by C. J. Wells
It certainly doesn’t help that he won’t talk about it. I tried my hardest to get him to open up after Julia left, but he shut me out. He doesn’t even want to entertain the conversation.
I know he’s hurting. And rightly so. But I wish he’d communicate what he’s feeling with me. Since I feel somewhat to blame, I’d really like to repair some of the damage. At least to his betrayed heart. It’s beyond frustrating when all you want to do is console and mend, but you’re shut out.
My lingering guilt has seemingly taken hold, left solely with my own thoughts as companionship in my lonely flat. I miss him so much, and I know that even if he were here with me now, I’d still miss him - I’ve felt a distance between us ever since Julia’s visit. It leaves me feeling bereft and anxious.
I’m not quite sure where to go from here, but dammit I’ll do whatever I need to. It’s killing me to know he’s hurting. I’m so overwrought with guilt that I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t even want to imagine what he’s having to say, or do, right now in LA. I’ve never been exposed to Hollywood producers before, but I can only guess what type of wrath such bad publicity would ensue. I pray to God this doesn’t affect his upcoming movie. I’m not sure I could handle being the cause of that.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Ugh. Who could be visiting me now? Still seated on the sofa, staring absently at the floor, I curse slightly under my breath at my unwanted visitor. I just want to be left alone. Begrudgingly I push myself up to make my way to the door.
Opening it slowly, I find Julia standing on my front stoop.
What the hell is she doing here? I have absolutely nothing to say to this woman, I think to myself, moving to close the door in her face.
“I have something you need to see”.
Her words linger, causing me to open the door slightly.
“And why would I want to see anything you have to show me?” I reply with sarcasm, my annoyance lacing my gaze. “I don’t have the blood alcohol level to deal with you right now”.
“It’s not about Alex this time. It’s about you”, she continues in firm urgency.
Ok bitch, you have my attention.
Inhaling and releasing a deep breath at my decision to concede, I motion for her to come in.
“How do you even know where I live?” I question, leading her into the living room.
“I’m very resourceful. I take my job very seriously”.
I turn to object to her last statement, “You said this was not about Alex. I’m not part of your job”.
“Indirectly, of course you are. As long as you’re sleeping with my client”, she snipes back in aggravation.
“Oh”, I laugh, continuing with my own venom. “For the purpose of this conversation we’re referring to Alex as your ‘client’, as opposed to your ex-boyfriend - the man you slapped in the face with a good fucking of his best friend. You have way too many blurred lines between your personal and professional life”.
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you”, she retorts as she slaps a pile of newspapers on the coffee table.
My eyes are immediately caught by the sight of my name - my repeated name - on every one of them.
Looking back to her, I exclaim in accusation, “Did you…”
“I don’t aid in the tarnishing of Alex’s image. I aim to protect it”, her tone is laced with disgust at my insinuation.
I stare at her monetarily, lost to the sudden whirlwind of dread that appeared at the sight of this morning’s latest news. In a daze, I sit down on the sofa, reaching for the papers. I slide them apart, slowly separating each one enough to read their headlines.
Alexander Tate’s mystery woman is a mystery no more
Alexander Tate’s mystery woman is revealed to be Abigail Ryan
Canadian born, Abigail Ryan is the mystery woman seen with Alexander Tate
“This time next week, the captions will be much more riveting, of course, when they include the details of your…” She pauses at my panicked darting gaze. “They’ll include everything, Abigail”.
“But how…?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s the media’s job. I found out everything I needed to about you after the first media frenzy. I had the upper hand because it was my client. The rest of the media world is catching up, and now that they have your name your history is their next agenda”.
The room is spinning.
Returning to the papers before me, I unconsciously search the words as if they’ll alter before my eyes - a desperate need to make it all stop.
Is she right?
Oh my God, of course she’s right. They’ll dig into my past.
“They’ll include Liam. Do you really want to drag him into this? Do you really want to hurt him again?”
“Liam has nothing to do with this!” I jump up from the couch. How dare she talk about him as though she knows him. Or me, for that matter.
She seems slightly amused at my outburst. “Sure he does. Don’t be so naïve. And don’t shoot the messenger. I didn’t put you in this predicament. Your life choices are your own doing”.
“You don’t know anything about my choices, or why I made them!” I continue to scream, moving around the table to stand before her in my sudden confrontation. “What happened between Liam and I is none of your business!”
“You made it my business, the world’s business, the minute you decided to move into Alex’s life!” she screams back, before pausing to compose herself. Her disposition suddenly calmer, with an almost understanding tone, she continues, “That’s the world Alex lives in, Abigail. He lives in the spotlight - his fame at the cost of the want-full and scrutinizing eyes of the public. A world I don’t think you want, or are able to live in”.
Staring at her, my mind races, overloaded with everything I’ve seen and heard since she walked in the door - the media headlines filled with my name and her suggestive remarks about my wants or needs.
Damn her! Why did she have to come here?
“I live in the same world as you, Julia”, I bite sarcastically.
“Do you?” she questions in equal sarcasm. “This isn’t the movies. This is the real world. It’s not all fairy tales and happy ever after. It’s a cruel, realistic place where people make mistakes and are scrutinized, not forgiven. Where dirty laundry is the news of the day…”
“So this is about you. You, Alex and Ben. This is just a vengeful attack towards me for airing your dirty laundry”.
“Oh Abigail, go home. You don’t have the faintest idea how to survive here”.
“Here?” I question her continued riddling. “What the hell does that mean? Here with you? Does my presence in your world hinder your promiscuous lifestyle? Am I now a renewed reminder of the stupid choices you’ve made? It must sting to know that I was the one who told Alex that you slept with Ben”.
I’m taken aback at her sudden laugh.
Cupping her hand at her mouth and chin, she shakes her head in humorous bewilderment.
“What?” I demand, confused by her condescending stance. “Please tell me what you find so amusing”.
“I didn’t sleep with Ben”.
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks.
“W-what?” I barely manage aloud, my puzzled awe overtaking me. “But you said…”
“I said what? I never said anything”.
“You did”, I argue, recalling the uncomfortable stand-off in Alex’s kitchen. “Alex asked you… he asked if you were ever going to tell him. You said ‘no’”.
“I simply chose not to deny it”, she states matter-of-factly.
Tilting my head, I drop my shoulders in sarcastic disbelief, “I don’t believe you. Who would do that? That makes no sense”.
“This really is none of your business, but I’ll play along. My concern is for Alex, and if sharing this with you will help protect him…”
“I’m listening”, I offer snidely, crossing my arms.
Letting out an ann
oyed sigh, she turns towards the sofa, taking a seat. Looking down at her folded hands in her lap, she begins, “I never told Alex the identity of… the other person to… protect him. I made a mistake and I wasn’t going to let it cause any hurt to Alex…”
“You don’t think the fact that you actually cheated hurt him?” I cut her off, questioning the absurdity of her choice of words.
“Are you going to let me finish?” she questions, looking up at me.
Rolling my eyes, I shrug my shoulders above my crossed arms.
“What Alex doesn’t know helps keep the rest of the world from knowing. It’s as simple as that. If it became public, it would be a scandal. I couldn’t let that happen. So, when Alex accused me of cheating with Ben, I decided not to deny it. Whatever Ben said, or did, to make you think it was him - though, I was shocked, of course - it bridged a gap that needed to be filled. You did open a can of worms, Aby, but I don’t blame you for it. I just had to run with it”.
I shake my head in disbelief. Scandal? Does it really make a difference who she was with?
She’s lying. “Why the hell didn’t Ben deny it?” I question her story.
“So he didn’t actually say he was the one?”
“N-no”, I reply, unfolding my arms as they fall to my sides.
Oh my God! What have I done? “I just thought… he alluded to it…” I ramble, running over the conversation in my head. Making my way to the sofa, I sit at the opposite end to avoid her. “He touched me. We argued. He said I wasn’t the first… I wouldn’t be the last”. I look towards her. “I just knew it must have been him… with you. He didn’t deny it. He actually smiled at the accusation…”
“He wanted you to believe it”, she finally interrupts, holding my gaze. “It’s not all your fault. Ben and Alex, they have a wonderfully troubled relationship. Ben feels he sacrificed for Alex - despite the fact that he hasn’t worked a hard day for anything in his life. He’s jealous and wants everything Alex has. Add that to his drug dabbling…”
My eyes bulge at her admission.
“Oh, shit. Aby, please pretend you didn’t hear that! I don’t even think Alex knows. The point is, Ben let you believe he was with me to stroke his ego”.
That twisted asshole! I can’t believe this.
This is all too much. “What kind of world do you fucking people live in?” My anger renewed, I stand to pace the room. Jesus, Ben is using drugs…
“The real world, remember?” She stands as well, her voice filled with sarcasm.
“You don’t live in the real world, Julia”, I spit at her, lacing her name with my own sarcasm. “You, and people like Ben, are just a bunch of fucked up… assholes!”
“Then go home if you can’t handle it!” She screams back.
Glaring at each other, we stand in place; both seemingly trapped by the ugly turn of events.
“You know what, I don’t believe a single word you’ve spewed since you walked in the door. You’re lying about sleeping with Ben - hell, I bet you even threw in that slip of the tongue comment about him using drugs to sway me”.
Julia shakes her head and releases a sigh. “Think what you like about me. My coming to see you was not meant to turn into all of this…” her hands gesture the air around us. “And this is not about me, or you. It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with my feelings towards you - it’s not personal”.
I fold my arms in defiance.
“It simply boils down to timing. I can’t say that we would be having this conversation had you walked into Alex’s life five years ago, or even five years from now, but right here and now, you don’t fit in to his world”.
“So you keep reminding me”. Everyone keeps reminding me. I wince at the repeated notion.
“Aby”, her tone is almost sympathetic, “Why did you leave? Why did you come here?”
She pauses, though not long enough for me to respond.
Not that I could respond, I realize.
“I think you were chasing some fairy tale”.
A pained silent admission crosses my face at the sudden truth of her words.
“You know what the irony is? You were probably already living in one. Go home, Aby”.
Her words crash down on me, joining forces with all of the recent events as they all crumble at my feet. I’m frozen in place and time as everyone flashes through my mind - Ben, Julia, Helena, Andrew… Alex. He is my fairy tale.
It was all too good to be true. Right out of one of my dreams.
She’s right. They’re all right.
But I can’t leave. I can’t…
“I can’t just leave… I can’t leave Alex. I can’t leave London. I have obligations. My job… this apartment…”
“I can handle anything you need taken care of, Abigail”.
The gentle pity in her voice doesn’t escape me. It’s as though she knows her point has been made. Quite clearly. And I’m sure she’s satisfied with my somewhat obvious submission to doubt, the doubt she intended to surface with her words.
At my continued silence, she turns to make her way towards the door.
I do nothing to stop her, or even question her sudden departure. I simply watch her walk away.
“I can handle anything you need. I know you’ll do the right thing for Alex”. Turning, she leaves me in awed silence, closing the door behind her.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
Damn you Julia Cox. Damn you, and your fucked up world.
Rubbing my sore, bandaged knees, I put all of my negative energy after this morning’s events on the blonde bitch’s shoulders. She, after all, put it all out there in the universe, didn’t she? Doesn’t that make it all her fault that I arrived to work this morning to a mob of paparazzi waiting outside the building.
Breathe, Aby, I remind myself - though holding my breath seems to hold back the fill of tears I’m fighting as my fairy-tale begins to unravel.
It didn’t faze the frenzied media hurdle to find me alone. As much as a new picture of Alex and his newly identified girlfriend would have been a prize, I was enough to fill their plates for the day - countless flashing camera snaps of a deer caught in headlights. They know who I am, and their insatiable appetite for gossip lead them to finding me. At work, even.
I didn’t handle the situation well, to say the least. Claustrophobia set in when the mob of media surrounded me, pushing and pulling me with an invisible chord that left me scurrying toward the protective solace of Ashley-Fines.
My panicked and uncoordinated retreat resulted in a graceless fall to the concrete sidewalk; my knees scraped and bleeding. An image for which the vultures gloried in, snapping pictures unremittingly.
Thomas stepped well above what is expected of a boss; suggesting I work from home before scurrying me out the back entrance and driving me to my flat. He was extremely understanding. His knowing expression as he dropped me off didn’t escape me - he did warn me of the price tag associated with dating Alex. How long ago that seems now.
I need my best friend, I pout, the realization that I can’t reach her finally giving way to my unshed tears. Curling into a ball, I sob silently.
Starling at the chirping of my phone, I wipe at my tear-stained cheeks, begrudgingly getting up to grab it.
Oh God, it could be Alex. I’m not ready to talk to him - via text or otherwise. The horrible, yet delicious thought of just falling into him when he returns tonight, the way I always do, causes the thickened flow of my tears.
I stammer at the unknown number before reading the text.
Subject: Alex
I do hope you’ve taken time to think about what we discussed. Please remember, I’m here to assist with anything you need. Think about Alex. Think about Liam.
Julia
“UGGHH!! You BITCH!” Throwing my phone at the wall, I fall to my knees, my legs giving out beneath me. “OUCH!… humph, humph, humph… That hurts!” I rub at my bandages, my sobs heating with venomous rage as I take in my broken phone - its
casing and battery spewed in all directions.
The fucking gall of that woman!
And the bitch broke my phone.
She’s making it very clear that she has no intentions of leaving me alone. I’ve barely had time to digest her words from yesterday. Let alone try to grasp my own feelings on all of this.
Whatever this is…
The irony of the returned unknown, so much more than it was in the beginning, is almost comical. I burst out in hysterical amusement.
Through my frenzied laugh-cry I recall the last time I thought about what this is; the newness of my relationship with Alex. Was it going to be just a fling with a sexy famous actor? Could something more become of it?
Ha! Oh, it’s more alright. It’s more than I could ever have prepared for. And it has absolutely nothing to do with what Alex may or may not want.
“Aby? Are you okay?”
I quickly glance towards the front door.
Shit. Andrew.
Attempting to dry my tears, I look up into his concerned face.
“Are you okay? I heard a loud bang against the…” he stops mid sentence at the sight of my scattered phone. “I’m sorry, I knocked, the door was unlocked… You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”
“What hasn’t gone wrong? That’s a better question”.
“Uh-oh. What can I do?”
“Well, for starters you can pour me another glass of wine”, I feign a twisted, unsuccessful smile.
“How many have you had?” He grabs the bottle from the coffee table, holding it up to inspect the contents.
“Not enough”. I brace myself, pushing up from the floor.