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Struggle to Forever: a friends to lovers duet

Page 44

by Lilliana Anderson


  Secretly, I’m hoping she runs past me so I can convince myself I’m seeing things, but no such luck. She’s stopped. My stomach flips in response while my arm automatically waves at her. Suddenly, I hear myself telling my client I’ll be back in a minute, my feet propelling me towards her.

  “Hey, stranger,” I say, trying to sound casual as I flash a smile.

  Katrina stands with her hands on her hips, grinning at me as I approach. I have so much I want to say to her. I want to tell her I’ve changed, that I’m ready to put her first, that I would do anything for the right to touch her again. My body is screaming at me to reach out. But I don’t. She’s no longer mine.

  “What’s this?” she asks immediately, indicating the logo on my shirt. I smile to myself; she’s never been one to mince words. She seems exactly the same, like I only saw her yesterday.

  “I’m a personal trainer now,” I say, grinning because she was the one who encouraged me to go after my dream.

  Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What? What happened to becoming a judge?”

  Still smiling, I shake my head from side to side. “That was my father’s dream for me. After you left, I did a lot of soul-searching and decided to make my own path.” It took a huge amount of courage and fighting for me to get here. I dedicated my life to the legal profession, pushing my own desires aside so I could fulfil what my father insisted was my destiny. But I was miserable, and it wasn’t until after Dad forced me to choose between his plotted path and Katrina that I finally looked at my life and fought to reclaim it for myself. No more living other people’s dreams.

  “Wow, that’s amazing, Elliot. I'm really happy for you.”

  My eyes land on her left hand, and my chest tightens as I see the ring she now wears. Shit. Swallowing the ball that has lodged itself firmly in my throat, I gesture to it. “Looks like congratulations are owed to you as well. Is that from David?”

  She looks at her hand briefly, like she needs to confirm we’re looking at the same thing then gives me a small nod. “Oh, thank you. The wedding is a while off, but everything else is great.” Giving me a tight smile, she meets my eyes and places her hand back on her hip. “How about you? How are things with you?”

  I look into her face, searching for some semblance of the way she used to look at me. But there's nothing there. I shift a little uneasily on my feet, feeling slightly sick in the guts.

  Clearing my throat, I finally answer her. “Well, I don’t really speak to my dad anymore. Which, really, is a good thing. And I’m seeing someone now. It took a while, and she’s not you...but things are OK. I’m certainly not ready for a commitment like that yet,” I say, nodding at that bloody ring again. I’m trying to sound OK with it, but it hurts. It's like my brain is swelling and throbbing against my skull from the sight of it.

  She seems unfazed by seeing me and just stands there, smiling like we’re buddies. Her eyes shift to look over my shoulder, where I’m sure my client is still waiting. “Well, I’d better let you get back to it.” she says, starting to back away from me. I hate feeling like this. It's like she’s tearing a part of me off the further she steps. “It was nice to see you again, Evan.”

  I laugh, but it makes this hollow and empty sound. I don’t mean for it to come out that way, but I’m feeling a little bitter. We had something amazing, and I let it slip away.

  “You too, Katrina. I'll see you around. If not, have a great life.” I smile on only one side of my face before I run back to my client, forcing my feet every step and refusing to let myself turn around.

  I don’t chance a look at her again until after I’ve told my client what his next exercise is. My guts are churning as I watch her run away, but I can’t stop staring. She doesn’t even look back. Fuck.

  I lied to her. I'm not seeing anyone. Truth is, I haven’t dated anyone in the two years since her. I fucked around a lot which is really out of character for me, but I needed to try to get her out of my head. It never helped because every time I closed my eyes, I dreamed about our time together. It was fucking perfect, and I destroyed it because I was too much of a pussy to stand up to my dad.

  Now she’s engaged, and I’ve got no chance. I guess I could pursue her and try to change her mind. But there’s something about the way she just looked at me that tells me it would be a waste of time. Plus, she seems happy, and I’m not a home wrecker. At the end of the day, David is a good guy, and they have a lot of history. I'm sure they’ll be disgustingly blissful together.

  “Elliot!” My client snaps me back from my thoughts. “What’s next?”

  Dragging my eyes from watching Katrina’s figure fade into the distance, I apologise. “Let’s cool down,” I say, taking him for a run in the opposite direction. I don’t trust myself not to chase her down.

  One

  Paige

  “My family are all dead.” I drop that bomber after trying to avoid questions from the well-meaning lady beside me for the last twenty minutes. I get that she’s just trying to make conversation to pass the time, but the flight from Sydney to Heathrow Airport is almost a day in length. I don’t have it in me to talk to her for that long.

  “Oh… I’m so sorry to hear that,” she stammers out, now not sure what to say. She looks at me, her mouth moving up and down like she's a goldfish caught out of water. Her jowly cheeks wobble, and her eyes dart nervously around as she searches for something else to say.

  “It’s fine. I just don’t like to talk about it,” I tell her, looking out the window at the passing clouds. After years of saying my family kicked me out, I’ve stopped. I’ve taken to telling people they all died in an accident. It’s easier that way. People ask too many questions when you tell them you were evicted from your own family at fifteen. Besides, it doesn’t make me sound so great. I’m the one who was cast out. The one no one loved enough to fight for, someone who’s too much trouble to put up with. It’s better if I say they’re dead, it makes me lucky to be the one who’s still alive. Better still, it stops the questions.

  Staring out the window, I watch the clouds roll by below us, a fluffy white and grey blanket I so desperately want to touch. The woman turns her attention to the guy sitting on the other side of her—some guy I noticed in the gate lounge—and asks him questions about his life instead. I've made her uncomfortable. I’ve probably made everyone within earshot uncomfortable. Oh well.

  Pressing the buds of my headphones in my ears, I scroll through my music and select an album. I’m really into 90s alternative music right now so I choose Custard’s Wahooti Fandango. ‘Teensville’ starts floating into my ears as I close my eyes and lean my head against the window. I keep the sound at a level that is just enough to mask the sounds of the plane but quiet enough to lull me off to sleep. Every moment that passes is a moment closer to freedom, to a new start.

  Elliot

  Please let me sleep. This woman sitting next to me won’t stop yammering in my ear. I’m trying to listen and answer her politely, but I have been awake for over twenty hours now, and I’m really struggling.

  My eyes stray towards the girl sitting in the window seat. Her dark curls have fallen forward, covering most of her face as she sleeps at an awkward angle against the window. I so wish I was her right now.

  “Is London the end of your journey?” the woman asks, leaning slightly so her face blocks my view.

  I nod and exaggerate a yawn. “It is. How about you?”

  “Oh no, I'm going onto Scotland. My sister lives there in Dundee. I’m staying with her for a whole month. It’ll be wonderful. Just like when we were kids. I grew up there, you know? But we left for Australia when I was very young. My sister returned in her 20s to rediscover her heritage. Then she met a man and never left. We’ve always been so close. It’s hard having her live on the other side of the world.”

  Opening my mouth, I exaggerate another yawn, nodding along while I add some sleepy eyes in for good measure.

  “You poor boy, I’m keeping you up. I’m sorry.”


  “It’s no trouble.” It’s a lot of trouble. Be quiet.

  “I don’t sleep very well without one of these.” She takes a packet of sleeping pills out of her bag and puts one in her mouth, swallowing it dry. “I’ll stop talking now. You sleep.”

  Gratefully, I close my eyes. Exhaustion washing over my body.

  Paige

  In my dream, there’s a bear growling outside. I’m aware it’s a dream because Australia doesn’t have bears in the wild, so it confuses me to hear one. My consciousness moves forward as the rumbling sounds vibrate through me. It’s the sounds of the plane and…. snoring? My eyes flutter open and I remove the buds from my ears—the album I was listening to long since over—and turn my head towards the exasperating noise.

  The woman who was talking to me earlier has her head tilted back, her mouth wide open, the noise emanating from her throat. I squint at her, willing her with my mind to stir enough so the noise will stop. When she makes a small choking sound, I flinch, surprised and slightly impressed with my new mind control ability as she quiets and her breathing evens out.

  I breathe out slowly, glad the noise is over, and move to replace the buds in my ears. But I’m paused, my reprieve all too brief, as my skull vibrates when she starts up again. So much for my awesome mind control skills…

  I cross my eyes in agitation and reach my hand toward her, clamping my fingers on either side of her nose. She makes a guttural sound, and I withdraw my hand quickly, looking out the window and pretending nothing happened. I count seconds as I wait to see if it worked, feeling safe when I reach a full minute in silence.

  “Thank god,” I say to myself as I lean my head back against the window. The second I relax however, she starts up again.

  The guy on the other side of her starts laughing. I lean forward to look at him. Fuck, he’s pretty. In my old life, I’d call him a ‘gorgeous fuck’: a man who looks good but has little substance. They’re only good for one thing, and that thing is something I’m no longer interested in.

  Seems he’s caught the giggles. He’s laughing so hard over my snore battle with Chatty McChatterson that I find myself smiling without even meaning to.

  He's quite frankly, the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on. Which is saying something because I’ve met some stunning men in my time. He looks almost too large to be in such a small seat. His long legs are angled so that one is in the aisle, and the other is wedged in the minute gap between the seats in front of him. His broad shoulders span further than the width of the seat. And not that it matters, but his golden brown hair is a little longer than I like on a guy, but it suits him. He’s wearing a good day or two worth of stubble, which I’ll admit is a bit on the sexy side. And up this close, it’s his eyes that are most striking. They look like someone took the clearest, bluest part of the ocean and dropped it into his irises. Magazine material.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, running a hand over his face. “I’m not laughing at you. I've been trying to make her stop snoring for ages. I’m laughing at the situation.”

  His smile is textbook perfect and creases the corners of his eyes as they water a little from his laughter. It’s a killer smile. If I hadn’t sworn myself off men years ago, I think I’d go all fluttery over him. But I don’t. I have a black heart.

  Elliot

  Tears are streaming out of my eyes, and I wipe at them as this girl keeps looking at me. She’s a stunner. With masses of curly dark-brown hair, olive skin, a full pouty mouth and amazing eyes. They kind of look like a piece of amber, hazel in the middle and flecked brown and gold with a thick dark edge before her whites come into play. They’re pretty awesome. I don’t mind that she’s studying me, because it gives me a good look at them.

  I just wish I could stop laughing, because I feel like a fool. But, I’m so tired I can’t seem to control myself.

  I take a deep breath to try to still my shaking body. “I’m sorry,” I say again, calming myself a little. “I think I’m delirious from lack of sleep.”

  “You’ve been trying to stop her as well?” she asks, ignoring my fits of laughter.

  Wiping the last of my tears away, I nod. “She took a tablet a while back and no matter what I do she still snores.”

  “Great,” is all she says as she sits back forcefully in her seat. She’s quiet for a beat before saying, “Listen, I need to get away from her before I go mental. Can you get up, so I can climb out?”

  “Sure,” I say, moving my legs to the side and standing in the aisle. As she stands up, I notice she’s a decent height, probably hitting just above my shoulder and I’m six-three. She’s wearing almost the same as me: light blue jeans and a fitted t-shirt. Although, mine is plain black, and hers is white with a picture of two chickens dressed up in Mexican-styled clothes leaning up against each other, the words ‘LOS POLLOS HERMANOS’ written in a circle around them. I recognise the logo from Breaking Bad.

  “I love that show,” I say, indicating her shirt with a nod of my head.

  Without responding, she puts her foot on her seat and hunches over as she climbs over our snoring companion and onto my chair. I put my hand out to steady her, but she doesn’t take it. She just steps down from my seat and says ‘thanks’, before walking toward the back of the plane. I catch a glimpse of a tattoo on her lower back when she adjusts her shirt before my eyes drift down to her arse as she walks along the aisle. It’s one of those firm round arses that sways as she walks, whether she’s meaning to do it or not, it’s hot. And kind of mesmerising. I feel a slight shift in my pants as I’m suddenly wondering if I could get her to join the ‘mile high club’.

  Don’t be a dick.

  I laugh a little and blow a burst of air out my nose as I scratch at the back of my head and retake my seat. She wouldn’t be into that, I’m sure. She showed no sign of attraction whatsoever. Most girls would have gladly grabbed a hold of me if I offered my arm.

  Besides, I need to stop that shit. I’ve lost count of the amount of girls I’ve screwed in the last couple of years. I’ve become sick of it. It’s fucking hollow.

  I struggled with girls when I was younger and never got over that teenage awkwardness until after a shitty breakup. Something about losing that girl made me stop giving a shit. I quit overthinking everything and suddenly, I could pick up like I was Don Juan. I'd go to a club and ask a girl to dance, and the next thing I knew I was taking her home and screwing her brains out all night long. Some girls expected more from me the next morning; others just got up afterwards and left without a word. I barely even knew their names, and I know I hurt the feelings of more than one. But, I wasn’t thinking about them. I only cared about myself.

  Eventually, I took a girl home and realised I’d fucked her before—I’d been with her a few times actually—but I still hadn’t learned her name. I stopped, and told her I couldn’t go through with it, even paid for a cab to take her home. I felt like shit. That was when I decided I was done. I’d had enough of night clubs. I’d had enough of treating women like my own personal harem, picking and choosing them as I saw fit. It was crappy of me, and I hated myself for it. Something needed to change.

  That change is why I’m heading to London. I’ve secured a three month working visa, and I’m going over there for something different. Maybe I’ll find myself again while I’m there. This guy who screws around and sees women as sex toys isn’t me. At least, I don’t think it is… If I’m honest; I don’t even know who the fuck I am anymore.

  Two

  Paige

  As I walk towards the back of the plane, I feel his eyes on me. It makes my skin prickle with an attraction I don’t want to feel. I pull at my shirt to make sure all my skin is covered.

  Covertly, I glance over my shoulder at the gorgeous fuck who’s still standing in the aisle. He leans forward and rubs the back of his neck with a strong lean arm. He seems the epitome of the perfect man: strong, healthy, and based upon my short interaction with him, he’s been brought up well too. Manners are
n’t as common as one would hope.

  I walk until I reach the back of the plane where there's a little alcove with a window. I'm so tired that I rest my forehead against the glass and look out at the nothingness that is the night sky.

  “Hey there,” a deep rumble of a voice says from behind me, I tilt my head to the side, still pressed up against the glass. It’s the guy from my row. Of course it is.

  Sighing, I turn and face him, not saying anything. I just look at him and wait for him to speak. He obviously wants to have a conversation, and I'm doing my best to seem uninterested. I want to get this done and over, as quickly as possible.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he says, putting his hands in his jeans pockets, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “I needed to get away from the noise too.” The corner of his lip tips up as he studies me. I notice his eyes scan the length of my body and automatically fold my arms across my middle protectively, feeling betrayed by my skin when it flushes hot under his gaze.

  “Why would I mind?” I ask him flatly. “It’s not like I own the plane.”

  He gives me what I think might be his most dashing smile, but he still looks unsure of me. “I’m Elliot, by the way,” he says, extending his hand to shake mine.

  My eyes travel down to his outstretched arm. I don’t want to take it. I don’t want to risk touching him. Once, a long time ago, I had a connection with a beautiful man who set my skin on fire with a single touch. That connection ruined my life completely, and I swore I’d never give into attraction again. I just want to live my life alone.

  When I look up at Elliot’s expectant face, his eyes narrow slightly, but he keeps his hand stretched towards me stubbornly.

  Elliot

 

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