Chapter 28 Christopher
Sunday
I’m startled awake by a soft grip on my arm shaking me back and forth, followed by a high-pitched feminine voice.
“Excuse me, sir.”
“Stop messing with me!” I try to bat Alexander away before reaching up to remove the earbuds from my ears. My head is pounding, and I’m not in any mood for his humor at this godforsaken hour as I try to pry open my eyelids.
Surely it can’t be time to get up already?
“Check out was half an hour ago, sir.” The voice is louder now, and a shadow moves in front of my face as my eyes start to focus.
My heart jumps into my throat when I see not Alexander, but a woman from housekeeping, standing beside the bed.
“What time is it?” My words trip over each other as I jolt upright.
I immediately regret the motion as a surge of bile rises with it.
“Twelve-thirty, sir.” Her arms are now crossed, her fingers tapping on her arm.
I swallow the bile down, and fling my legs out of the bed to stand upright. I immediately grab the duvet to cover myself when I realize I’m completely naked. The woman diverts her gaze to the windows, the curtains still drawn.
Fuck.
Think Christopher, think.
Pack.
Taxi.
Run to check in.
Some of Alexander’s clothes are still scattered across the floor, including the white T-shirt he wore when I was dancing with him last night. Or did I just dream that?
Come to think of it, where is he?
“Alex?” I shout, heading into the bathroom, but there’s no one inside. His toiletries are gone. A rising sense of dread heats my body. I glance into the walk-in wardrobe, but his suitcases and clothes are all gone too.
“Alex?” I shout, moving into the lounge.
“There’s no one else here, sir,” the woman calls out to me.
Fuck. What the hell?
My phone! Where’s my phone?
I rush back to the bed, but my phone isn’t on the side table.
Think Christopher, think.
I rub the back of my neck, sweat dripping from my hair.
I reach for my trousers next to the bed. Nope, not there.
My suit jacket.
I rush over to where it’s hanging over an armchair, almost tripping over my shoes in a mad dash to find out what the hell has gone on. I pull out my phone, and my hope turns to despair when I repeatedly press the screen and side button. It refuses to turn on.
Ugh.
“Do you need any help, sir?” The housekeeping woman puts an armload of towels down on the bed. She still won’t look in my direction. I reach for my boxers, stepping into them and pulling them up.
“Could you type BA210 to Los Angeles into your phone please? And let me know if the flight is still on time?” I frantically grab the rest of my clothes and throw them on.
“It’s delayed, sir. Departing at three-fifteen.” Her gaze collides with mine when I look back to her and reach for Alexander’s T-shirt, sliding it over my head. The smell of his Creed aftershave lingers in the cotton.
I exhale.
At least one thing’s working in my favor today.
“Thank you,” I say, sliding into my shoes. I grab my blazer, shirt, and bow tie, and make a beeline for the main door. I close it quickly behind me, and then am stopped by something dropping to the floor.
A door hanger.
The same door hanger Alexander gave me for Kelly and Daniel yesterday.
We’ve Made A Mess stares up at me.
Wait, was it that side or the other side on the door? I reach down to pick it up, flicking it over to the Busy Fucking side. I stiffen as I flip the door hanger back and forth.
You don’t have time to think about this right now, you just need to get to the airport, I think. I shake my head as I take the twenty steps down to my room. I shove everything into my left hand and pull out the door key, waving it frantically over the card reader. The light blinks red.
For God’s sake.
I wave at another housekeeping staff member down the hallway, motioning at him to help me. He looks at me oddly as he approaches. My disheveled appearance probably makes me look like I’ve just escaped an asylum.
“Can you help me get into my room?” I plead, waving my key over the door.
He hesitates, pulling at the master key clipped to his waistband.
“Please, I’m going to miss my flight.” My jaw tightens as I tap the key on my hip.
I do not have time for his hesitation.
The guy relents and taps the key to open my door.
“Thank you,” I say, banging the door open.
Thankfully, I’d packed all my bags before the wedding yesterday, leaving them all lined up by the desk. My family used to mock me for being overprepared as a child. Sometimes I’d pack days before we left. But right now I’m grateful that it’s one less thing to deal with.
I strip out of my clothes and shoes and change into the sweatpants and polo shirt I’d left on the armchair, before unzipping my suitcase and throwing everything else in.
I grab my rucksack, pull out my sunglasses to get some relief from the sun pouring through the window, throw on my baseball cap, and do a quick scan of the room and head to the door. I rush down the hallway and furiously stab the elevator button.
Come on. Come on.
When the elevator finally arrives, it’s full, but I don’t care. I push my way in, much to everyone’s dismay, and let out a deep exhale.
Why would Alexander leave without saying goodbye?
We were supposed to fly at similar times.
The doors open on the ground floor and I burst out, turning left and almost running through the hotel, swerving past people and out of the back exit to the taxi rank.
The exit is completely quiet aside from someone walking their dog.
There’s no screaming fans.
I open the door to the taxi, lift my suitcase in, and fling my backpack on the seat, closing the door behind me
“Where to mate?” the taxi driver asks.
“Heathrow. Terminal Five.” I reach for the seatbelt.
Forty minutes later, I’m standing at the check in desk, taking deep breaths.
The drive was both slow and painful with this hangover.
The drive was made even worse when I realized the taxi’s USB port was broken, leaving me unable to charge my phone and none the wiser about what happened. The only plus was that I didn’t puke.
“The flight will be departing from gate B46, and you have access to the BA lounge, which is located at either end on the other side of security.” The check-in lady passes back my passport with my ticket as my luggage disappears down the conveyor belt.
“Great.” I grab the passport, tapping it twice on the counter before hotfooting it through to security. I’m eager to get to the lounge to charge my phone.
Thankfully, the security line isn’t long, and after a brief stop to scan my ticket at the BA lounge entrance, I’m at the bar. I pour myself a Bloody Mary to take the edge off my hangover and head over to one of the seats.
I rummage through my bag, pulling out a pack of ibuprofen and the USB cable, and grab my phone to plug it in, then pop two pills and wash them down with the drink.
I tap my foot impatiently, waiting for the phone to start.
Fear creeps into my thoughts while I wait.
Did I say something that caused Alexander to leave without saying goodbye?
Did I do something to piss him off?
I’m sure I remember everything that happened last night, but what if I did?
Then my fear switches up a gear, turning into anger.
What if this is what Alexander does? What if he just hooks up with a guy and then ghosts them, everywhere he goes, disappearing without a trace. I tighten my hands around the arms of the chair.
But, if that were the case, it doesn’t make sense that he was talking about going out on a proper date when we got back to LA. I reach for my drink, taking another sip to distract myself from the fact that my will to live is charging faster than my phone.
The Tabasco sauce hits the back of my throat, its peppery taste offsetting the copious amounts of vodka I free poured into the glass. It overwhelms my tastebuds, but simultaneously soothes my head and stomach. Maybe it’s psychosomatic, but whatever it is, it’s doing the trick.
My phone finally comes to life, and I drop my glass on the table, retrieving it and waiting for the Apple sign to disappear and the home screen to load. Hopefully there will be a message from Alexander that clarifies what the hell is going on.
That he’s okay.
That we’re okay.
Messages start to pop up. There’s a dozen missed calls from my sister and three voice messages, and over fifty WhatsApp messages. But nothing from Alexander.
I reach for my chest, rubbing it to settle my worry. After what happened at the start of the week, my mind instantly fears the worst.
I pull up his number and call him.
The number you have called cannot be reached at this time. Please try again later.
I dial twice more and am greeted by the same message.
My breath becomes shorter and shallower each time.
Think positive.
This can all be explained.
He must be on a flight if it’s going straight to voicemail.
Maybe something happened and he had to head back home early.
Just as I begin to look at my messages, Kelly’s name flashes up on the screen.
“Hey,” I answer, but Kelly immediately cuts me off.
“Oh my God, I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning. I even knocked on your door and on Alexander’s door, but there was no answer. Are you okay?” The concern in Kelly’s words does nothing to settle my breathing.
“Sorry, my phone died. I overslept and nearly missed the flight. I’m at the airport now and only just managed to get my phone back up and running.”
I let out a deep exhale, trying to slow my breathing, and reach for the Bloody Mary.
“Wait. You haven’t seen?” Her voice goes up an octave.
“Seen what?” I place the drink down and my breathing picks up again.
What am I meant to have seen?
“It’s all over social media and the news. Are you with Alex?”
I look at the TV, but a soccer match is playing on screen.
“No. I was woken up by housekeeping. He was gone. Why, what happened? Is he okay?”