Chapter Twenty-Two #2
It hits me out of nowhere, like a wave—it usually does because unfortunately anxiety attacks don’t come with warnings—that I don’t have these kinds of memories with Digby and never will.
I can’t go back in time and replace Arthur’s face with his.
Part of me feels tied down to Digby and I know that’s silly because we are only dating but for some reason, I’m stopping myself from being with Arthur.
I wonder how it would’ve gone if he never went away, if we stayed how we were. Would he be dead now? Would I? I don’t know about happy—I don’t think either of us would've been—but we would’ve had each other and that’s more than what we’ve got now.
How dare he come back to London, I think. How fucking dare he do that to me. Be so close but so far, dangling my future from his perfect hands like a carrot.
I want to go back, back to before, but I know it wouldn’t be the same and that thought eats me alive until there’s nothing but my bones left.
And it all sounds so familiar, doesn’t it?
He leaves, I move on, he comes back and we live happily ever after.
But that isn’t the case for us. Nothing with Arthur has ever been simple or easy and I think I’ve grown used to that. The mundane and boring things scare me more than the unknown.
I take some deep breaths, almost floating down the stairs and out into the fresh air. He suffocates me to the point where my chest caves and all I can do is reach out to him to resuscitate me.
With my hands scrambling to find my keys and my mind void of any rational thought, I get back into my car and drive all the way to London.
? ? ?
I’m drinking to forget which is never a good idea. For anyone. You should never drink if you’re stressed, angry or feeling anything negative but then, why else would you drink?
It does make you forget, it does calm you down, it does unknot the ties in your neck.
Athena invited me to House which is also probably not a good idea because I never have to pay for drinks here—I never pay for drinks anyway, flash them a smile and you have an endless supply for the night—so all night I’ve been slinging back tequila on a somewhat empty stomach.
Connie stands between my legs as I sit on the bar, his blonde hair ruffled and his cheeks flushed because I think he’s also trying to forget something.
“Come on,” he taps my thigh. “We should go home.”
“Not yet—oh my god, that’s Frances Hamilton. I haven’t seen her since school,” I say, looking over his shoulder.
Connie whips his head around, surprised.
“We should go over!”
“No, we shouldn’t—come on, Arthur’s gonna be pissed.”
I roll my eyes, jump off the bar and drag his wrist through the crowd. “Why would Arthur care?”
“Because he still cares about you.”
“I feel like you need to drink more.” I hand him the champagne bottle from the middle of the booth.
“It’s getting into the Soho hours,” Athena says from the table. “I saw a couple fucking in the corner just a minute ago.”
I slap Connie’s chest. “Well, he spends his Tuesday afternoons at The Box so…”
“No, I fucking don’t,” he mutters, throwing himself down, looks a bit worse for wear.
Can’t imagine I do, though. I never look bad. Arthur told me that once. Although, the last time I drank like this I was in school. I can feel my eyelids getting heavy but I’m not ready to leave just yet. I’m not ready to get hit by the fresh air and the reminders of everything.
A little while later, I go into the bathroom but I stop when I see a girl, nose down on the side of the sink, snorting a line.
Nose in the air, I brush past her, staring at myself in the mirror. “That’s so embarrassing.”
“Excuse me?” She lifts her head, wiping the tip of her nose.
“At least go in there,” I nod behind me at the cubicles.
“Fuck you,” she spits, staggering about.
“You can barely walk.”
I stare her down, racking my eyes up and down her skinny frame. I can tell she’s getting angry at me but she’s nowhere near as pissed off as I am because when I look into her dilated eyes, I don’t see a girl with thin blonde hair.
I see a prince with brunette hair and earthy eyes.
“What’s your fucking problem?”
She stumbles closer, her chest almost brushing mine. I take a step back, the smell of her Baccarat Rouge making me nauseous (seriously, after one spritz we can smell it, I promise you).
I’m no good with confrontation so I take a few more steps back until my back hits the bathroom door.
“Sorry that Arthur was shooting heroin but we’re not all like that,” she smiles, reaching for the door handle.
I’m not sure why I do it but I do—I slap her across the face so hard that she folds over, clutches the side of her face.
I gasp, leave the bathroom, feel a bit panicky, like she might tell and I’ll be hated by everyone forever.
The sounds, the smell, the lights—they consume me until I’m nothing but a tiny ant, crawling amidst large stomping feet and cigarette shaped legs.
“Take me home,” I tell Connie, grab the front of his shirt.
He squints. “What?”
“Take me home.”
I can’t breathe properly and I feel like I’m being embarrassing but I can’t get out of here and there’s too many people and I realise that actually I’m just a bit sad and quite a bit lonely.
“Please,” I tell him, ignoring everything else around me. “Take me home—I hit her.”
“Who? Who’d you hit?”
He stands up, takes hold of my hands.
“The girl, in the bathroom because she was doing drugs.”
He frowns. “Huh?”
I squeeze my eyes closed. “Just take me home!”
I try to tell myself to breathe how I was just a moment ago but for some reason I can’t. I don’t feel drunk anymore, just disgustingly warm.
“Alright,” Connie says in my ear, the stench of gin coming off him. “I’ll take you home.”
We go outside, the air is warmer than what I expected it to be and my stomach twists and I start to wonder why I even went out in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him as we climb into the back of a cab.
“For what?”
“For ruining your night.”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t having a great time, anyway.”
“Will Arthur be cross with me?”
Connie turns to face me. “Do you wanna see him? Or do you want to go home to Digby?”
Chin in my hand, I stare out of the car window. “That isn’t home, Connie—you know it’s not.”