Chapter 27
Dafne
Ollie has the weirdest look on his face as I go through my vocal warming exercise for vowels. He’s staring at his phone’s stopwatch, but I don’t think he is actually seeing the seconds tick by on the screen.
“E-E-E-E-your hair is on fire–” I attempt to get his attention, with no results. “Ollie?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s going on?” I laugh. “You look a million years away.”
He cuts me a look, then slumps on the nearest chair. “I kissed him,” he says as he pushes the heel of his hand in one eye.
“Devon?” I ask, throwing myself on the seat next to his. “How was it? Was there tongue? No, you don’t have to tell me. But I did tell you, so it’s only fair.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, then nods.
“Oh come on,” I groan, “you’ve got to give me more than that. ”
“I just … did it, Daf. I didn’t think about the implications or consequences, it just felt like the right thing to do in the moment. And he definitely kissed me back, so … glad I took the risk,” he says.
“Ollie, I’m so happy for you. Truly.” I pat his knee twice.
“I’m so weak for redheads. Male or female, apparently,” he considers. We share a look, then burst out laughing. Truth be told, Tam was a redhead, too.
When we’ve sobered up he says, “We could go on double dates, you know,” implying something that ought not to be implied.
“These vocal cords won’t warm themselves–” I start to bolt off my chair, but Ollie rises with me.
“I would normally advise you against making the first move, but are you really okay with staying in this limbo forever?”
“There is no limbo, Ollie,” I absently pick at the corner of my Use of Voice textbook. “I don’t know why you and Phoebe are so attached to this idea of me and Price together, but all I can see myself getting out of everything that’s happened is polite conversation. No amount of romantic singing can change that. I’m not going to beg for more, if that’s not in the cards.”
My hand hurts from transcribing the whole of my lines, but as I’ve always found it helpful for memorisation pur-poses, it’s worth the momentary pain. I should probably be using this time to do something good for me, like, I don’t know, actively try to get some sleep–but if I don’t keep myself occupied, I’ll think about Theodore, and that shouldn’t be number one on my priority list, should it?
It’s almost nine, and Phoebe is already yawning on her bed. “Whoever said actors don’t know what strain is, clearly didn’t know shite,” she mumbles, and I smile in agreement.
“You can turn off the lights, Phoebs, I’ve got my reading light,” I offer.
“Shouldn’t you sleep too? You’ve been getting half of the recommended eight hours. More like a third of that,” she scowls. She takes sleep very seriously.
“You know I can’t, not this early at least.”
She sighs dramatically, and extends her arm to the light switch, bathing our room in near darkness. I release a deep breath and roll my shoulders on our far from ergonomic chair, debating whether I should actually try to rest. Before I can make a decision, my phone lights up with a message notification.
Are you up?
Sent: 9:03 p.m.
My heart rate goes up in the time it takes me to read who the message is from and what it says. There’s no reason a simple question should make my heart speed up so much, but I’m quite sure that if I smoked, I’d need an entire packet of cigarettes right now.
My every waking thought used to be occupied by acting, and studying, and rehearsing, over and over.
What’s happened to me?
I cover my phone under the desk as to not wake Phoebe, who is already snoring softly. I really don’t need a third-degree questioning session right now. I panic a little, because if I don’t answer soon it’ll look like I’m thinking too hard about what to say, and if I answer immediately I’ll just seem desperate. So, of course, I type the stupidest thing I could have possibly thought of. The king of the friendzone.
The thumbs-up emoji.
“Shite,” I hiss at myself, slapping a hand over my forehead. To my surprise, an answer still comes.
Look out your window.
Sent 9:07 p.m.
I frown at the screen, fervently hoping he’s not one of those I saw the moon and it made me think of you blokes.
Or maybe I hope that he is, so I have an excuse to forget about him as quickly as possible. I get up quietly, then walk to the small window overlooking the garden. There are only a few lights still on downstairs, but it’s enough for me to see Theodore looking up and waving his fingers at me.
Another notification buzzes.
I’d like to talk.
Sent 9:08 p.m.
Are you really going to
make me wear shoes again?
I thought I was shoe-free
until morning.
Sent: 9:09 p.m.
The nerve. Socks, too.
Sent 9:10 p.m.
That makes me snort, and I turn towards Phoebe to make sure she’s still snoring. I look down at him again in time to see him pocket his phone and tilt his head in a forthcoming gesture. I sigh, think this is a very bad idea, yet still find myself slipping my shoes on, grabbing my keys and jacket and silently slipping out the door.
Once I reach him, he looks at me wordlessly for a second, then starts walking down the graveled path circling the garden. “I followed your advice, about the app,” I start. “Slept like a baby.”
“I’m glad. ”
He’s glad . Grand.
“You know,” I continue, since it looks like he won’t, “you could’ve climbed the wall. What kind of second-hand Romeo are you?”
He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head lightly.
I am so not prepared for his next choice of words.
“Would breaking my neck be enough of a declaration?
My smile falters. “Declaration of what?” I ask quietly, looking everywhere but at him.
“You know what.”
“Nuh-uh.” He’ll have to give me more than that.
I nervously rub at the inside of my jacket’s pockets where my hands have been tucked the whole time.
“I’m tired, Dafne.” he sighs, turning towards me. “It’s exhausting, not being able to bloody think anymore without your face coming up in my head. I can’t stand the mention of coconut or the sight of rain because it makes me think of you. We’re in London, Dafne! It rains all the time. It’s–” he clenches his fists at his side, and I’m sure that if he had a punching ball in front of him he’d have a hell of a time with it. “You wanted the truth, so here it is. It wasn’t in my plans. We were supposed to keep up the bickering until the year was over and we could finally go our separate ways.”
“Supposed to? Is there a contract I haven’t been told about on the nature of our relationship? I ask, aware of how bitter I sound, but I can’t help it .
Besides, what is he even saying? That him willingly seeking me out is somehow my fault? I haven’t changed around him. I’m the same person I was when he didn’t like me. The only thing that’s changed is this gnawing feeling in my stomach that I can’t shake when he’s around, and it’s not hate. It’s a hundred times worse be-cause I should have known better.
“Did you make me rush down here so you could essentially tell me you’re repulsed by the feelings you have for me?” I add. “Christ, Dafne, no,” he groans, so I rush to him and whisper, “Maybe keep your voice down?”
And now we’re at two inches from each other again.
His eyes roam over my face, and there’s both softness and frustration in them.
“I need to show you something,” he says after a few moments.
He extracts his phone from his back pocket and swipes his thumb on the screen to unlock it. I take a step back, but he gently grabs my elbow to tug me back to him. I’m not completely opposed.
“These are my grandparents,” he starts, and I immediately recognise the photo as the same one I saw the night we got stuck in the prop room. Something tells me he’s always had that specific lock screen and has no intention of changing it, and for some reason it makes my heart drum louder in my ribcage.
“My grandmother’s name is Mary, and my grandpa is Frank,” he explains as we both look at the picture he must have scanned a long time ago, tiny, sparse white dots giving its age away.
“And they are–” he clears his throat, and I dare a glance at him, and his brows are furrowed in concentration; he’s always so careful not to let too much emotion show.
I’d like to change that.
“They are my parents as far as I’m concerned, and they are the reason I bust my arse off. Every good thing
in my life, I owe it to them. They have sacrificed so much for me to be here today, while my parents are just … barely in the picture. Which is not to say I blame them for my mistakes, because I don’t.”
I had no idea.
“When I actually managed to get into APDAS, I made my grandparents a promise. That I’d be the best, no matter what. I owed them that much.”
Realisation strikes me like a slap in the face.
“You need us to be perfect,” I say, echoing his words from not so long ago, on the day we first kissed.
He looks at me then, really looks at me, nodding slowly.
“And you–you are. Always have been. While I always felt a step behind you.”
I release a deep sigh and close my eyes. I feel like I could cry. Out of sadness, but also anger, because we could have talked this through, if I’d known. Stabbing disappointment, both at him and myself. I thought I’d made it clear that I was never out to get him, that my work was about me and me alone. That I fought back because I was never in the business of being quiet if I felt wronged–and I did . And I’m mad at myself, because I waited until a few months ago to even ask for the first time, while I could have been the bigger person. But this is where we’re at now. I consider my next words carefully.
“I understand what it means to make sacrifices, Theodore. I understand what it means to want to make someone proud. And while I don’t know what your parents have put you through, what I do know is …” I click my tongue, scouring my head for the right words. Something tells me this is a now or never moment. I take his free hand and squeeze his fingers. They’re warm, of course, much warmer than mine, and he squeezes back, never taking his eyes off me. I wonder if he can read everything I’m thinking on my face.
“I don’t enjoy it, you know. The fighting. I never have. I just felt like you didn’t deem me worthy of being here, and it made me lose my head,” I huff out a breath. “So I reacted. I’m just sorry we didn’t figure each other out sooner, you know.”
He nods, something wistful tugging at the corners of his mouth. I refrain from kissing it away.
“I’ve been such a prick,” he laughs sadly. “You had every right to act the way you did. I just got so caught up in this idea of perfection that I,” he swallows. “I lost sight of everything else. I looked at you and all I saw was something to best. That’s awful and … I am sorry.”
“Thank you. I think that a man who knows when to apologise is very sex–” I start with a smirk, but he interrupts me by tugging at my hand and wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me close for a hug.
We are hugging. I don’t know how, but this is setting a small fire alight in my chest even more so than when we kissed. But this hug–oh dear. I wrap my arms around his neck and bask in the moment, suddenly unaware of the cold. I like this version of Theodore, but most importantly, I acknowledge how monumental this moment is for me. Trusting people is not something I take lightly, but right now I feel like maybe it would be okay to trust him.
So on the walk back, I tell him everything.
About how I had a boyfriend all through college–Noah. How perfectly wonderful he was at first. How in the summer after college ended, he’d been acting distant, but every time I’d ask about it he’d just say school had tired him out. How the day before I auditioned for APDAS, we were in the car, and he got a text and my eyes fell to the screen. The text said are you still with the second-hand actress?
Theo has a troubled look, his brows lowered.
“When I confronted him about it,” I keep explaining, “after denying it for a bit, he came clean. He’d been see-ing that girl for months behind my back. I felt so stupid. Because after I left for APDAS it would have gone on and on with me counting down the days until I could see him again while he was shagging someone else.
“So you see, that’s why I can’t afford not to be able to trust you. To not know with absolute certainty that you want me . I can’t do that to myself.”
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly as he once again holds me impossibly closer. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I want you to trust me,” he says.
I don’t say that I do, but I hope he knows now.
I guess we both feel guilty for a lot of things we’ve said in the past.
“Well, that’s all you needed to know,” I smile, trying to redirect the conversation. It’s supposed to be a happy moment. I believe I should be expecting a question no–“So,” he pulls back just enough to look at me. “Are we doing this? Would you like that?”
I grin up at him so quickly that my mouth hurts.
“Yeah, Price. I’d like that,” I confirm. My stomach is doing vertical loops. I love it.
And I’ve been a fool for believing I could let it go like it was nothing.
“But the day you stop making me laugh, it’s over,” I add with a teasing curve of my mouth.
He snorts and leans in for a peck, and I find I enjoy it just as much as the other kinds of kisses we’ve shared. I bury my face in the crook of his neck then, and I can’t remember the last time someone held me like this .
When we break apart, he loosely intertwines our fingers.
“Wait,” I say quietly as we get to the stairs. “What about that girl you were talking to? I mean, you’re obviously allowed to talk to girls but Ollie told me he’d seen you with her before and I–”
“Erica? We share a few classes. All she talks about are her back problems,” he chuckles. “I promise you don’t have any competition. You’ve ruined all other women for me.”
Is it bad that I like that a lot?
As we say goodbye, it finally sinks in. It’s like I’d been aimlessly searching for something, something that was once blurry and unclear, but that some part of me I insisted on keeping under lock and key hoped existed out there.
A feeling like light hitting water and making it sparkle, like pastel sunsets greeting you at the end of a long day.
A thought tucked in a corner of my brain, of my heart.
And here it is.