“I—we—can’t do this. Not anymore. I—I shouldn’t have fallen for you in the first place. It was a mistake.” He just stares at me for a long moment, his expression hard and distant.
“What? What do you mean?”
Wait—he fell for me?
And then all the air goes out of me. White-knuckled, I ball my hands into fists, stuck in place. Nauseous, I’m trying and failing to keep it together as I shake. Having Blake and having lost him in an instant is too much to take. I’m not cut out for this.
Blake’s crying. He can’t look at me. “I think…I think you should go.”
“But—”
“Please, Aubrey. If you care about me even a little bit, you’ll do this for me.”
“I—” I choke on my words, not sure what to say.
But his expression’s hard and unyielding when he at last stares through me, eyes full of tears, face red with emotion.
And with unsteady, shaking hands, I dress, barely able to manage socks and jeans and a black T-shirt, and stuff my feet into battered trainers. Packing my bag in some surreal unreality, Blake remains frozen in place, watching me. And I can’t think, just going through the motions of packing up my few possessions, trying to act calm when I’m anything but. My stomach lurches.
Then, I stand in front of him, pack slung over my shoulder. I hesitate, my mouth opening and shutting. There are so many things I want to say to him—how important he is to me, how in two weeks he’s come and turned my world upside down.
Turned my heart upside down.
And now everything’s over, just like that. In a flash of a photographer’s camera, something private and sacred is now media fodder, some clickbait online for someone’s idle scrolling on their phone for a second before the next thing catches their attention.
But for me, my world’s gone, with the most important person in it in front of me.
And I can’t have him. Because he doesn’t want me.
All because of perceptions, some stupid paparazzi nightmare.
“Blake—” I choke out.
He shakes his head abruptly, turning away. His shoulders shake. “Please go.”
I’m a wreck, gawping at him. I can’t believe this. “Just promise me you’ll do your audition. Fuck the media. It’s your dream.”
“I don’t know. Aubrey. Please. I need you to leave.” His voice breaks, his face covered with his hands.
And, with the last scrap of strength I have, I do as he asks, attempting to dry my tears on the cuff of my lightweight jacket. How could I lose everything that mattered so quickly?
Dizzy, I go out into the dazzling sun, lost.
Chapter Twenty
I’d like to say that I handled the next couple of days in an upstanding sort of way, the model of calm and grace. Which would be a pack and a half of lies. What happened instead was that I showed up outside of Lily’s work, texting her in a flood of words till she had to leave work early and take me to hers. Plus, I had no working water at home.
Lily’s flat is bright, gallery-white with art from her travels hung on her walls, fresh cut flowers on the coffee and dining tables. We’re in her sitting room. After having slept like a bear headed into winter, I helped her today with editing exhibition text for her upcoming show. Now we sit with a pint of ice cream between us on her sunny sofa. I’m calmer. But my eyes still have that raw feeling.
She’s gone through theDaily Mail, the online gossip sites. Blake’s Instagram hasn’t been updated. There’re no texts from him either. I don’t dare text.
I’ve spilled my guts out to Lily, sobbed on her shoulder till I had no tears left. Now, I just feel wrung out.
I’m scrolling aimlessly on my phone when I search Blake’s name for filming news.
Hollywood Ending Wraps in London, says the headline.
Reading that feels so final. Points for accuracy, extra points for the visceral wound.
