by Gabrielle G.
“Why would I help you?” he told me with disdain. “You fucking broke him.” Then he hung up.
What was I expecting? Since the beginning, Dex has had it out for me. In fact, who really supported what we had? Not Ryan or Dex. Maybe Virginia? If they had supported us, would I have freaked out? Maybe. I could blame them, but I did it all myself.
So what happened? Well, I wanted to set him free. He loved me when I didn’t want to be loved. So I ghosted him, didn’t answer the door or his calls.
When I was almost ready, standing in my shimmering evening gown, I turned on the TV to an Emmys pre-show, and the hosts were commenting about the “it” couples. To my surprise, Ian and I were at the top of the list. They went on about the rumors of our dating and Ryan not approving, which is why he isn’t doing the movie with us anymore. Bullshit, of course.
That’s when I had difficulty breathing, and I felt as though I was choking as dizziness overwhelmed me. I couldn’t show myself on Ian’s arm. I didn’t want to be tagged as his girlfriend. I couldn’t lie to him any longer.
Of course, because I’m a sucker for punishment, I couldn’t turn off my TV, even after I ignored his calls and knocks. I watched him giving interviews, smiling and winking as if my absence wasn’t bothering him. He looked delicious in his tux. Virginia was a little easier to read. She was obviously protecting him, acting like a shield.
I took my first shot of whiskey during the second interview when he said he was on the red carpet with his sister, which was no sign he would ever settle down. I had my second and third shots when Joana and Paul’s faces appeared on my screen—but those were celebration shots. I was happy I had dodged a bullet. Then I had another shot because I wanted to text Ryan and I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to forgive him.
I was good for a while until Ian won best actor in a drama series. Watching him walking onto the stage was difficult. Seeing how he was grateful, receiving the award, thanking everybody without words, bowing with his hands in Namaste, unraveled me. Then he said he was dedicating his award to all the single men and the broken-hearted souls and I saw the raw emotion in his eyes. For a few seconds, he was so vulnerable.
That’s when I drank directly from the bottle. A lot. I fell asleep on my couch, in my Vivian Westwood dress.
The next day, I knew Dex had worked his PR magic because there was no mention of Ian and me anywhere. The rumor had been killed. Joana and Paul were everywhere though. I sobbed a little more, alone, missing Ryan and how he would pull me out of my misery, but especially missing Ian’s kisses, Ian’s touch, and Ian’s smile. It took me another twenty-four hours to realize I was in love with the guy when he finally answered the message I’d drunk-texted him the night of the awards ceremony. It was simple and to the point: I can’t do this anymore either.
The moment I read his text, I knew I had lost him and I knew I couldn’t let him go. I’d thought I needed him to fight one last time to get him to prove his love for me, but I never thought I would be the one having to prove my love. I never thought he would pull away. A life without him, without being tied up or kissed or fucked or working alongside this man, isn’t an option. Cliché, I know. I thought of all the moments we laughed together, what we shared about our past and our future, and I couldn’t imagine my life without him,
I called him, but it was too late. My call never went through. I drove to his house, but all I found were guys cleaning out the place because the house had been sold. He had vanished into thin air. I had pushed too far. I was a dumbass.
I’m tenacious when I need to be. So here I am, on my way to Virginia’s coffee shop. She’s kind of my last hope to reach out to him and tell him how I feel. No pressure. Finally finding the courage to enter the damn place I sat in front of for fifteen minutes, I step inside and see the table Ian and I sat at months ago.
Amber, the girl Ryan brought home a while back, approaches me with a scowl. “I’m sorry, we can’t serve you.”
“What do you mean? I want to talk to Virginia.”
“No can do, sorry. Orders are clear.” She points at a paper on the wall.
It’s a picture of me with devil horns, saying, “Do not wait on this person if you want to keep your job.” Apparently the twin is out to get me.
“Look, Amber, this is ridiculous. I just want to talk to her.”
“Well, she’s not here.” She shrugs.
I have the feeling she’s happy all this is happening to me. She clearly didn’t like me cockblocking her the last time I saw her.
“Is she with Ian?” I have no shame, I know that. But Amber might know something, and I’ll do anything to get to him.
She shakes her head, clearly not believing my audacity. Believe it, girlfriend. I will torture you if I have to. Amber looks horrified. Shit! Did I say that out loud? I guess I did. I give her an apologetic smile and clear my throat.
“Are you going to leave?” she asks me. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“Who’s in charge if she’s not here?”
“I am,” a deep voice says. He looks like a younger Ian. Same looks, same expressions, same posture. Only his eyes are colder and his face harder around the edges. Certainly this is the entitled, mean nephew I heard about.
“And you are?” I ask. This young prick won’t intimidate me even if he thinks he’s the king of the jungle.
“None of your business, old lady.”
“But me being here is your business? From what I understand, you don’t care about anything or anybody except your music.”
He nods, and his eyes narrow on me. Ian spoke so much about this hooligan, telling me his nephew didn’t care. Clearly, Asher’s trying to understand what it means to be in Ian’s life and seeing his reaction to me, he might care more about Ian than he shows.
“As Amber said, we can’t serve you. Let me explain how this is related to my music…” He’s so condescending, I want to slap him. “The stunt you pulled made my stupid uncle lose it, and my mom is putting out fires for him with Uncle D. Consequence—I have to be here and can’t work on my music. So get the fuck out and never come back so I can go back to my life.”
Okay, maybe Asher is a mean prick.
He waits, pinning me with his icy-blue eyes. I start the walk of shame while other customers look at me.
“And be happy that my mother and Uncle D aren’t here. I can tell you they would have been less polite than me because they actually care about Ian’s well-being.”
I stop. If he doesn’t care, I can bribe him. I turn to face him. “If I can give you a push into the music world, can you give me some information on Ian’s whereabouts?”
He lets out a throaty, dark laugh. Not because he thinks I’m funny but because he’s making fun of me. Cruel little bastard. “You’re cute! Don’t you know who my uncle is? I said I didn’t care about Ian, but I care about Dex, and I’m not getting on his bad side for a bitch who wronged my dickhead uncle. Sorry, old lady. The door is that way.”
I leave without glancing back.
What do desperate times call for? Booze, ice cream, and a plan. As I have only three friends and two are currently not talking to me and the third is God knows wherever her husband is on tour, I have nobody to strategize with. I don’t even know if I can count Ian as one of my friends anymore. So I have two unavailable friends. I’ve never felt more alone. If Ian is out of my life, I don’t believe my heart has the slightest chance to survive. Forget about my sanity.
After two pints of Ben & Jerry’s and a glass of wine, I text the tattoo artist I used years ago. He did all of Dan’s tattoos. If there’s one good thing about Paul’s cheating, it’s that everybody knows my name. Luke, the artist, is super cool. Tall, dark blond, dark eyes, inked of course, smart, and witty. He would be perfect for Virginia, in fact. I discard the idea immediately. I don’t think she would appreciate me playing Cupid right now.
Hey Luke. Julie Legg here. Any chance you have an opening today? Something small I need to do.
His answer comes in right away.
Hey Julie! It’s your lucky day. My 1pm appointment canceled. Come on up to the shop. I’ll be waiting for you!
Oh yes, it’s a promising day now… I send him a quick text to confirm. With nothing to do until my appointment, I’m going to lose my mind. I have no reason to think my plan will work, but I have no other choice. “In times of adversity, hope could be the only way to survive.” Ryan used to tell me that. Something his single father would tell him when he got down about his mother walking away.
To occupy myself, I take out my phone and stalk Ian on Instagram. Not a word. Ian isn’t the kind to express his feelings on social media, but it gives me an idea.
“Hey, guys.” I said through my ‘story’. “I know this is going to sound strange, but I fucked up, and I need your help. I’ll post something this afternoon, and I would like you to repost it the most you can so it goes viral. I’ll tag the person I hurt deeply, and I would like you to tag him as well because I want to be sure he’ll see it. Can you do that for me? Thx, lovies.”
Then I start another story. “Also, if you see the guy I’ll tag later anywhere, please PM me his whereabouts. He kind of disappeared on me and I need to stalk him to get him back. I know, no shame, right?”
I don’t have to wait long to get answers from fans. I answer meticulously to be sure they’ll help me later. Of course they want to know who I’m talking about, but I can’t give away my whole plan at once.
When I arrive at Luke’s tattoo parlor, I’m anxious, stressed, and excited at the same time. What if I’m already too late and I’m marking my body permanently for someone who will never talk to me ever again? Is it proof of love or proof that I’m totally crazy? When I had my first tattoo made, it was for me. I told Ian it was to remind me my love story wasn’t over, that I had more love to give and to receive. After Paul, I truly believed I would never love again. This tattoo is to prove to Ian that I love him. That I will forever be his and only his.
Luke appears, and as usual, I’m taken aback by his majesty. The thick beard he’s sporting now makes him look like a mountain man. He only needs a lumberjack jacket. He hugs me as if we’re old friends. “Hey, Julie. Ready for your tat?”
“Yep. Tell me I’m not crazy?” I ask, hiding my head in my hands.
“Well, what are you doing and what’s going on?”
I look around to be sure there’re no ears around. I don’t want the news to get out before I share it later. “So there’s this man—”
Luke interrupts me. “No way, I’m not adding a name to your tattoo!”
“Oh my God! I would never do that! But it’s kind of like that. Since the Paul fiasco, this man has been by my side. We were dating, I guess, and he said he was in love with me. I never said it back.”
Luke winces.
“We were supposed to say it to ‘the world’ at the Emmys,” I say, adding quotation marks to my words, “but I stood him up and he kind of disappeared.”
Luke looks shell-shocked. I can see the wheels turning in his head, and when he puts two and two together, his eyes go wide, and he smiles wide. “I see… so why are you here?”
“That’s something he told me—he’ll always be mine and only mine. I need to add ‘yours’ to my tat,” I say, clapping once for some much-needed theatrics.
“Permanently?”
I nod.
“You know I can make a non-permanent one so if he still wants to have nothing to do with you, you don’t have to have a reminder of it…”
“That’s the thing. I’ve been married before, I’ve had a long-term relationship, but I know he’s it. I will always be his. If it’s not him, it’s nobody. I’m so sure that I want to tell the world. Not tell. I want to scream it with all my lungs. There is no Julie Legg without Ian Porter. I can’t breathe without him. I might be two days too late, but I have to believe I’m not a lifetime too late. I love him like I’ve never loved before and will never love again.”
Luke is the first one to know the extent of my feelings for Ian, and pouring out my heart feels good.
“Okay then. Let’s do it!”
He disappears for a little while to set up the stencil with the same script as last time. Then he sets me on the chair, and I remove my top and bra for him to work under my boobs. He shaves the area and applies the stencil.
“Ready?” he says once the ink is dry.
I nod. The buzz of the needle starts, and Luke is done in less than ten minutes. My tattoo now reads “Always & Only Yours,” and I feel butterflies inside me.
Even if it’s a little red, I ask Luke to take a picture of the new tat and to hold off posting it before I do. I’m all set. I just need some courage and inspiration for the next step.
Words don’t scare me—at least now when they’re written. Speaking is harder, so I’m kind of glad I don’t have to face Ian now and I can share my feelings through Instagram. I upload a picture of the tattoo and start looking for my words. My heart guides my fingers.
“Added a word to my tattoo thx to @luketattoosLA. Because sometimes a word can sum up what you feel for someone. I thought I was done loving after my last story ended. But @IamIanPorter, you had to prove me wrong. I freaked out, and I wasn’t there for you during the Emmys, but believe me when I say I want the world to know I’m yours. I’ve never loved someone the way I love you. You’re it, babe. I Love You. Please forgive me. Always & Only Yours.”
I publish it, then do the same on Facebook and Twitter. As I assumed it would, it goes viral in a few minutes. Answer after answer starts coming in. News outlets are already on it. The hashtag #AlwaysAndOnlyYours is trending everywhere.
Even Paul shares the post, adding a pathetic, “I am sorry for how much I hurt you, Jules.” Asshat!
My phone keeps buzzing as texts come in:
Anna: Holy shit girl! Feeling better?
Dan: Finally got your head out of your ass.
Dex: About time!
Virginia: He would be an idiot not to reach out.
But there’s no answer from Ian. I need to be patient. If his people saw it, he will too at some point.
Now all I have to do is wait…
24 Julie
Five thousand seven hundred sixty minutes, 345,600 seconds—four days if you really want to know—and no news from Ian. I know in the spectrum of time, four days is nothing. But four days after a love declaration is enough to rip every glimmer of hope and flicker of love in someone’s heart to shreds. It has been four days of nail-biting anxiety and crying through yelling. The last 5,760 minutes have been hell. Forget the grand gesture, I’m ready to settle for a text!
Another thing that has me going crazy is that nobody has seen him. There’s been no hint of where he is. How, in our day and age, can you become invisible? I’ve been sitting in my living room for four days, barely moving, no friends to check up on me or talk to me. If I thought I was alone before, now I’m stranded on an island of desolation. Except for my social media feed, which I check relentlessly for any clues of where Ian could be.
As my favorite TV character, Damon Salvatore, once said, “Sometimes you make the wrong choices for all the right reasons.” Deciding not to support Ian was the wrong choice, but if I had been on his arm that night, I might have never realized I was in love with him. I would have continued this one-sided relationship. All these months, I was biding my time, waiting for the other shoe to drop, not really believing Ian’s feelings toward me. Being forty doesn’t mean you know what you want in life or in love. The older you get, the less you know and understand. I’m much more uncertain than I was twenty years ago when I got married in the name of young love. I trust less than I did ten years ago when I got divorced and was able to sleep with guys without thinking. Today, I have much less confidence than I did five years ago, when I was ready to take Hollywood by the horns.
A loud knock pulls me from my thoughts. I’m divided between opening the door in case Ian is behind it or letting it go. As the knoc
king grows louder, I resign myself to the first option.
It’s not Ian at my door but Luke, with his adorable smile and mischievous eyes. I didn’t know I could feel delighted and disappointed at the same time.
“What are you doing here?” I ask before turning on my heel and crashing onto my sofa.
“I come bearing good news,” he says, dangling a package of M&Ms before me.
I snatch it from his hand, open it, and shove them all in my mouth at the same time. Terrible mistake. My jaw isn’t strong enough and my mouth isn’t big enough for the little balls. If I die, please don’t write “Choked by little balls” on my tombstone. Fortunately, Luke is quick at reading the sign of my imminent death and runs into the kitchen for a glass of water.
After a fit of coughing, I say, “Thanks. What are you doing here?”
“Well…” He sits next to me. “First, Dan asked me to check on you. Second, it seems you need a friend. Third, I heard rumors, and finally, I wanted to thank you for the free advertising. I’m booked through next year. So what’s going on, Julie?”
How do you tell someone you barely know that you’re a shadow of yourself? He’s had his nose in my boobs and I shared my pathetic love story with him, but are we more than acquaintances? Can I unload my sorrow? Ryan would have taken me in his lap and hugged me. Ian would have kissed me senseless. Anna would have boozed me up. Nobody would have really asked me to talk. But Luke wants words. He wants me to spill my guts, no bullshit allowed.
“What do you think is going on? He didn’t answer. Nothing. No love declaration, no love rejection. Nada. So what am I supposed to do now?”