George
“The footfall of resources needs to be more controlled,” Kirsten read out from the screen in her hand. “That kind of negativity will need to be reined in. The reason we do these productivity polls is for useful feedback and crowd-storming ideas. Not to whinge like small children.”
“We have three new people lined up for interviews today. None of them are –”
“I have someone arriving later,” Kirsten declared, almost proudly, as Storm let out an almost inaudible squeak. Yes, I felt it too. Here we were again. Panic. Deep-rooted panic.
“We as a team need…” I started. “We deserve to be privy to some of these changes in advance. We need more time to work through the schedule. Today we are three cameras short, and there simply…”
“Absolutely not,” Kirsten boomed on. “There is no excuse for not being on the ball. We have maxed out our budget, and I expect you to work within those limits. Period. Now. Wardrobe, are we on track with the collab with Bloom?”
“On it,” someone replied.
“Storm, I expect the storyline to be followed to the word.”
Storm nodded like a puppet. So did the rest of the table. We were well drilled by now.
“And I expect someone to go fetch our runaways. I don’t care what it takes. You bribe them, you threaten them – I need them back. I had plans for Peter Fenton. This kind of behaviour will not be tolerated. George, this one is fully on you.”
It was, yet nobody had mentioned the elephant in the room. Not that I dared to speak up when Kirsten spoke like this. And I knew what it meant. The threat was clearly laid out. Repeatedly flashed at me to remind me that my time here was ticking down.
“Socials, I need a statement ready with regards to Oliver Jacobs. Alastair spoke to him earlier, and he was not amenable to our demands. So we need an obvious threat. Make it believable, and stern. Do not release it. I just need it prepared so we can make Oliver see the situation in a different light. We did good work on Chloe-Catherine. I will not stand for any more childish tantrums.”
“We can’t control…” someone piped up as Kirsten waved her hands in irritation.
“Legal is drafting the new contracts as we speak. If anyone walks out? They lose their fees. All of it. We also sue them for loss of earnings. We tie them in and lock it up. I expect everyone to have signed by tonight.”
She stood up. Flicked her hair and sighed.
“There will be no more questions. Get back to work.”
We did. And the only thing I could think of was that… If I could have? I would have walked out myself. Legal contract or not.
By the time I stumbled up the path towards the building I called home?
I wished he was there. I needed him. I needed anything to just soothe me, which was a weird statement to make even for me.
He didn’t soothe me. He rattled me to the core.
Yet I needed it. Just something. Anything to get me out of this knot of stress work had shaped me into, because I was just too rattled to think clearly.
Too worked up and I hadn’t slept well and drank too much coffee, and I just needed things to stop being so goddamn complicated.
I needed the world to slow down. I needed to just… have some clarity.
“I need you,” I tapped into the screen. Not that he would turn up, he was hours away.
Midweek, his schedule neatly memorised in my head.
There was no way he would come to me. He’d returned all my clothes, washed and folded like he was some goddamn housewife.
I didn’t dare acknowledge how sweet that had been.
The scent of a different washing powder filling my small hallway every time I came home.
Everything smelled of him. All the time.
“What’s up?” came back. Like he was a mate. I shuddered. I hated this. All of it.
“You only ever come see me at night. And only when it suits you,” I spat out, letting my fingers jab the words into the screen.
I didn’t know why I was suddenly angry with him.
Not his fault. We both had lives. Schedules.
Things that were just uncontrollable. And now the stress in my head was making me lash out for no reason but the fact that he wasn’t here when I needed him.
“Sorry.”
That was surprising. I hadn’t expected that word.
Perhaps I’d expected some lame excuse we both already knew.
I sighed, sticking my key in the lock. Stomping up the stairs, the lift once again out of service, and slamming the door shut behind me.
I threw myself on the bed, wishing I could roll into his arms. That was all I could think about.
Our last encounter played on a loop in my head, every waking hour of the day.
Hated it. Hated myself. Hated…
My phone rang, still in my hand, making me jump. I answered, before I chickened out. He rarely rang me. Always texted.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” Lame. So lame.
“Georgie.”
He just had to say my name, and I crumbled.
“Shit day at work.” That was my excuse when I really meant “I need to know what the fuck is going on here because I am going mad.” Absolutely so.
“Is everything alright?” He sounded concerned.
“Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Baby,” he said. I rolled my eyes at him through the screen. Couldn’t help it, and then he rolled his too.
“I told you,” he said softly. “You’re my baby.”
“Idiot.” I smiled. He smiled. Stupid.
“Is he…” He was digging.
“You know I can’t tell you that. I need this job.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I have rent to pay. A bloody loan. I have things I want to do in life!”
“I know you do,” he said quietly, spreading an unusual amount of words for him, but I would take it. I would take anything at this point. “But this job is making you miserable.”
“It’s the industry. It’s supposed to make you miserable. There’s no glamour in TV work, you know this.”
He chuckled gently. “You don’t have to do this. You can just quit.”
“And…and…who’s going to pay my bleeding bills, eh?
” I spat out. I wasn’t being nice, still taking everything out on him.
Because he wasn’t here. Because I wanted him to be.
I wanted to stroke his face and touch his skin and have his mouth slobber all over me, and I wanted to feel him.
Everywhere. “How is that going to look on my CV? My first job and I flaked it because I couldn’t keep up with the… ”
“I wish I was there. Then I would calm you down.”
“How would you do that?” I sighed.
“I’d fuck you,” he said. Like it was normal. “I’d give you what you need.”
“I don’t…” I started, but surprisingly he shushed me. Little soothing sounds trickling over the airways.
“Georgie,” he whispered. “I want to, badly. I really want to. Because you’re my baby, and I think this is the… You’re the best. The best thing ever. And I want it to be…”
“What do you want it to be?” Weak. Always weak. I should tell him to F off. I should shout at him to leave me alone. Let me mend this broken heart of mine where he lived. Kick him out. Right to the kerb.
I never would. Because I loved him. And I knew full well what that made me.
“I wish,” he said quietly, “you would just come to me. Live here, and get a job, and…”
“There’s no booming creative industry in Exeter.” I sounded bitter.
“But I’m here.”
Logical. Sane. I didn’t know why I was suddenly crying. Why the back of my hand was now trying to wipe my eyes. It made no difference to the tear running down my cheek.
He saw it, of course he did. Because I was too stupid to put the camera away.
“You…you do everything for me,” he whispered. “Everything. You’re the only one who matters. The only thing I want. And I know it’s fucked up, and I know I’m fucked up.”
“I’ve never even met your brother,” I wailed.
“No. But you’ve met my dad?” he said.
I snorted. “He doesn’t even know who I am.”
“No,” he admitted. “Maybe not right now. But he will.”
“Seriously?” I was almost shouting now. “There’s nobody more closeted than you!” I shouted. No shame. All the shame.
“Georgie,” he soothed.
I hated him. I loved him. It was so messed up. My whole head was messed up.
“I’m in love with you, and you constantly do this. Make it…something it’s not. I can’t, I can’t bear it.”
That was probably the most truthful thing I had told him in a while. The relief was imminent. Followed by that black cloud of shame.
At least if he’d hung up on me, I could have dealt with that blow. He didn’t.
“That’s why we should fuck.” He said it like it was poetry. Like he knew how to soothe me with pretty words. I almost laughed in his face.
“No, no. Hear me out. We’re good, aren’t we? Georgie? I mean, I love you. You love me.”
“I’m in love with you. You want a fuckbuddy.” Good job, George. Honesty. It felt…freeing. Like I could finally speak the truth. He was still there on my screen when he could so easily have hung up on me. A small smile on his stupid face. All that hair. Hoodie. The string in his mouth.
He was always putting things in his mouth. And he would never hang up on me. I knew that, despite the devil on my shoulder whispering lies in my head. Because he loved me.
“No,” he said sternly. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” I howled.
I was going mad, wasn’t I? I was about to snap. Lose the last part of my dignity. My sanity.
“This is you and me. This is you being the only person who matters. And me being the guy you’re in love with. That is what this is. I love you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I was crying properly now. All snotty and wet.
“It means…” he said quietly. So many words. Too many. I think I needed him to be quiet. Just let me gather myself up.
“You remember the first time we met?” he said, that smile still sat there.
“Don’t laugh at me when I’m bloody crying,” I snapped back.
“We sat outside college and just laughed. Do you remember?”
I did. And his voice. I was calming down now. Just listening to him speak. Deep voice. All those words. Pretty, pretty words.