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33
Sky
Grant visits Taraat the hospital. I’m by the vending machine, waiting for plastic cups of dishwater coloured coffee—coffee that doesn’t taste much better than said water—when I turn to see him approaching.
I half-expected this, but hoped he’d visit to Tara when I I’m not here. Despite the fact, I loathe him, and what he did, he stirs memories of stability and a safe past. Grant’s alone, wearing maroon jeans, a black t-shirt and a concerned expression as he approaches. I cross my arms and back off. He doesn’t get to touch me, not anymore.
“Surprised to see you here,” Grant says. “I thought you were on tour with your rock star.”
If I’m not mistaken, there’s a tone of jealousy in his voice. Some people break your heart and don’t want anyone else to mend it, as if you should always be broken without them.
“She’s my best friend,” I say flatly. “She’s always been there when I needed her.”
A look passes between us, and his scrutiny shifts to the floor.Yeah, like when you cheated on me.
“Hedidn’t come with you?”
I’m not talking to Grant about Dylan. The plastic cups burn my hand as I take them from the machine, and I concentrate hard on not spilling them. The desire to tip one over Grant’s head sneaks into the vengeful part of my mind. Maybe if the coffee was cooler.
Grant stays in the waiting room with me and I flick through a celebrity magazine, resolutely ignoring him. Reading about the dissection of rich and famous lives bothers me, and I nervously turn the page in case I appear. I don’t, but Jem is pictured. He’s still hated by the British media and pictures of him all over a girl in a nightclub won’t help his cause. Idiot.
“Why are you still here?” I ask Grant as I place the third magazine I’ve read onto the seat next to me.
“In case you need me.”
His words astound me and I can barely find a comeback. “Need you? What the hell? Of course, I don’t bloody need you!”
“No one else is here for you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Yes, they are.”
“If you don’t want to be on your own, come back home.”
This time I choke on the coffee. “Home? Your house hasn’t been my home since June!”
“Sky, whatever is between us, this is a difficult time and you need support.”
“Not from you I don’t,” I snap. “Leave me alone.”
I feel nothing for this man apart from contempt. Even without Dylan in my life, the possibility I’d allow Grant to re-enter ranks around zero.
“Are you staying? Or should I drop you back to your place?” he asks.
“I can find my way home alone own, thanks.” I didn’t intend to leave yet but sitting alone with this dickhead isn’t helping my stress levels. Standing, I head to the green double doors. I need to sleep anyway.
Although sleep is the furthest thing from my mind when I arrive home and pick up my mail. Having failed with emailing, Lily has written me a letter. As soon as I open the envelope and see the letter is from her, I tear the paper in half and throw it in the bin. She’s not allowed into my mind either.
Dylan doesn’t call at his usual time; he’s flying across the States today so our time zones mismatch. I ache to hear his voice and him remind me of the good in my life which feels distant now.
Curling up on the sofa, with my evening ritual of a book and wine, I attempt to block out the nightmare. Can any other shit thing happen in a year? When I press the pedal on the bin to throw away an empty crisp bag, the torn envelope beckons.
What the hell, things can’t get any worse.
I lift the teabag from the top and gingerly open the soggy paper.
Sky
You still don’t know the truth. He doesn’t deserve you. He’ll wreck your life. Please talk to me again. He needs to be held accountable. Call me.
