right now, I know I would, if you’d given me the silent treatment after all that. . . after all that you guys went through together.” She stopped to clear her throat. I had a hard time meeting her eyes. “But he seems to be still waiting for you. For something, at least. He did that YouTube thing, didn’t he?”

  I nodded, mutely. We were on skype again. I stared at her chocolate brown eyes, my mind gone blank.

  “Well?” she said, finally.

  “Well what?”

  “What do you want, Ari?”

  “I want to stop being afraid all the time,” I whispered, finally admitting the truth. “I. . . I’m scared of everything, even moving. My brain is not working properly. And I don’t mean the operation-kind properly. I mean the other things that make you feel.”

  Jamie’s therapist would do a happy dance.

  But Katia didn’t.

  “What do you mean ‘everything’?” she asked, scrunching up her eyebrows. “What are you really scared of, Ari?”

  It took a moment to get the word out, but she waited, looking at me intently. “Dying,” I said, finally. “Dying on him a second time. Dying on me. . . And before you say anything smart, I know it’s not rational, okay? I just can’t help it.”

  She pursed her lips. She’s been pursing her lips at me since we were six. You’d think I’d have gotten used to it by now.

  “Yeah, like I’m even capable of saying something smart right now,” she said. It was almost midnight. We’d been talking for the better part of the day. “I’m so sorry, Ari,” Katia continued. “We’ll work on that, I promise. You won’t always be this way, it’s just because of everything you went through. . . maybe you need time? But if you don’t feel you can be in a relationship right now, I think you at least owe him the truth,” she said dryly. “Tell him you’re not planning on getting back together anytime soon. It’s not fair to drag him along, even if he might be the hottest specimen of a human being currently alive on the planet.”

  I stole a glance at her face. She wasn’t smiling.

  “Okay.”

  I edited the text like she said, right there in front of her, before sending it.

  “Did you send it?” she asked. I was hurrying to turn off the phone quickly, before I could hear the beep of his answering text. If he answered, after I’d ignored him all this time. And that was a big if.

  “Yep,” I said in a minute.

  “Good,” Katia said. “Now grow some balls and call him.”

  I almost dropped the phone.

  But, yeah, she was right. After all is said and done, I don’t want to be the kind of person who shuts a person off my life with a text message. So that brings us to

  2. I spoke to Wes.

  For real this time.

  His and Ollie’s YouTube channel, GreyRibbon, had come near to crashing the whole site a few weeks back. It went viral within the first two days, and people are still blogging about it, or sharing memes or whatever it is they do with something that’s suddenly become popular. As for me, I remembered my promise to Wes—for what it’s worth now—and I didn’t watch or read anything they wrote about him.

  I’ve learned all of the videos by heart at this point, after having watched them so many times. Some days they’re the only thing that can make me smile. There are five of them in total.

  Ollie and Wes stopped making them the week after I was released from hospital, but their popularity kept going up daily. The channel was ads free—it still is, and of all the things people could talk about, it’s this that they can’t wrap their minds around. They can’t believe that these two Hollywood actors did this for no profit. For the fun of it.

  For me.

  Anyway, Wes was gone from Corfu by the time I got here. Ollie was waiting for me, though, but he was perfect. He didn’t pressure me to call Wes or anything. So I didn’t. I don’t know, maybe I was thinking this would all go away if I ignored it.

  But, right there, in my tiny room, with Katia watching me severely from my desktop monitor, I realized how stupid that was. So I ran downstairs to get my dad’s phone, and I called Wes.

  It rang about five times, and just when I was going to hang up, relieved, his voice suddenly burst into my ear, warm and familiar.

  My knees literally went weak and I sank down on my butt on the floor. Katia was making impatient gestures from her perch on my desk, but I could no longer see her. Maybe it was better this way, just him and me.

  One last time.

  “Hey.” He said it quietly. No point in pretending he didn’t know who was calling, I guess, since he’d recognized my dad’s number.

  “Hey,” I replied, clearing my throat—that must have made me sound pathetic, if the ‘hey’ hadn’t done it. “Did you. . . did you get my text?”

  “Uh huh,” he said, and I could almost see his eyes turning bored and cold, like his voice. “Listen, did you need something? I’m in the middle of something here. . . ”

  I don’t know if I was expecting us to continue where we had left off (minus the dying, of course), because I knew that he’d be wondering why I didn’t want to talk. At least that. But I don’t think I’d expected the distance in his manner. That woke me up fast.

  I jumped to my feet and started pacing around my room.

  “I just—I wanted to say thank you again, in person I mean. So, yeah, thank you for everything you did for me. I really. . . ”

  “You’re welcome,” he said tightly, not letting me finish. He sounded guarded, as though he wanted to cut through the unimportant stuff, waiting for something.

  “I wanted to make this call, just to tell you that I’m fine, and that I’m getting better every day. Sorry for not letting you know how I was doing sooner.”

  Wow, who knew I could be this lame on the phone?

  He did that half-hearted laugh. “Oh, listen, if that’s all you wanted to say, don’t worry about it,” he said in an easy, cool tone, that was entirely foreign to me. It almost sounded like he’d switched to another person. Then,

  “I get it,” he added in a lower voice.

  Those three words sliced me in two. He ‘got’ it. He got what? What did he think I was talking about? How could he get it if I didn’t?

  Maybe my silence was enough to give him the message that I didn’t want to see him any more. Maybe that’s what he ‘got’. And I didn’t know how to make him un-get it.

  “Wes. . . ” I started saying, but then I stopped. I di
dn’t know what to say. Telling him I was too scared to be with him, to be anything, pretty much too scared to even exist, was way too lame to say over the phone. So I stayed silent, tasting the sound of his name on my lips. Missing it.

  “Still not turned your phone on, huh?” he said. “I guess you’ve a good reason not to.” He gave a self-deprecating snort. “Or maybe you deleted everything I. . . everything that was on there. Figures. I never thought that someone like you—Well, you did say it was a fling, right?”

  My throat was dry. I wanted to say that that’s not fair, but he’d gotten everything else correctly. How could he know me so well? He’s guessed everything! Or maybe there wasn’t much to guess. Who knows what texts or voicemails he left me? I’ll never know, for one. But, coming from a guy who made freaking YouTube videos for me and dedicated me entire pages from a Jane Austen novel, well. . . Anything he had to say must have been significant. It sent a message loud and clear that I didn’t read or listen to any of it.

  There was silence forever. Then,

  “Ah, listen, I’m really glad you’re okay,” Wes’ voice said in my ear—his real voice this time, gentle and familiar. “Have a wonderful life, all right? You deserve it.”

  That sounded like goodbye. No, more like a blow-off. I wasn’t ready for that yet. There was so much to say. . . And no words to say it with.

  I’d let the silence stand too long between us.

  I’d let it grow into a wall.

  And with a guy like Wes. . . it was a miracle to get through his walls once.

  “Wait,” I said, just as he was starting to say ‘I’ve got to go’ and stuff. “Just wait.”

  He waited.

  I swallowed.

  ‘Say something.’ The words from his text were swirling in my mind, torturing me, making the breath catch in my throat.

  He waited for me to speak, but I couldn’t. “I’m not the one who gave up,” he said softly. Or maybe I’d imagined the ‘softly’ part, because then abruptly his voice sounded harsh again. “I’m not the one who stopped waiting, who—”

  “I’m sorry for everything,” I interrupted him. “You don’t know how sorry I am.”

  “Sorry for what? Sorry you ever met me?” I could taste the hurt in his voice.

  And I couldn’t make it go away. Two hurt people can’t heal each other. This was us, right now. Caught in a riptide of pain. Each causing pain to themselves, to the other. I was trying to tell him what I wanted, without knowing myself. And in the process, getting really confused about what he wanted. Not that he wasn’t justified to not want all this drama any more. I didn’t want all this for him. What a mess, dammit.

  So, what to say in answer to his question? The truth. “I’m sorry I let things go too far.”

  Now, I know I shouldn’t have said that. It was an opening I should never have given him. But I wanted to say something. Katia said to have a clean cut. A closure. Well, that was the closest I could get. I wanted to erase the past. But of course no one can do that. No one can grant forgiveness in the blink of an eye.

  And that’s definitely not what Wes did: he laughed.

  I told you I shouldn’t have said that last bit.

  He started laughing, that non-laugh dudes do to show they don’t even care. They don’t even. His laughter, a hard, cruel sound penetrated my ear and my heart.

  “What too far, Ari?” He said, in that easy, dismissive way of his that I knew so well from before he’d become my Wes. Now he was a stranger again. “Come on, I got to know you for, what? All of ten days?”

  The way he was talking took me was back to that night in Drops, when I was talking to the rudest, most entitled and obnoxious British dude on the planet.

  Of course, what he said was true, technically. But the thing is, it hadn’t felt too soon and too stupid while it was happening—this thing, this connection between us. It had been real. It was real. Wasn’t it? He was making it sound like a joke.

  “It was just a kiss, no worries.”

  ‘Just a kiss’. Our kiss, the kiss he gave me. My kiss. He called it ‘just a kiss.’

  “I get it,” he said, “you’re over this. It’s fine. Nothing that hasn’t happened to me before. Now I really have to go. Take care, okay?”

  A soft click as he ended the call, and then nothing.

  ‘Closure’, isn't that what Katia said?

  Turns out I was handed closure on a plate. And then some.

  He hates me. No, he doesn't hate me. Not even that. He doesn't even care enough to be angry.

  I’m so tired of writing, of thinking about this. It’s all such a horrible mess. My head, my heart, my life.

  But for what it’s worth, there you have it, I suppose. Closure. Heart-ripping, soul-shattering, brain-destroying closure.

  Jamie would be so proud. (Not.)

  3. I apologized.

  I hadn’t officially apologized to all the people who love me and to whom I lied to for so long, due to the fact that I was an idiot and a coward and, well, selfish.

  I don’t mind admitting these things about myself now. I’ve realized them and I’m trying to come to terms with it.

  This is me.

  Hopefully I will be a better me in the future. But so far this is the me that’s survived. I have to acknowledge that, too.

  I apologized to dad first, then grandpa and grandma. Then Katia, then Ben. All of them forgave me at once, except Katia, who made me work for it for a couple of days and then she burst out crying, and I mean crying, in loud, ugly sobs and asked me how could I leave her like that?

  I told her I hadn’t left her and she said she wanted to hit me and I said ok, when you’re home for the holidays you can try, but I warn you I’ll be at least ten pounds heavier by then.

  4. I called Christina

  Ollie gave me her personal number, which she answered after the first thirteen tries. When I told him afterwards, he said that I’d been extremely lucky.

  We didn’t talk about anything too deep, but still we talked. It went something like this.

  “Hi, it’s Ari.” She didn’t say anything, so I thought I should add: “You know, from Greece? I thought we should talk?”

  “Oh hello, honey, how are you? Have you decided then?”

  “I beg your pardon?” I was sure she hadn’t realized who I was.

  “Are you coming down to L.A.?”

  Her breathy, confident voice brought it all back. Of course. My nose. (I’d pressured Ollie to tell me what else she’d told him that day she called to talk to me, back in September. The thing that had gotten him so mad at her—he’d resisted telling me for weeks, but finally he’d caved. Turns out, she wanted me to go get a nose job at her plastic surgeon in L.A. Yup.)

  Suddenly it all seemed so hilarious. Deep inside of me there was no hurt, no resentment, no betrayal. Maybe a bit of pity for this woman who had missing, who had missed the whole point. Of herself, of life, of me.

  “Not exactly,” I laughed. “Just wanted to see if you’re interested in. . . keeping in touch or something? And I wanted to thank you for the opportunity to work in that film, it was huge.”

  “Sure, sweetheart, I’m really glad I could do this little thing for you,” she replied in a breezy tone. “I’ve talked to Ben about getting you an agent, too, he says you’re quite good at this. And it’s not an overall bad starting point, if you want to be in films in a couple of years.” (I’m guessing she meant to be in films as an actor. I couldn’t very well expect her to think of my job as a ‘real career’ now, can I?) “I’d love to get to know you better, Ari. Oliver tells me you’re an incredible person, and of course you are. How could you not be, right?”

  Her laughter pealed in my ear.

  “I don’t expect anything from you,” I told her. “But recently something happened to me and I feel as though I’ve grown up suddenly in the past few weeks. In view of that, I’d like us not to be complete strangers.”

  I don’t know what she got from that, but what she sai
d was:

  “Oh, we all have to come to terms with how this world of ours runs, honey, sooner or later. I know exactly what you’re talking about and of course I’d love for you to call me any time. Any time, really. And you know you’re welcome to come down here regardless of It pretty much whether I’ll be here or not, okay?”

  The rest went pretty much like this.

  I wasn’t expecting anything more, really. I wanted to do this for me and yes, I’m proud that I did it. Time will tell about the rest.

  5. Let’s do this!

  My ‘career’ has suddenly taken off.

  Coach said that after being invited to not one but two auditions by Matthew Lee himself, I can stop putting the quote marks on the word career, but it all feels surreal to me right now. Matt also wants to train me himself at some point, he said ‘I’d be a valuable addition to his team.’ Say what?

  In a month or so I’m flying to London for the first of these auditions—I may even fly to Seattle for a few days to train with Matt. It’s a futuristic, sci-fi flick, something like that. I’m already training for it. Cool stuff.

  6. And now the truth

  Let’s see what happens when I try to write it down.

  The truth is. . . I’m still scared. I still haven’t gotten over it. I still wake up in the morning and I’m not sure if it’s before or after. I’m hoping this journal will help me deal with that, but I’m afraid this fear runs deeper and that it’ll follow me my entire life.

  At least now there will be a life for it to ruin.

  Not that it will ruin my life. I won’t let it.

  Okay, almost to the end.

  (Jamie, this whole journal thing is your fault, from start to finish. Already thinking of ways to make you pay.)

  Speaking of Jamie, I have a tiny bit of hair right now. My head looks almost identical to Coach’s, except for the color of my skin. I’ve bought and been gifted about a million wigs however, so yeah.

  The day after I arrived in Corfu, a courier brought a package to my house. Inside I found a wig styled in a straight, shiny bob with bangs. The color was blonde, really yellow, almost gold.