It was never me.
And I hate that for a brief moment I forgot that—it hurts.
I remember the love that we made, the laughter we had. The tenderness we shared.
It felt so real.
Like a fairy tale to me, only better.
My eyes fill with tears and I blink them away.
Maybe he won’t go?
Paul walks past and glances in and then stops in his tracks and comes back. “You alright?”
“Yeah.” I fake a smile with a subtle shake of my head. “Sorry, just had some bad news about a relative.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“No,” I answer way too fast, I don’t want Elliot to know that I know. “I’m fine. Just a bit teary, don’t pay me any attention.”
“There’s some birthday cake in the staff-room fridge, you want some?”
I smile, grateful for the kindness. “I do. Bring the whole damn thing.”
It’s 11 p.m. and I sit at the window and stare out over the street.
The house is quiet for the night and my facade has dropped. I went out to dinner with Daniel and Rebecca tonight and had to pretend that everything was great between Elliot and I.
I couldn’t tell them what I know or how, and I’ve been lying to them about my Pinkie persona too.
This situation is one big fucked-up deception and I deserve to have my heart broken alone.
And maybe if Elliot cared enough to want to see me, I would tell him so.
But he doesn’t.
Because he’s at Enchanted thinking about her.
My eyes well with tears and I close them in regret. I hate this, I hate the whole fucking thing.
A car comes around the corner and I watch it slowly pull in and park. Elliot gets out.
Oh no.
Shit.
I run and dive into bed, pick up my phone: five missed calls from Elliot.
I hear a knock downstairs and then Daniel’s voice.
I pull the blankets up over me and pretend to sleep, my heart racing hard and fast, and I inhale deeply to try and calm myself down.
My bedroom door opens and Elliot comes in and sits beside me on the bed. “Babe,” he says softly, “are you awake?”
I roll toward him and he takes my face in his hand and I stare up at him.
“Hi,” he whispers sadly.
“Hi.” I force a smile.
“I have to go to France tomorrow, sweetheart,” he whispers.
My heart constricts. He’s here to say goodbye.
I nod, unable to push a word past my lips.
“Can I stay?” he asks.
I clench my hands into fists; how am I supposed to do this?
Say goodbye with love when he’s breaking my fucking heart?
I should be kicking him out, I should be punching him square in the face.
I should hate him.
He takes his clothes off and climbs in beside me. His lips take mine, and I can feel the heartbreak as it radiates out of him. He’s right here in hell with me.
This isn’t his fault, he’s a good man.
His eyes search mine. “Tell me you love me,” he whispers. “Just once.”