7. Annie
Annie
Walking through the back door of the venue was not how I predicted making my entrance.
There were no cameras, no reporters, nothing. Just a dark hallway, a kitchen with confused staff, and a kind woman who helped lead me away from their inventory room.
If I wasn’t distracted by how immaculate the venue was, I would have been more angry with Zayn. Or with myself.
I’m the one that put me in this situation.
The lights in the venue sparkle as I move through the grand hall while soft music plays in the background. People filter in through the front door and I find my feet moving me to where the seating chart is posted.
“Excuse me, miss.” A voice comes from behind me as I reach the entrance. I turn to find an elderly man with his date.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t—” I start to say before he interrupts me.
“Do you know where I can find my table? I’m afraid I’ve lost the email.” The smile he gives me is innocent, and I can’t tell him no.
“Of course. What’s your name?” I smile back at him, and as soon as I tell him I’m able to assist, there’s relief in his face as he takes a moment to look at his date.
Somehow I get stuck helping people find their tables for the next fifteen minutes. Every time I’m about to step away, I see someone else coming. I could walk away, let people help themselves, but they see me helping others and assume I can aid them.
I don’t mind the distraction. It’s helping me avoid thinking about Zayn.
The conversation we had, the way he looked at me, it’s all starting to be too much.
My chest hurts when I think about the past and how things ended with Dan.
I’ve done my best to take steps to forget about how he hurt me, but sometimes I find myself staring at the wall a little too long or smiling to myself when a random memory pops into my head.
“You don’t seem like you’re here to work.” A voice comes from my left.
I turn to find a very tall, very handsome, very well-dressed man. His dark hair is buzzed, and his eyes are a deep, dark brown, adding to the mystery.
“I—I’m not, but people needed help,” I say, suddenly aware of my heart beating faster the longer this man stares at me.
“Well, if you’re helping others, can you help me find my table?” He puts his hands in his pockets, the picture of relaxation unlike the rest of the people I’ve seen tonight. His date isn’t in sight, but they could be mingling, which I should be doing.
“Oh, um, of course. What’s your name?”
“Ethan.”
“Ethan...” I drawl, already knowing I’ll need his last name to find his seat.
“Matthews.” He smirks, and I look away before my cheeks flush from the attention.
I find his name fairly quickly. “You’re in the front, table four.”
“Care to show me?” he asks, and for a moment I hesitate. In the back of my mind, I see Zayn’s stern face and his cute smile and his tousled hair and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake him from my head.
“Sure,” I smile, hoping that maybe this will help.
It certainly can’t hurt.
Ethan talks the entire way to the table, and I wonder how he’s able to take breaths in between telling me about how much money he’s donating tonight and explaining the business ventures he’s investing in. Every time I try to get a word in, he talks over me, so I resort to smiling and nodding.
It’s robotic, the way I’m interacting with him. But I’m not with Zayn, and to be honest, at least this guy is smiling. He seems to like being here, supporting the young actors.
“Well, this is your table.” I turn to him, forcing my lips to turn up in a smile.
“Care to sit for a moment? Keep me company? My date couldn’t make it this evening,” Ethan says. He pulls out a chair at the table and hovers next to it.
I’m sure his date decided to not associate with him, due to his lack of conversation skills, but I can’t bring myself to say no.
Have I rejected anyone this evening? Well, besides saying no to waiting so Zayn could stay on his high horse and open the door for me, I’ve said yes to pretty much everyone.
Zayn is the only person I don’t care to please. I don’t seem to force myself to be someone else, someone who is always willing to help. Zayn finds ways to push the right buttons to get me to burst.
An agonizingly slow hour passes as Ethan talks to me and our table mates about his latest investments.
My head hurts from constantly nodding, and my cheekbones are on fire from being raised in a smile for the duration of this one-sided conversation.
I am not built for long-form communication with people who don’t care about anything other than themselves.
“Do you want to dance?” Ethan leans over to whisper in my ear.
No, it’s not my first option, but I have nothing better to do.
“Sure.” Anything to get me out of this conversation. Anything to get me closer to being able to leave.
Ethan grabs my hand and leads me onto the dance floor.
I thought dancing would mean less conversation, but I was wrong.
Ethan talks, and I let him. I laugh when I’m supposed to and chime in “hm”’s and “wow”’s every few minutes to show I’m listening when truthfully, I’m looking around the room for Zayn as we twirl in a slow circle.
Even with the lights low, I can see the tables.
But with so many people, and being in the middle of the dance floor, it’s hard to find him in the sea of bodies.
His brother broke my heart and yet I find myself wanting to give Zayn a small piece of it.
Maybe it’s the familiarity, or maybe it’s feeling something pulling us together.
And even though we’ve only recently reconnected, I have this feeling that this time spent together will have an impact on my life in more ways than one.