Unspoken Endings

by Gabbie S. Duran

  “Your timing is getting better,” Julio compliments as he tries to catch his breath. Nodding my head in agreement, I look down at my watch to confirm my pace. It’s nowhere near as fast as I would like it to be, but it’s improving with every run.

  “We better hurry back so I can call Matt before he leaves,” I say, walking my way through the crowd surrounding the finish line. It’s much easier when you have a bulldozer of a bodyguard to guide your way. On the way, I grab onto a postcard an event person hands me.

  Before I have a chance to view it, Julio asks over his shoulder, “Is he still nervous?”

  “Yes,” I answer with a light chuckle. “The rolls are now reversed between the two of us.” My answer brings my thoughts back to my conversation last night with Matt.

  “Matt, you’re going to do just fine this week. Just go out there and be yourself.” As much as I wish I could have been at his side to calm his nerves, he was alone because I had chosen not to be there because of my career.

  “I sure hope so.” The exasperated sigh following his statement tells me just how nervous he was, even after my encouragement. Soon we’re back in my room and I’m dialing Matt’s number, hoping he hasn’t left yet.

  “Hey, beautiful,” his husky voice whispers into the line as he answers, my lips automatically pull into a smile.

  “Hey, handsome,” I answer, using the nickname I have adapted to calling him the last couple of days. “Have you left yet?”

  “No. I should have, but I was waiting for you to call.”

  “You should have called me instead.”

  “I had a feeling you may have been on your run, but you know how I feel about that.”

  “Matt, please, I don’t want to start arguing with you,” I relay, debating whether I want to tell him I just ran a race instead of a simple run. “I promise I’m not pushing myself too hard. I just can’t take running on a treadmill,” I argue. “Would you like running on a treadmill?”

  With a humorous chuckle in his words, he admits, “I’ve had to before, and I agree, it sucks. I worry you’ll injure yourself again. But I guess I should be happy you didn’t do that run you told me about.” His words send a weight of guilt straight down to the pit of my stomach.

  “Matt,” I rasp out, fearful of telling him the truth.

  “Why do I have a feeling you’re going to tell me something I don’t want to hear, beautiful?” he voices, the concern in his tone making me cave, no longer able to keep the truth from him.

  “I did run that race with Julio,” I blurt out.

  I brace myself for the small lecture to come, but instead there is a dreadful silence followed by a disappointed sigh from his end, making me feel just as bad. “I hope you didn’t run at your normal pace,” he responds when he does speak.

  Letting out the breath I was fearfully holding in, I answer, “I didn’t. But I did miss you at my side,” I remorsefully admit. “It didn’t feel the same running it with Julio.” I’m rewarded with a chuckle.

  “He doesn’t do it for you?” he playfully teases. Laughing at his words, I say, “No, he doesn’t. I’d rather be huffing and puffing next to you.”

  I can hear his laugh this time, and as usual, I close my eyes to picture his expression. “Now I’m glad I wasn’t on the phone listening to that,” he replies, still slightly laughing into the phone.

  “And why is that?”

  His voice drops low as he answers. “Because you’re usually huffing and puffing and instead of picturing you running, all I can imagine is you under me as you make those sounds. Which is where I would much rather you be.”

  His words make my heart speed up with anticipation of the image he’s picturing. It’s where I’d much rather be at this exact moment as well. “Abigail?” I hear him huskily ask on the other end.

  “Soon, Matt. Are you still tired?” I ask, referring to how exhausted he sounded before we ended our phone call. Matt had called me immediately after checking into his hotel room near Lucas Oil Stadium. It had been late, but we had barely spoken throughout the day, so we were desperate to catch up.

  “Not too much, but this hard-on I carry around the majority of the day from you not relieving it is not helping me sleep either.”

  Now I can’t help but laugh. “You’ll live.”

  “I just don’t understand why you won’t give me what I want.”

  Laughing at his request, I say, “I already told you. I’m not going to have video or phone sex with you when I know perfectly well that you jack off anyway.”

  Matt had admitted to masturbating while we have been apart, especially most recently since I left. He hoped it would lead to me finally giving in to his request to have video sex. Instead, it led to me almost peeing my pants in laughter and a very disappointed Matt.

  “We’ll see,” he relays before adding, “I’ve got to go, beautiful. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

  “Okay. Go show them who Matt Garcia is,” I cheerfully reply, repeating the words he uses to give me courage. I can practically hear his smile radiating from his end of the line as he says, “I love you so much.”

  “I love you more,” I say before ending the call. The silence that follows already pierces at my heart. I lay in bed with an image of Matt for the next couple of minutes, slowly continuing to torture myself. I pick up the postcard and finally get a chance to read it. The enticing words of a future race keep calling out to me. “Run me.”

  My hopes of running a major race anytime soon seem near impossible, no matter how badly I wish to run it. Rotating my previously injured ankle in the air, I keep asking myself if I’m willing to push myself that hard ever again. Picking up the postcard sized race info up to once more concentrate on the date, I realize I will still be in New York.

  Listening to my heart, I sit up and grab my phone, searching for the registration website. I start to do what I hadn’t expected to do this morning and sign up for another race. When I tap on the confirm button on the screen, my heart flutters with excitement. I already know this isn’t going to be easy to explain to Matt, but deep down inside I’m doing this for myself and it’s what makes me happy. He always claims my happiness is what’s important to him and if it’s really true, then he will understand.

  I’M BORED OUT of my mind while sitting and waiting for the set director to make his appearance. I’m surprised after my restless night that I’m able to keep my eyes open. It’s getting easier to sleep through the nights without Matt at my side, but some nights, like last night, I get restless and don’t sleep well.

  I imagined I would make it up by taking a nap after my run this morning, but there was a damper in those plans when I returned and had a note waiting for me at the front desk. It was from the event coordinator in charge of the show.

  Subject title: First meeting.

  The time ordered barely left enough time for me to rush upstairs to shower and get ready before I was exiting the hotel again and hailing a cab with Julio. Apparently not many took the note seriously since there is only one other person besides myself who arrived on time. Glancing toward the girl sitting next to me, she’s using her time to converse with someone on her iPad. Nosy and bored, I tilt my head back to get a better view of who she’s speaking with and see a male on the screen staring back at her.

  “How is your mother feeling today?” I hear her ask, the words coming out sounding as if she’s heartbroken.

  “She’s feeling better. She says she sends her love,” he says, looking a little saddened as he replies. The frown spreading across her lips is a well-known feeling.

  My heart sinks from both their expressions. I fully understand how they both feel, which is why I turn away to give her some privacy, eyeing a man walking in my direction.

  A couple of feet ahead of me now stands a skinny looking French man, who is deeply concentrating on the phone he’s tapping away on. His fingers stop as he lifts his head up. “Okay everyone,” he announces to the room. His eyes confusedly scan the room, causing
his brow to furrow in frustration. “Where the hell is everyone?” he shouts to no one in particular.

  Looking around the room, I’m still wondering the same thing. He looks over to an intern with an angered expression. “Find out where the hell the rest of the models are. If they don’t get their asses here in the next ten minutes, let them know I’m replacing them!” The evident fury in his voice emphasizes his command.

  The poor intern looks both terrified and confused as to how he’s going to make it possible before he scurries off to proceed with the request.

  “I would have expected you to be one of the missing ones,” the skinny man proclaims.

  “Who are you?” I snarl back, my sleep deprived moodiness getting the better of me. He draws his head back in shock, his eyes wide as saucers before they turn down to narrow at me.

  “I take it you haven’t gotten your memory back,” he replies, more a statement than a question.

  I sit, speechless and unwilling to answer his question, since he hasn’t answered my own. For a moment, our eyes lock onto each other’s, as if testing who will cave first. Fortunately for me, it’s him that loses the battle.

  “I’m Hans, the set director,” he answers in a condescending tone. Before I have time to ask him to clarify his earlier comment, I see several models walking in, cheerfully laughing at something being shared between them.

  “This better be the last time you’re late,” he bellows at them, but they roll their eyes as they each take a seat.

  “Now that most of you are here, I suggest we go over the rules,” he begins, back to what I’m starting to believe is his normal attitude.

  For the next hour, we are given orders and lectured on what is expected of us. The entire time, I had to force myself not to fall asleep. After the first ten minutes of trying to keep myself from dozing off, I start scrolling the internet instead of torturing myself with having to listen to the lecture. It had not occurred to me until this morning what vital tool I was missing on this trip: an iPad mini so I can see Matt’s face on a bigger screen. My phone just isn’t cutting it nowadays. The only roadblock, which took up most of my time, was locating the exact hotel Matt was currently staying in. Thankfully, during one of our conversations he mentioned it was located near the training stadium, so it made narrowing down the specific hotel a little less stressful. With thirty minutes of research now paid off, I pushed confirm order on the screen. We would both have an iPad mini soon. You have to love technology.

  “Adams, have you heard one word of what I’ve said this entire time?”

  Snapping my head up at the director, I find myself looking back into a pair of eyes narrowed in anger. “Yes. Show up on time. Show up sober. Do my job, and do it well. No fucking up. Period,” I clip out. It was the last of his words, and to be honest, they were the only ones I had paid attention to.

  I didn’t think his eyes could narrow any lower, but I am proven wrong as they do, along with his lips that form into a very tight line. I’m expecting a lecture from that expression, but he surprises me when he starts to scan the crowd amongst us.

  “As long as you follow those rules, we won’t have any problems!” he barks out.

  I’ve only just met the man and I already want to strangle him. Thankfully his words are a cue that the meeting is over, and I couldn’t be happier that it is. Everyone starts standing to leave, but I stay rooted in my chair as the director’s eyes have once again locked onto mine. They are slowly analyzing me and it’s starting to creep me out. He begins walking in my direction and I soon feel Julio’s presence standing directly behind me, giving me a sense of security, which is exactly what I need since I refuse to show this man any weakness. From the way he’s snarling and commanding everyone, it’s what he demands. His eyes briefly look above me, most likely at Julio, before they look back down at me.

  “Miss Adams, being that I’ve had the pleasure to work with you in the past, I’m hoping we won’t have a repeat of our last encounter.”

  His words silently shock me, causing my heart to suddenly pause for a moment before it rapidly speeds up. “You shouldn’t judge people by their past,” I say to him as I attempt to control the temper looming inside of me. “Because if that were the case, even though I don’t know you, I’m pretty sure you’d be labeled an asshole,” I add. I was only thinking the words that had uncontrollably come out.

  I would have expected him to become furious from my words, but instead his eyebrows draw down in confusion.

  “You don’t remember, do you?”

  “No,” I curtly reply. I have never once regretted not knowing my past, until now.

  Surprisingly, his voice softens as he replies, “So you haven’t recovered your memory yet?” I don’t know if it’s sympathy he’s now displaying, or if his sole purpose is to further irritate me.

  Regardless, I still answer. “No,” I repeat, before quickly adding, “But it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do my job. So I suggest you put whatever past we have behind us during this little tour, or else you will be seeing the new me, and you won’t like her.”

  He laughs, further irritating me. “I have a feeling that I’m going to like this new Abigail Adams,” he replies with a hint of a smile before turning to walk away, leaving me to feel more confused than when we started.

  “Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Julio confusedly asks behind me.

  “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it’s the best I’m going to get out of him.”

  “Ms. Adams?” A petrified looking intern is now standing behind Julio’s extended arm, as if he was blocking her from approaching me. His eyes scan her from head to toe as he keeps her from moving any closer. With her eyes locked onto Julio, she says, “Hi, I’m Tracie.” She quickly introduces herself as she hands me a set of papers from her trembling hand.

  “What’s this?” I ask, taking the papers from her with an amused smile on my face as she continues to cautiously glance at Julio.

  “It’s your schedule. I would have given it to your manager, but I was told you don’t have one,” Tracie crackles out. Julio has taken his hand down now, but it’s obvious she’s still a little frightened of him as she continues to glance between the two of us. She next looks down at her clipboard, deeply concentrating. “It’s noted here everything had to go to your manager’s assistant Susan Waters, but I take it she is no longer with you since I don’t see her here,” she hesitantly adds.

  “No,” I bitterly clip out, causing her to flinch.

  I hadn’t meant to be so rude to her, but my earlier fury has returned full force with the reminder of who Susan really was. My temper must be showing since her frightful expression has returned, causing her to duck her head to sever our eye contact. I’m not mad at her directly, but her words upset me. I wasn’t expecting them. The mention of Bill’s assistant, Susan, has made my temper rise because it’s brought back the memory of Bill. Looking down at the paper in my hands again, I take note that it’s more than one page. It’s five to be more specific. Scanning each page, it’s filled with appointments, making my eyes go wide in shock.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m still confused why I need this.”

  “I’m sorry, but I was just ordered to give it to you,” she replies with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it,” I answer, hoping I haven’t labeled myself a bitch in her eyes because of my earlier reaction.

  She gives me a brief smile before turning to walk away, leaving the verdict still open on that judgment. Letting out a huff of air, I start to scan the papers again, this time fully taking them in. The first thing that jumps out at me from the front page is an interview that is scheduled for three hours from now, followed by dinner with “An exclusive party.”

  It continues, page after page, with appearances or interviews pertaining to the show and it all seems overwhelming at this point. From the corner of my eye, I spot Hans walking by and I immediately stop him.

  “Umm, I can’t do the pho
to shoot scheduled on the Saturday before we leave for Paris. I already have previous plans,” I tell him.

  “Cancel them. This is more important. It’s your job.”

  Shocked by his words, I answer, “My job is to model for the show. I wasn’t told I had to do anything extra.”

  With an exasperated sigh, he replies, “We would have worked out all the details with a manager, had you had one. But since you don’t, we’re informing you now.”

  “So because of that you’re just now telling me?” I irritably retort.

  “Yes, it’s part of your job,” he states, using his fingers to quote the last word. “Photo shoots are part of the show, and with photo shoots come interviews,” he clips out, as if he thinks it will make me cave. I keep my narrowed eyes at him while staying silent, refusing to budge.

  “I’m not rescheduling my event,” I sternly reply, shaking my head as I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to back down. “Either you reschedule or expect me to show up very late.”

  “Are you going to start making prima donna demands of us?”

  “If that’s what it takes to get out of them, I will,” I curtly reply, still standing my ground.

  He rolls his eyes at me before asking, “What is so important that you can’t do what’s best for your career?”

  “I have a race that day.”

  He now looks confused, as if having no clue what I’m referring to. “Running. I’m running a race that day,” I clarify in layman’s terms so he can better understand. His eyes go wide as I finish speaking.

  “You mean to tell me running is more important to you than modeling?” he balks out.

  “Yes, it is,” I clip out.

  “You can’t honestly tell me you expect me to rearrange your schedule to accommodate your hobby?” he asks, sounding uncertain.

  Stepping forward so I’m mere inches from him, he is forced to lean back a little as I practically growl at him. “Hobby or not, I’m a runner and running races comes with the territory. You either reschedule the photo shoot or expect me to not show up. It’s up to you, but I know it won’t be my ass on the line when Rebecca doesn’t get her photo shoot,” I state before turning to walk away, but not before adding, “Now that is my prima donna demand!”