Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I n my hotel room, fury roars through my body. I pace up and down wringing my hands, wanting to shout, or cry, or scream, or hit a pillow, or something. I don’t even know.
Then, finally, I can’t help myself. I grab my laptop and enter the password. See his traitorous file on my desktop. He’s saved it as Ben’s edits. I’m livid. My heart is thumping. My head is spinning.
When it opens, there’s marks all over it. Comments galore. Rage grips me. My body is molten lava, and I’m going to explode.
Breathing heavily, I drag the file to the recycle bin and dump it, then empty it. When it says ‘delete forever?’ I click ‘yes’. Yes, yes, yes, yes, a million times. I snap the lid shut.
I’m shaking. I pace up and down the room, taking short sharp breaths, feeling the red hot anger twist inside me. It’s wave after wave of fury. It’s like the floodgates have opened.
I’m angry at Weasel for hearing me say no, don’t open my book, and doing it anyway. Angry at everyone for treating me how they want to. Angry at myself for allowing it.
It’s not just Weasel who is arousing this resentment. It’s everyone. I’m angry at everything. I feel like I can’t breathe, I’m so angry. Underneath that, I can feel the bubbling up of something else that makes me want to cry. My mind is running a million miles an hour.
How did I not see this before?
Lulu simply smiles and I do things for her. Mum is anxious and I acquiesce. Dad is nonchalant and humorous and gets away with ripping apart the family. Marla makes passive jabs at me and I stay silent. Tony calls me ‘sport’ and gets his way. Editors ask me to help them with their work, but end up dumping it on my desk, and I work till ten p.m. and call it collaboration.
Adam … God, Adam . He wants me to change, be less emotional, be more like him. And what do I do? Instead of standing my ground, I tried to be more detached.
The stark realisation hits: I give pretty much all the time. No one is ever thinking about what I want or need, including me. No wonder I’m angry. And exhausted. And sick.
I fall onto the bed in an exhausted heap, and feel warm tears running down my cheeks. Han is right, I’ve lost my way. I never speak my mind; I say yes to people even when I want to say no; I do whatever it takes to please them; I play the game; I’m the nice girl, the good girl, the kind girl, aka the one without boundaries, the one you don’t respect. Ugh . That hits hard.
In this moment, I make myself a promise: I won’t be a doormat anymore. I’ll say what I truly feel in every moment.
As if the universe is testing me already, an email notification pops up on my phone with a loud BING. Tony. Nervously, I open it. He’s asking if I’ve managed to have a look at the edits, despite the fact Weasel has told him I was a) on vacation, and b) deathly ill. Little monster.
My face flushes with anger. He can go and… But then I stop. I won’t get angry at him, and then apologise for getting angry and say, Yes sure, whatever you want. Weasel has shown me one thing at least. There’s another way. Say no.
Yep, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll tell Tony no. A flat, please-respect-this no. I raise my fingers ready to type. But I don’t know how to start. My insides turn. Gosh, for a people-pleaser that little two-letter word is hard. If someone offered me the chance to either climb Everest right now or say no to Tony, I’d be strapping my ice boots on.
I take a deep breath and quickly type before I can overthink.
Sorry, Tony, I’m at a wedding. Will look at it when I’m back in the office.
After reading it for the tenth time, I decide to delete the word ‘Sorry’, and replace it with ‘Hi’. Because I’m not sorry for being on this holiday … if you can even call it a holiday. I’m not sorry. Not sorry, I repeat to myself as I press send.
Almost instantly, I get a response. My stomach drops. Cringing a little, I read it.
Have a good time, Gemma.
Holy shit . It worked. This truth thing. This boundary thing. My body is literally vibrating with happiness and surprise. I suddenly really like being the Girl with Good Boundaries. The No Fucks Given Girl.
But then I realise there’s a larger test. Adam. It’s one thing pretending Weasel is my boyfriend, and quite another explaining this silly pantomime to everyone.
I get into bed feeling miserable and wondering how I, who doesn’t want to hurt a fly, have managed to put myself in a situation where I’m about to hurt many people. For a second, I feel the looming weight of what I’ve done.
I hear Weasel’s voice in my head. Just tell the truth.
Ugh, get out of my head, I think.
I switch off the light and stare at my ceiling.
Now, I need to figure out how to tell my family. Because I’ll need to explain why Ben has packed his bags and gone home, and that will include explaining that Ben isn’t Adam. I’ve told lies and now I need to come clean. And I need to do it all on the day of Lulu’s wedding.