35. Ben
35
Ben
T his event, like all the others preceding it, is glitzy and glamorous; however, while the LA premiere for Truly, Madly, Deeply is well attended, it’s nothing like the pandemonium that followed the Captain Commander tour. Grace Grantham, the actress who plays my female love interest in the movie, is posing with me on the red carpet while Willa, my date for the evening, is waiting in the wings. Despite this not being one of Willa’s movies, I can hear the photographers chanting Willa’s name, begging for her to pose for them.
When I leave Grace’s side to take my place next to Willa, the hysteria builds amongst the crowds. There’s a fresh flurry of camera flashes and the clamoring increases substantially when she embraces me. “Smile for the cameras, Benji,” Willa murmurs, giving my arm a squeeze when I remain stone-faced, with only a hint of a smile on my lips.
I’m counting down the minutes until this night is over. It fucking hurts to act like I’m in love with Willa when all I want to do is find Carlisle, the actual woman who owns my heart. Too bad she wants nothing to do with me.
After so many events, they all blend together. I stand, smile, shake hands, answer questions, sign autographs, and then escape to my hotel room where I can let my mask slip .
Misery may love company, but my misery doesn’t. I prefer to spend my time alone with only Carlisle’s ghost for company.
At least after tonight, I’ll be returning to my house and not a hotel room. I’m free from any commitments until I start preproduction work on Losing Love in the spring.
“Let’s just get this shit over with as quickly as possible,” I hiss through clenched jaws as I force the corners of my lips to curve upwards. I shouldn’t be such an asshole, but I experience difficulty controlling my anger when I’m around Willa.
In truth, I’ve been doing some of my best acting over the past few weeks. Everyone in the press believes that I’m madly in love with Willa when reality couldn’t be further from the truth.
I’m not surprised to see Trevor and Jordan's cars in my driveway when I arrive home from the premiere. Jo has been keeping them abreast of my moods, worried that I’ll sink into another depression like I did after finding out that Cole was the father of Kelsey’s baby.
I find my friends drinking beers in my living room and watching a basketball game when I walk into the house.
“Dude, it’s about time,” Jordan says by way of a greeting.
“Sorry, man.” I grab his beer off the coffee table and take a long pull. “I had to make an appearance at a couple of parties.”
“Rough life.”
I tug off my jacket and throw it over the back of a chair. Unbuttoning my top buttons of my dress shirt, I roll the sleeves up to my elbows and then lean back onto the couch, getting comfortable. “I’m so fucking glad everything is finally over. I need a fucking break from Hollywood.”
I catch a shared, secretive look that flows between my friends. “What’s that look for?”
“About that. Jo said that maybe… if you wanted to…”
“For fuck’s sake, spit it out Jordan.” I walk into the kitchen, grab three more beers, and pass them out before taking a seat again.
Trevor takes the lead, pitching forward, with his elbows perched on his knees. “Jo told us that she made travel plans for you to go to Harbour Island over Christmas. We know you were supposed to go with Carlisle, but Jo thought that it might be good for you to keep the travel plans and get away for a bit.”
“And take us with you. Obviously,” Jordan pipes up.
“Obviously,” I respond drolly. It isn’t the dream vacation with my girlfriend that I had planned, but I could do a lot worse than hanging out with my two best friends on the small Bahamian island for a week. So much shit has happened since I asked Jo to make those travel arrangements that I’d forgotten all about it. It feels like a lifetime ago. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
“Yes!” Jordan shouts and throws a fist in the air.
Trevor’s reaction is tamer. He shoots me a quick smile and nods. “Right on, man. Some conch fritters, a Kalik beer, and some fly-fishing sounds amazing.”
We spend the next hour polishing off another six-pack and watching the rest of the basketball game in silence except for the occasional potshot we yell at the TV when we disagree with the ref’s calls.
My alcohol consumption catches up with me as I crawl into bed, the size of which never bothered me before I started dating Carlisle, but now it seems oversized. Too big for only one person .
I miss Carlisle and the alcohol has lowered my carefully erected defenses.
I miss you.
I tap out the text, but my finger hovers over the send button. Will just typing out my feelings suffice, or do I need to send it?
In the weeks since Becky told me that Carlisle broke up with me, I haven’t communicated with Carlisle once. I’ve picked up my phone to call her countless times, but each time, I set my phone down before I could go through with it.
How was Carlisle able to shut off her feelings for me so decisively?
Quitting her cold turkey has been challenging, but any contact with her will set back my recovery. Because I am recovering—albeit incredibly slowly—from her shattering my heart into a million pieces.
But… fuck it. I hit the blue arrow to send the text. Like Pandora’s box, once that door has opened, I find it hard to close. So, even though I know I’ll regret it in the morning, I send her three more texts in quick succession.
I know I fucked up along the way, but I’m not sure if I can ever forgive you for ghosting me and giving up on us.
…but I still love you.
I’m sorry for everything that happened during the promo tour. Please let me explain. Please give us another chance.
I had hoped it would be cathartic to send Carlisle those texts, but afterwards, I just feel worse, the previous numbness giving way to pain as my texts go unanswered.
Closing my eyes, I fall into a drunken slumber where I dream of her aquamarine eyes and dimpled smile.