19. Giselle
Chapter 19
Giselle
I ’m extremely drunk for a Wednesday evening and it’s all Rosie’s fault.
I blame her entirely.
“I’ve watched you spend two weeks being sad and confused over Millen,” she’d said a couple of hours earlier, presenting me with a large berry blast smoothie to butter me up. “And that’s fine, your feelings are valid, Gee. But I’m just saying I think a girl’s night is in order, don’t you? We can get a takeaway, watch a bunch of chick flick films, and drink a shit load of wine. Are you in?”
I’d agreed, which is why I find myself entirely shitfaced, slumped against the cushions of my sofa, a bottle of cheap wine clutched in my grasp like a baby’s bottle.
“I came harder than, like, ever!” Ro giggles beside me, just as drunk, her own bottle of wine balanced precariously between her thighs, while she regals me with the recent sexcapades of her and her new beau. “I swear to god I think I passed out.”
“But wouldn’t it hurt?” I ask, sitting up and feeling the world spin for a second. “Like the whole getting his cock pierced?”
“I guess.” Rosie pops her shoulders. “But it felt good to me.”
I hum nonchalantly, placing my less than half full glass bottle on the coffee table beside our foil containers of half-eaten egg fried rice and sweet and sour coated chicken, staggering to my feet and making a beeline to the loo to empty my full bladder.
When I totter back into my living room, wiping my damp hands on my leggings, it’s to find Rosie typing away on her phone at the speed of light.
“Who are you— hic —texting?”
“Tom,” she answers without missing a beat.
I’m yet to meet this Tom, Ro’s new beau, but I do know he has the tip of his cock pierced and he has a birthmark on his bum.
Folding myself back into the cushions, I pull my knitted throw blanket up to my chin to ward out the cold and lay my head on Rosie’s stomach.
Eyelids heavy, I follow the swirls and twirls of my apartment’s old popcorn textured ceiling until I feel dizzy. I swallow once, twice, tongue thick and dry, tasting the sour taste of cheap wine on my tastebuds.
Maybe drinking was a mistake.
I’m an emotional drunk at the best of times, tactical too, which is only serving to remind me…
“I’m lonely,” I utter, the words tasting bitter and uncomfortable in my mouth.
I feel, rather than see, Ro twisting to place her phone on the arm of the sofa, her palm, calloused from days of weightlifting, pushing my hair back from my forehead.
“Oh, Gee,” she coos, tone dripping with sympathy.
It makes my toes curl.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do yet?”
I shake my head, pressing my lips together in an attempt to stop the tears from burning my lower lash line.
It doesn’t work.
I feel them fall thick and fast, coating my cheeks, ruining my mascara and settling into the dark bags under my eyes from my lack of sleep.
Rosie gathers me up in her strong arms, a shushing sound passing her lips, like you would sooth a child.
“I’m alright,” I protest.
“No, you’re not. And that’s okay, Gee. There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re not okay.”
“Fine.” I sniff, oh so elegantly wiping away my snot with the back of my hand. “I’m not okay. Not at all.”
There’s a long pause of silence.
So long, in fact, that I peel open my eyes to peer at my best friend.
Rosie’s mouth is twisted up to one side, her tell-tale sign that she’s debating something.
“Have you heard from him at all?”
I nod, holding up a single finger. “Once.”
“And? What did he say?”
“He texted me a couple of days ago… He was just reminding me that he’s willing to wait and he’s giving me the space I asked for, but that I shouldn’t confuse that with him not caring.”
Ro clicks her tongue. “That’s sweet.”
“Yeah…”
“So, what are you thinking?”
I shrug my shoulders, using the pad of my thumb to twist my gold ring around my finger. I don’t even realise I’m doing it, until Rosie stops me with a gentle tap of her hand.
“Stop. Don’t think about that now,” she says. “Just focus on you. What do you want to do? Don’t think about anybody else, or what you feel like you should do, just go with what your heart is telling you, Gee. Because as much as I love you, and you know I do, you and I both know it’s unfair to keep the boy in the dark for much longer.”
“I know, I know.” I swallow thickly, wishing I had a glass of water, but my legs are like jelly and the kitchen tap seems too far away. I’m not upset by Ro’s words, they’re the truth after all, and the truth isn’t always nice or pleasant to hear. “I don’t want to keep him in the dark either.”
“Then, you’ve got to make your decision, Gee.”
I nod.
Ro pushes a strand of hair from my forehead. “Can I ask what’s holding you back?”
My voice is quiet and unlike me when I find my words. “I’m scared.”
“Of what, Gee?”
I don’t answer. I can’t; the words sit on my tongue, but they won’t pass my lips. Not yet, anyway.
“Do you love him?”
I shrug wordlessly
“Are you falling in love with him?”
“I think I was,” I croak, a heavy kind of tired beginning to settle deep in my bones. The emotionally drained kind you feel after spilling your guts, leaving your heart and soul bare.
Rosie doesn’t utter another word, instead continuing to stroke my hair until I drift off somewhere between her arms and the plush feel of the sofa cushions.
M y best friend’s words rattle around my brain on a seemingly continuous loop as another two days pass me by.
On Friday morning, I go to unlock the door to my meditation studio, my gym bag slung over my shoulder, juggling my keys, an overpriced caramel latte I treated myself to, and a bowl of watery looking cubes of melon, only to stop dead in my tracks.
A bunch of tulips, their stems a gorgeous shade of green and their petals a deep shade of red, lay beside the threshold of my doorway.
Leaving my keys to hang from the lock, I pick up the bouquet, bringing the flowers to my nose, inhaling their potent scent, and noticing the single white petaled tulip sitting front and centre, surrounded by ruby red.
I smooth my thumb over the pretty pink satin ribbon holding the flower stems together and the thick card stock envelope attached, feeling my heart begin to pound.
Something tells me it’s not the triple shot of espresso in my latte that has my pulse quickening.
Stepping into my studio fully, the leftover scent of vanilla incense wafting past my nose, I dump my items beside the spare yoga mats. Turning my attention fully to the flowers, I pinch the card peeking out of the envelope between my thumb and forefinger, giving it a wiggle until it pulls freely.
Gee,
I never thought I could miss someone I see daily.
I miss your laugh and your smile and the sound of my name on your lips.
Call me when you’re ready to talk.
Yours,
Hudson. X
B y the time I’ve ran through a quick twenty minute yoga flow to centre myself for a day of teaching ahead, I can recall Hudson’s message word for word.
He has me giddy like a schoolgirl without even knowing it.
Gulping down the rest of my coffee, I head out in search of the water cooler, planning on filling up my takeaway cup with water and using it as a makeshift vase until I can get home later on this evening.
My trainers squeak against the linoleum of the quiet corridor as I push open the door to the main gym area, the sound quickly becoming eaten up by a wave of pop music emanating from the overhead speakers.
I can’t stop myself from searching the sea of people already making full use of the gym for a familiar shock of messy brown hair.
Like opposite ends of a magnet drawn to one another, I spot Hudson easily, standing beside the damned water chiller, filling up his reusable bottle.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I shorten the space between us, until I’m right beside him.
Those green eyes of his widen once he realises it’s me.
I watch as the pulse point on his neck begins to flutter.
“Thank you for the flowers, Hudson. They’re beautiful.”
I taste him on my lips – the shape of his name, the way my tongue curls over the vowels.
“You’re welcome,” he answers, fingers curling tightly around his water bottle.
Not knowing what else to say, I turn to jab my thumb into the green button on the water cooler, waiting for the slow stream of liquid to fill up my cup.
“How have you been?”
I peer over my shoulder at Hudson, feeling those pesky butterflies in my stomach, the ones which have been lying dormant for the past two weeks, perk up, stretching their furled wings.
“Terrible. You?”
“Terrible,” he repeats my answer with a tick of his jaw.
I hardly think he’s lying; the dark shadows under his tired looking eyes and the lines bracketing his mouth tell me everything I need to know.
I know I don’t look much better.
Once my cup is full, I give Hudson a small, soft smile.
My heart picks up speed in my chest, practically thrumming somewhere at the base of my throat, while slick sweat coats my palms.
I stare up at Hudson, those sea green eyes of his fixed on my sky blue ones. I ache to touch him, to be near him, to hear my name on his lips.
I’m grateful he’s given me the time and space I asked for, but now the thought of staying away from him for another day makes my gut twist in protest.
Although, my ego still twinges with the remnants of how abandoned I had felt. How used. How—
“For the record,” I utter, the words thick and heavy in my mouth. “I miss you too and I-I don’t want you to think I’m just purposefully leaving you hanging, I just…” I fold my fingers into a fist, the cold metal of my gold ring biting into the thick flesh of my palm. “I just need a few more days.”
Hudson nods. “There’s no rush, Gee.”
There is so much more I want to say to him, but the rest of the words seem to dry up on my tongue, disintegrating like sour sugar spun paper.
So instead, I turn on my heel, walking, like a coward, away from the man I’m pretty certain I’ve accidentally fallen in love with.