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That was the last time I saw her before Spencer’s yacht.
When I finally went back to my dorm room that day, it turned out that I really had a fever. It ravaged my body for the next week and a half. In the months that followed, I got sick twice and missed seven tests. I didn’t even care. All that mattered was that in the end, I hadn’t been good enough. That she had abandoned me. I got into the habit of sleeping with my phone in my hand, in case she was trying to reach me and couldn’t. I still do. Haven’t gotten out of it, four years later.
Haven’t gotten out of the habit of hoping either, I guess.
Saint Hope.
Maybe that’s what is keeping me so bitter: hope.
But it’s also what’s keeping me alive. What’s keeping me sane.
She never did call, of course. I never saw her or heard from her, not until I saw her at that concert, and I didn’t even recognize her then. But then I saw her again, standing across from me on Spencer’s yacht.
I vowed that day, four years ago, to forget her, like she’d forgotten me and chosen her father and his lust for wealth over me. And I vowed that someday, somehow, I’d be good enough.
I thought I had achieved both my vows.
Even though I never chased fame but fame chased me, I now have more than her dad’s millions and more success than he or she could have ever dreamt of. Not to mention, there are millions of girls on the planet sleeping under my poster every night. That’s the definition of being ‘good enough’, isn’t it?
Isn’t it?
The Eliot sisters chat room
Eden: I did something monumental the other day. Really big. I let go of something huge from my past. My therapist was ecstatic when I told her over our video session. She said I am cutting ties with the past, and that it is very healthy.
Eden: But I did not tell her that I’m still in love with the past. And the past is not in love with me back.
thirty-one
Forty-five minutes later, Spence, Ari and I are full to the brim with delicious food. There were pies, calamari, squid, pasta,mezedesand a salad so full of color and flavor it made my eyes pop out of my head. The wine was amazing, super light but sumptuous. I drank half a glass, because I couldn’t stand not to taste it. I’m glad I did—and it did not make me lightheaded.
But the positively huge amount of food did. Now I’m getting sleepy and distracted and content.I could get used to this, I think. And then Spencer ruins everything.
“So, you said you hate your songs, right?” he says, damn him. My drooping eyelids fly open. “Well, write new ones.”
Instead of a reply, I just give him a look that says‘Really? You don’t say? It’s been that easy all along?’
Spencer takes in my expression.
“Oh, hold on,” he says suddenly, his accent going all British. “Did I hire the girl who broke you to write songs with you about un-breaking you?”
I stare at him. “Yep. That’s exactly what you did.”
He starts laughing. “This is too funny,” he gasps, hiding his mouth, but there’s no way to conceal the throaty giggle that bursts out of him. I would appreciate the fact that my misery, which he caused, is so hilarious to him, if I wasn’t fuming at this point.
“It is not,” I hiss.
“Oh it is.” He keeps laughing like an idiot. I keep waiting for him to stop. “I’m sorry, I just… Man, I can’t believe it. What an effing coincidence.”
“It wasn’t one. She wanted a second chance, and when you contacted her out of the blue… Well, she thought that was her second chance.”
That sobers him up quickly.
“A second chance? With you?”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” I wince. “Yes, a second chance with me.”
“Wow. Why didn’t you give it to her? You’re obviously about to expire from wanting her so much.”
