Chapter 40
Attempting to get the regalwear collection back on track was a Herculean effort on everyone’s part.
Sebastian was more demanding than usual, almost hysterical, in every obscure and minute change needed for the sample suits. Adjustments to embellishments and trims, modifications to closures and fastenings, tweaks to details such as pockets and pleats and even ruffles.
Neither Estelle nor Pollux were surprised. In fact, they were anticipating it. They could only reassure me to wade through the tide of the lead designer’s last-minute demands.
Nobody knew what was going on with Sebastian but it became increasingly difficult to work with him. He was unpredictable, swinging between extremes, with outbursts seemingly triggered by the most minor details and I often found myself bearing the brunt of his erratic behaviour.
Hence how I ended up dropping by his flat in Chelsea after he requested I collect the Spring/Summer lineup samples.
Loud music and distinct chatter can be heard from outside the door, and I furrow my eyebrows as I ring the doorbell. It’s nearly midnight on a Thursday evening and although I’m aware of Sebastian’s penchant for hosting parties and attending social gatherings, I didn’t expect him to be indulging in celebrations with deadlines just around the corner.
A girl with dark brown hair and pale skin answers, green eyes smudged with dark makeup.
“Hi,” I blink at her in greeting. “I’m here to see Sebastian?”
Glaringly, she looks me up and down and I try not to shuffle uncomfortably under her intimidating gaze.
“Who are you?” She asks me.
“Hallie,” I answer, uncertainly. “I work at Holmes.”
She narrows her eyes at me before turning her nose up.
“He just popped out. He’ll be back soon.”
“I can come back,” I reply. “Do you know how long he’ll be?”
“No idea,” The girl responds before opening the door wider to let me in. “But he mentioned you were coming so.”
Stepping inside, I’m instantly greeted by an atmosphere overwhelming to all my senses. The thumping bass of EDM music echoing through the walls, pulsing lights in various colours filling the room, the pungent smell of weed and smoke as well as the faint scent of perfumes and colognes permeating the air. There’s a murmur of chatter from the people in attendance, beautiful faces belonging to impossibly tall models. My eyes quickly scan the room but I don’t recognise anyone at this party.
“Sit.” She motions towards the expensive-looking leather couch where people are already crowding around and all I can do is follow her instructions. “Line?”
My gaze falls on the glass coffee table. Lighters. Cigarette packs. Rolling tobacco pouches. Credit cards. Pills in plastic bags. Crushed white powder.
I shake my head, hoping my smile isn’t as forced as I feel it.
“I’ll pass, thank you.”
“Smoke then?”
The girl holds out a cigarette.
“I don’t, um, smoke.”
She pulls a face. “What about a drink?”
“I have work tomorrow, sorry.”
There’s a vacant look in her eyes as I answer and she blinks at me slowly. “Suit yourself.”
She kneels by the coffee table and I watch as she does a clean line on top of the glass. Sniffing loudly, she presses the back of her hand against her nose before turning to me.
“What do you do again?” She questions, though she never even asked me to begin with.
The room is all too warm and all too loud and I feel all too out of place.
“I’m a Design Intern,” I reply. “At Holmes.”
“Seb’s type?” A voice asks, snickering.
An instant answer from someone else, “Nah, that’s Vante’s girl.”
The energy in the room shifts as the women exchange knowing glances between them. They eye me up and down, catty expressions evident on their faces as they openly scrutinise me.
“Is he coming?” One of them asks, voice nasal and biting.
“I’m— I’m not sure.” I fidget uncomfortably on the sofa.
“How do you know him?”
“We worked together,” I answer.
Mocking giggles echo in the living room as knowing whispers and hushed conversations overlap each other.
“I used to work with August,” A blonde girl with blue eyes grins at me. “He used to keep me up, working.”
The implication isn’t lost on me and I sink into the sofa, the room feeling a lot stuffier.
“Oh,” I swallow.
“All night, all the time.” Someone else adds.
It was getting difficult to keep track of all the different people in the room, their voices blending into one.
“You’re not his type,” Another girl comments and I turn to her, taken aback by her blunt remark.
“They just have to be pretty,” A guy, this time, retorts. “All his playthings need to be.”
“You’re the latest fad he’s fucking?”
The question strikes me unexpectedly, a critical lashing across my chest.
Someone lights a cigarette in front of me and I will myself not to be overwhelmed. The music is too loud, the smoke in the room is too heady. I feel like there’s cotton everywhere— my lungs, my throat, my mouth.
The presence of someone leaning over me, hand grabbing onto my shoulder, jolts me out of my heightened sense of emotions.
“Hey, gentle goddess.”
Vaguely recognising the voice over the loud music, I turn my head to find Henry behind the sofa.
“Fancy getting some air?” He signals towards the balcony.
I nod, getting up quickly to join him.
“Thank you,” I smile gratefully as I step out into the brisk Autumn night. “It was getting a little stuffy in there.”
“Not really your scene?”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Unfortunately not.”
“Don’t mind them,” Henry nods his head towards the group of women milling around the coffee table in the living room. “They’re normally easygoing but they get catty when they’re coked up. Bit brassed off that they’re waiting around for the Peroxide Prince, I think.”
“August is coming?”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?”
I shake my head, confused.
August hasn’t mentioned anything, but then again, communication has been a little rocky between us since I’ve been so focused on the collection. I know that his flight back from New York to London is due in the evening but I haven’t heard from him since this morning.
“Put everyone out of their misery, Hallie.” Henry chuckles but it sounds strangely empty, distant. “Are you and the Parisian Playboy an item, then?”
The nickname makes me shuffle uneasily.
“We’re not… like that.” I trail off, shaking my head. “Just friends of friends.”
I don’t elaborate further simply because I don’t really know how to. August and I haven’t actually discussed it properly and I know better than to make assumptions on my part, or worse, catastrophise the situation.
After my panic attack at the studio, August avoided any topic of conversation that could overwhelm me and potentially trigger me into another breakdown so we spent the rest of the evening talking about his photography work. He was called into New York the following morning so we didn’t even get a chance to have the conversation the next day.
“I thought that would have been the case.” Henry nods. “You’re not August’s type.”
“His type?” I question.
“Power hungry,” Henry answers with a chuckle. “Obsessed with her image, obsessed with his name.”
My eyebrows furrow. “I didn’t realise that’s what August liked.”
“It’s what he attracts.” Henry shrugs. “It’s who can keep up with him, really. Every single woman in that room wants to sleep with the Peroxide Prince, half of them he’s probably slept with already since being in London.”
The playboy has a plaything in every city he poses in.
A tight knot forms itself in my chest.
“Do you know where I can find the samples for the collection?” I ask. “I think I’ll just grab them and head out.”
Henry points towards the corridor across the living room. “Seb’s studio is just down the hall.”
“Thank you,” I nod.
Avoiding the crowd of bodies tipping themselves over each other, I walk towards the hallway and hurriedly enter the studio.
Sebastian’s workspace is like a luxurious bachelor pad. Industrial loft vibes with exposed brick walls and concrete floors. Large windows with sleek, dark curtains which are currently drawn shut. There are high-end fashion sketches and moodboards of every collection he has ever worked on framed and displayed on walls. In the middle of the room, Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling and hover over his worktable which is surprisingly void of any clutter.
“No wonder he prefers working at home,” I mutter to myself.
It’s cooler in the studio, less suffocating and I’m thankful for the breathing space. The chaos of the party in the other room is far too much for me to handle, the comments made about August lingering in my mind.
Frankly speaking, I’m probably nothing more than the countless passing presence of people he encounters in the industry. Someone he can conveniently revisit whenever he finds himself in London, if he chooses to. A piece of clothing he can slip on and off.
A trend he’ll be over with next season.
Reflecting on the exchanges I’ve had with August, it occurred to me that I had been the one to initiate most of our intimate interactions— how I essentially threw myself all over him at Onyx and the way I was practically begging for him at The Maisonette.
I inwardly wince.
Of course, he would entertain that. It’s what he’s used to. It’s the norm for him. If I hadn’t shown interest, he wouldn’t have bothered.
He would have never looked in my direction, he wouldn’t have given me a second thought.
But his confession that night in Toussaint-
The door clanking shut pulls me out of my thoughts and I blink, not even realising that someone else entered the studio.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
I look up to find Henry standing by the entrance, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing in the room as he walks towards me.
His presence suddenly makes the space a lot smaller, despite the considerable size of the studio.
“No,” I shake my head. “I think I’ll just wait for Sebastian.”
I head towards the door but Henry grabs my arm before I can walk past him.
“Hallie, wait.”
Turning to him, I frown at the unexpected pressure around my bicep.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” He states.
I register the faint scent of alcohol as he attempts to pull me close to him but I press my feet firmly on the ground.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You,” He replies. “I think you’re great. Really great, Hallie.”
“Oh,” I blink, taking a cautious step backwards as he advances towards me.
Staring up at Henry, I notice how his eyes are red and glazed over. He looks distracted, a little frenzied almost, as I attempt to ease myself out of his grasp.
“I can be good to you, Hallie.” He murmurs, tightening his grip around my arm. “Better than August.”
My skin prickles as his other hand trails up my neck, fingers grasping the back of my head forcefully.
“Henry,” I begin, panicked. “I’m not—”
My mind blanks as I feel the force of his lips against mine.
Henry’s mouth is crushing, the hand wrapping around the nape of my neck bruising as he pulls me against him. Every muscle in my body locks up and I press my lips together, closing my eyes tightly.
He backs me into the worktable, the corner digging into my hip and I grimace. Resisting against his grip, my body goes into panicked overdrive as my mind finally registers what’s happening.
“Henry,” My voice is muted as I push against his chest but he’s immovable. “Stop.”
His teeth sink into my bottom lip and I gasp, the skin tearing as the taste of copper bleeds into my mouth. I thrash against his hold in an attempt to shove him away from me, my hands curling into fists. His teeth catch on my busted lip and I wince, pounding frantically against his chest.
“Hallie,” He rasps as I finally break away from him.
Hand outstretched, Henry takes an unsteady step towards me but I quickly beeline for the door before he can reach me. His fingers latch onto the sleeve of my blouse and I gasp at the loud tearing of the fabric from my shoulder, the delicate buttons at the front clattering on the floor.
“Stop, Henry!” I choke out.
A sickly sensation forms in the pit of my stomach and I feel it burning up my throat. Henry’s eyes are glassy as he stares at me, a disoriented expression on his face.
My fingers tremble as I touch my mouth, my eyes watering at the sight of blood.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” His apology is muffled as he runs a hand across his face.
Grasping my blouse shut, I wrap my other arm around me as I fight to keep the noxious feeling down my stomach.
“Shit, Hals, I didn’t—”
Henry inches towards me but I shake my head forcefully.
“No,” I swallow, teary-eyed. “Don’t.”
Outside, I can hear the indistinct sounds of loud cheering as faint voices near the studio. A rattling noise from the other side prompts me to immediately reach for the door to unlock it.
The handle twists from the other side and the door swings open.
“I’m telling you she’s–”
The light from the hallway illuminates the dark space of the studio and I’m instantly met with Sebastian’s face.
“—here.” He blinks in confusion as he looks over me before his eyebrows shoot up in surprise at seeing Henry. “Are we interrupting something?”
He steps inside the studio and I see another familiar figure by the door, just behind Sebastian.
“August,” I exhale, my voice strangled.
There’s a long pause as he assesses the scene and I blink through my blurring vision. His grey eyes study me intently, briefly falling to my lips before flickering towards the ripped fabric on my shoulder and the hand clutching my blouse shut.
Something dark and dangerous flashes in his gaze before it lands behind me.
“Mate, it’s not—” Henry attempts to explain but he is immediately cut off by August.
“We’re leaving.”
His jacket is wrapped around me in an instant, the garment engulfing me. Before I can respond, August grabs my wrist and pulls me to him as we head towards the door.
“Hallie, wait.” Henry trails after us, clasping a hand around my forearm underneath the jacket.
I freeze in place, flinching against his touch. The air around us charges with a prickling energy. August tracks Henry’s movement at my reaction, his gaze hardening.
“Let go, Atkinson.” He grits his teeth. “You have no business with her.”
“Neither do you,” Henry challenges him.
August watches Henry through steely grey eyes.
“She is my fucking business.” He counters, voice dripping with a possessiveness.
There’s a furious, almost frightening glint in August’s eyes as he stares at Henry.
“I’m not going to ask again,” He warns, his voice low and threatening. “Let. Go.”
Henry holds his gaze for a tense moment before a look of defeat flashes across his face and he releases me.
August pulls me back to him almost immediately, wrapping an arm around me as he leads me out of Sebastian’s studio and down the hallway. He doesn’t say anything else as he rigidly charges back into the living room, his posture tense.
“Are these all of your things?” He asks, jaw tightening.
I nod silently as he moves to grab my coat and bag on the sofa.
Around us, excited chatter erupts but I’m too focused on August to pay anyone else any attention.
“Leaving so soon?” Someone comments coyly from across the room.
August barely glances in their direction, his entire body rigid as his hands close into fists.
“Aw, come on, Vante.” Another joins. “You’re no fun anymore.”
His face doesn’t budge, clear-cut stoicism etched on his features as he completely ignores everyone at the party. Draping my coat and bag across one arm and grabbing my wrist by the other, he drags me out of Sebastian’s flat without saying another word.
“August,” I falter, struggling to keep up with his pace.
The strides of his legs are long and I almost trip a few times but he doesn’t let go, not until we make it to the end of the corridor where the lifts are.
“What the hell are you doing here, Mahalia?”
He turns to me sharply, the accusatory tone in his voice making my skin prickle.
“I came to pick up some samples,” I respond with a strained voice.
“Late at night?”
“Sebastian said to collect them, I didn’t realise there was a-”
“Did you take anything?”
“Of course not.” I blink up at him, brows furrowing. “Why would I-”
He grabs my chin to assess my face, staring down at me with intense, angry eyes.
“I didn’t take anything, August.”
My eyes tear up as his thumb harshly traces my swollen lip, the memory of Henry in Sebastian’s studio making my skin crawl.
“Did you kiss him?”
I whimper against his touch, shaking my head. “It wasn’t-”
“Don’t lie to me, Mahalia.”
“Henry kissed me.”
Rage sparks dangerously in his eyes but he douses it before it manifests into a fire. August doesn’t say anything else as he walks away but he doesn’t need to. I see the tick in his jaw and the crease between his brows as he paces up and down by the lift.
“It isn’t what it looks like,” I sniffle, feeling a pressure between my ribcage. “Not like it makes a difference but we didn’t do anything–”
“Not like it makes a difference?” He interrupts me, eyes flaring. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Henry was drunk-”
August turns to me in disbelief. “You’re defending him?”
“No!” I shake my head, exasperated. “I’m explaining to you— he just kissed me and-”
His eyes flicker to my blouse and his expression shifts back to a quiet rage.
“He just kissed you,” He laughs then, the sound hollow, almost mocking.
“You’re not listening to me, August.” I swallow, feeling a burning sensation in my throat.
“Because that’s how it always starts right?” He grits his teeth. “Someone’s a little too drunk, a little too high. Let me guess, it didn’t mean anything, right?”
August is heated, almost frantic. His normally nonchalant and cool composure is set ablaze by a slow-building rage inside. I reach for his arm but he recoils before I can touch him.
“What the hell were you thinking? Entertaining those crackheads? Fucking around with Atkinson?”
I blink at the spitefulness of his words.
“Are you really this naive?” He snaps, turning harshly towards me. “It’s not all sunshine and rainbows and fucking glitter here, Mahalia. Do you even know any of those people? Did you even stop to ask yourself what you’re actually doing here? Don’t involve yourself with people who could care less about you and stop inserting yourself in places you don’t belong in.”
His words puncture before they cleave, blades cutting my sutured heart wide open and my eyes well up with tears.
… a waste of time …
… won’t go anywhere …
… so disappointing …
The comments are bleeding out before I can stop them, muscle memory wounds splitting open, and I take an unsteady step backwards as my vision blurs.
“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” August sighs defeatedly.
He drags a hand through his hair, accidentally dropping my things in frustration and I quickly gather my coat and bag from the floor, my own hands trembling.
“Let me explain–”
I shake my head, my eyes beginning to water as I press the button to call up the lift.
“Mahalia—”
“No,” My voice cracks and I bite down on my lip, the sharp sting surging. “I’m not stupid, August.”
A rotten feeling seeps into my already bleeding heart.
“I know what all of this is– or rather, what it isn’t.” I say, furiously blinking away my tears. “I know what we are…”
And what we’re not.
The sentiment manifests into a sizable ache, welling up and growing heavy, and I press a hand against my chest to suppress the overwhelming emotions threatening to overflow.
“I’m not…” I take a deep, shaky breath. “I’m not one of your playthings, August.”
The lift dings open and I immediately step inside.
“Mahalia–” His arm reaches out to stop the doors from closing.
A cacophony of female voices echo in the corridor, the burst of giggles and loud chatter prompting me to look away.
“Where did he go?”
“Oh, playboy!”
“Told you he’s still here.”
The ache spills over, bleeding out of my heart and into my lungs.
“I know who I am to you,” I say, my throat constricting. “I also know who you are…”
And you’re not who I thought you were.
“Mahalia—”
“No, August.” I swallow. “I don’t want any part in any of this.”
His expression turns blank as he stays rooted to the spot.
“Come on, pretty boy.” A voice calls out from down the hall. “For old time’s sake.”
August’s gaze falters and I watch as he turns to look behind him.
My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach and I duck my head, clutching my belongings tighter to my chest.
“Goodnight, August.” I say quietly, pressing the button to the lobby once more.
His eyes search mine for the final time, cloudy and obscure, before he straightens up and takes a step backwards.
I wipe my eyes with the sleeves of his bomber jacket, the blurry silhouette of August as he walks away being the last thing I see before the lift hums to a close.