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“Where’s Claire?” I ask, my voice rough and dry. I sit up, scanning my dark living room. There’s no more flicker of flashes peeking through my window. Instead, a steady stream of moonlight cascades through the blinds, leaving behind a soft glow while showcasing the aftermath of the day.
“It got late, so I told her to go home.”
My hands move to my face, rubbing through my tear-stained cheeks and clearing the blurriness.
“What happened to all the people outside?”
“Claire called the police,” she answers. “And I got home as they showed up.”
“Oh.” I nod.
“The officers told them to leave and stayed for a little bit until everyone cleared out.” She pauses for a minute, her eyes searching me for any sign of life, of hope. “Claire told me what happened,” she adds softly.
I nod again, remaining silent as I avert my eyes to the floor.
“Have you talked to Rhylan?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”
“Ellie, he needs to know what happened. He needs to know what’s going on. If not for his own sake then for yours.”
“I tried calling and he didn’t answer,” I say, defeated. “And he hasn’t called me back.”
“Then try again,” she argues.
My chin trembles. I’m so scared. Scared that he won’t answer. That he had already said his goodbyes with his kiss. Scratched me off of his life when he realized that I didn’t fit into it and drove off without a second glance.
“Claire seems to think that he needs to know what happened. So he can do something about it. And I think I agree with her.”
I finally look at her. She’s right. He needs to know what happened. Not just to fix things, but for him to know how I feel. Forget the paparazzi and all the false rumors. He needs to know that we’re worth fighting for. That we’re just beginning, and that I’m not going anywhere.
I sigh, knowing what I need to do as I place my heart on my chest, unsure if it can come out of this unscathed. But it’s worth the risk. It has to be. Otherwise, I don’t know what will be left of me.
THIRTY-TWO
RHYLAN
The drive home was quiet, no radio, no chatter. No sounds of Ellie’s laughter echoing in the background. Just silence. The occasional honking and whirring of LA traffic whizzed by me, but that was it. Only utter silence that screamed at me, begging me to turn around and run back to Ellie.
I sit in the overpowering silence of my home where it feels like time stands still and everything that happened was just a dream. Or a nightmare. In the still darkness, the reality of never seeing Ellie again settles into my chest, and itfuckinghurts. Like someone punched a fist-sized hole right where my heart used to be so that all I feel is pain. Sheer pain and nothing else.
It’s self-destructive behavior, but I look through every article that has my name attached to it, new ones posted within the last couple of hours. Unsurprisingly, they’ve identified Ellie, plastering her name all over the internet. Everything personal about her is left out for everyone to pick through and have an opinion about. Save for her Social Security number and mother’s maiden name, it seems every detail about her is up for grabs. The things that people are saying about her are just as obnoxious. All inimical comments about Ellie, about how I cheated on Bella with her. How she purposely came between us, only to break me and Bella apart. Shunning her as someone nugatory and noxious while labeling her the way I knew she would be once her attachment to me came to light.
There are things that I do to cope. Push people away, isolate myself, close people off to keep my distance. All so I don’t hurt anyone and I don’t get hurt in return. It’s everything I never imagined doing to Ellie. Because why would I push away the one person that I meant to keep by my side forever? The one person I thought I couldn’t live without. Turns out, it doesn’t matter if I can’t live without her. I’m going to have to.
Ellie called already, just as I thought she would. I knew that in a state of panic, she would reach out to me. I mean, I’m the one that’s supposed to know how to handle these situations, how to ward off the public and live in solitude. And maybe I am the expert, with me pushing people away as a coping mechanism. But Ellie doesn’t need to live like that. She should be free without the reins shackling her down to a life like mine.
I should talk to her. Iwantto talk to her. To hear her voice, if not for any other reason but to hear her call my name one more time. To savor it, embed it into my heart so that it can echo in the soundtrack of my life. If I can’t have her in my life, then I at least want to engrave the memory of her into my mind as deeply as I can.
Insteadof calling her back like I’ve been wanting to for the past couple of hours, I settle into the haze that comes with my fourth glass of whiskey, letting the day distort. I want to forget, to fog up all the good that I’m letting go of so that my heart can stop hurting. I linger from room to room with a glass tumbler loosely hanging from my fingertips, ending up in my bedroom, where the images of Ellie lying in my bed flood my mind. I still see the silhouette of her perfect body traced through the thin sheets. The sheets that still smell of her, intermingling with the softness of the fabric.
With the whiskey now settled into my bloodstream, I lie down on my bed and drink in her scent so I can hang on to this one keepsake of her for as long as I can. Sear Ellie’s scent into my skin so I don’t have to say goodbye. So I can hold on to her.
My phone rings in my hand, held there loosely with my body lying in the prone position. Shana’s name lights up on the screen. I’m surprised that she’s calling this late but regardless, I answer, preparing myself for her wrath.
“Rhylan! What thefuckhappened?!” she demands through the phone. “There are pictures of you all over TMZ with that girl. And you hit someone?!”
“No, Shana. I didn’t hit anyone. I just grabbed him,” I say, my voice raspy and tired as I sit up.
