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Nathan’s car takes off and I watch as he disappears around the corner, the tires screeching in the distance.
Fucking hell……
I can’t believe what just happened. So much for confiding in a friend. Jolie broke the friend code, big time. Furious, I turn and march back into the bar.
“What the fuck were you doing?” I cry when I find her. “How could you say that to him? I told you those things in confidence.”
“I just told him the truth, Eliza. It’s weird that he’s suddenly come to you professing his love after all this time. Gay men don’t turn straight. It just doesn’t happen. Everyone knows it, not just me. Deep down, you know it, too. One
day, he will leave you for a man. You can’t fight who you really are.”
“You had no right. This was between him and me. Do you know how hurt he will be?”
Jolie sips her drink and shrugs casually. “He needed to know.”
“Know what?”
“That I’m watching him, and that if he hurts you, I’m going to end him.”
“The only thing he knows now is what a fucking asshole I am.” I cry.
“Eliza, please.” She rolls her eyes as if I’m being dramatic. “You’re the one who’s insecure. You’re the one who has all these questions about his past. Don’t get angry with me for verbalising them.”
My eyes fill with tears. I am an asshole.
I turn and march from the club and out onto the sidewalk. “Taxi!” I call as I put my hand up. A few moments later, a cab pulls in, and I jump in the back. “Smith Street, please.”
The driver pulls out into the traffic, and I stare out the window in tears.
That wasn’t fair.
My God, that so wasn’t fair. He did not deserve that. I bounce my leg as the car drives. “Can you hurry, please?”
The driver points to the speedometer. “I’m not getting a ticket, lady.”
I sit back, dejected. “Sorry.” I sigh.
Twenty long minutes later, I arrive at the apartment and I take the elevator to our floor. I open the door, and I can tell instantly that he’s not here.
“Nathan!” I call.
Silence.
“Nathan.” I look through the apartment.
He’s not here.
I take out my phone and call him. It rings out and goes to voicemail.
“Nathan.” I screw up my face in tears. “Where are you?” I whisper. I close my eyes in regret. “Can you call me, please?”
I hang up and begin to pace. I keep seeing the hurt on his face, and I put my head into my hands. Oh no, no, no. I dial his number again. I listen as it rings out and I screw up my face in tears when it goes to voicemail again. I text him.
Nathan, answer your phone.
I’m freaking out.
Where are you?
