Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Emily
It’s incredibly tempting to call in sick the next day, go back to bed, and just die of embarrassment, but I don’t. That’s something Old Emily would have done.
Instead, I put on my favourite ripped skinny jeans and a Patti Smith t-shirt, and spend ages perfecting a cool eyeliner flick, or near enough. War paint. I feel more like the real me like this, anyway. I can dress how I want, and starting today that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
My hair is still slightly curly from the night before, and I take the time to refresh it a little with my curling iron. Tomorrow’s hair appointment can’t come soon enough for my liking. But in the meantime, if roots laden blonde curls can work for Miley Cyrus, they can damn well work for me.
He laughed.
I’m feeling the urge to text Sadie and just vent it all out, but that’s a little awkward since we all work together, and I’m not sure she’s clocked my crush on Eli, and I don’t much fancy starting from the beginning.
Plus, she’s probably still with her surprisingly boring and nothing-to-write-home-about boyfriend.
With his thick brown hair and even features, he’s not at all bad looking, but his snootiness ruins it.
I cannot for the life of me understand what she sees in him.
She’s far too vibrant for such a disdainful git as that.
I check my reflection, ignoring how badly my stomach is churning, before I go. I don’t look half bad, actually, especially considering I barely slept. Huh. I add my leather bomber jacket to complete the look, because that’s what badasses wear, right? Leather jackets?
I stomp a little bit on my walk in, to build up my confidence, and to mask the sound of my heart thudding in rising panic.
Bollocks to whoever booked an appointment on a Sunday for making me come in to help out.
This is going to be super uncomfortable.
Although it would be a little offensive if he really did so, I kind of hope Eli just ignores me, and then I can ignore him, and then we can only interact when he needs me to book an appointment or take a payment, and in time everything will settle down and be fine again.
Why did he stop me?
I sigh sadly to myself. It serves me right for being conceited enough to believe he and I could actually have anything, that a man like that would truly be interested in me.
‘Agonisingly humiliated’ is an understatement.
The first time I decided to try going for it with someone new since my break-up, and he rejected me when I offered it to him on a plate.
I...don’t get it. Sex was the one thing, the only thing, Gav ever said I was good at.
I have good techniques. I was willing. I’m always undemanding in bed.
I never expected Gav to go out of his way for me or my pleasure; I was happy as long as he was happy, as long as he got off.
It was all that used to make him pleasantly inclined towards me at times.
So if I was good enough to stave off Gav’s bad moods.
..why doesn’t a nice guy like Eli want me?
And why did he take my hand while we were walking home? Why grind his cock (which was hard, I don’t care what anyone says) against me as he kissed me, if he wasn’t that bothered?
And what was all that with pretending to Melissa that I was his date? I mean, admittedly it was all for show, but all he had to do was just tell her, 'Hey, Melissa, I'm on a date right now'. He didn’t have to run his fingertips around my shoulder, or whisper in my ear, or turn me into jelly.
Is it me? Maybe it was a pity kiss. Or maybe one kiss with me made his skin crawl and put him off for life. Oh, god. Did I have bad breath? I mean, he was gentle enough in his rejection, but…
Oh. Maybe he thought I was a slut? Well, if that’s the case, Eli Gastright can DO ONE. He doesn’t strike me as a slut shamer, but any man who can’t accept that women like to have sex, too, and might even be upfront about it, is definitely not the man for me.
So there.
I’ve been through enough for one year; I was stupid to consider getting into something new so soon after ending a shitty and abusive long term relationship, anyway.
I didn’t get a brilliant night’s sleep last night, due to that exquisite cocktail of indignant outrage and cringe-inducing mortification, as well as having these same thoughts about the whys and wherefores of him turning me down running through my brain in a relentless, insistent loop.
I’ve got to dig up some moxie from somewhere, so I resolve to add Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill to the parlour’s spotify and play it a few times really, really loudly.
All too soon for my liking I approach the shop door, and Oh. My. Crap.
He’s waiting on reception.
He’s leaning both hands on the counter behind my desk. I guess my vain hopes of being able to largely avoid him, at least for today, were exactly that: vain. He’s clearly determined to have this out.
Urgh, no…
He looks up and his face relaxes slightly when he sees me through the glass of the door, and then becomes serious once again.
Probably better to just get this over with, I try to convince myself, but I also briefly consider just turning around and running back to my place. But no. That’s what Cowardly Emily would do. New Emily is fierce and stompy and is wearing her clumpiest Doc Martens and will not be cowed, damnit.
I just wish my legs weren’t shaking as I open the door.
I shrug my jacket off and hang it up, managing not to look at him. I’m just starting to wonder if I should just say ‘good morning’ and then leave it at that when he speaks.
“Can we talk?” God, I wish, I wish, I WISH his voice was just a fraction less sexy. I might stand a chance then.
“I don’t think there’s any need,” I mutter with a throwaway smile to try to get him to drop it. “It’s fine. We don’t need to - ”
“Please,” he says quietly, and I finally look up at him. He looks...sad. His eyes are filled with regret and concern, and he’s leaning over the counter and pressing his lips together. The lips that kissed me and then told me ‘no’.
Oh, buggeration and all things bollocks, I cannot take a gentle ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ talk.
I don’t want to hear it. Not now, not ever.
But he looks like it’s eating him up, so I guess I’ll have to just stand here and let it happen and take it on the chin.
And then lick my wounds later when I’m alone.
I’m used to that, aren’t I? Once more won’t hurt.
Who am I kidding? One more will hurt like holy hell.
“OK,” I mumble reluctantly, and take a deep breath to brace myself for the fresh humiliation to come.
There’s silence for what feels like a bloody hour.
“I wasn’t saying no because I didn’t want you,” he finally says, firmly and with plenty of squirm inducing eye contact.
I blink. “Well, that’s certainly what it - ”
“I promise,” he cuts in seriously. “On my mother’s grave, it was not that, at all.
What it was, was…” He pauses, apparently struggling for the right words.
He gives a wry laugh. “I’ve had all fucking night to think how to say this,” he mutters.
He looks back at me at last. “You weren't yourself, and you didn’t...seem into it,” he finally says.
I gape. “I’m sorry?” I splutter. “I seem to recall basically th...throwing myself at you,” I trail off in a humiliated mumble.
“But it wasn’t real,” he blurts out, seeming frustrated. “It was like some...performance, or something, that you were turning on for my benefit, and you really, honestly didn’t have to d-”
“Alright, morning, guys,” Leo says tiredly, but with a big grin. He’s wearing the same clothes as last night. Walk of shame alert. At least someone had a good time. “All recovered from last night?”
There is a pointed silence as Eli keeps looking at me and I keep fidgeting uncomfortably, and Leo’s smile starts to drop.
“Yes,” I reply quickly, plastering a smile onto my face. “All good. Cup of tea?” Without waiting for a response, I dart towards the kitchen, not looking at either of them.
Childish though it is, I can’t resist lightly slamming the kitchen cupboard doors. I can hear the quiet thrum of their conversation, which I can’t make out and don’t want to. I’m glad that the noise of the kettle boiling blocks it out some more.
How in the hell can he say I didn’t seem into it with a straight face?!
He kissed me first, and I kissed him back. With considerable enthusiasm. I made it clear I was up for it. Jesus H Christ, I was the one who tried to kick things up a notch by undoing his belt. I thought he’d be pleased. I still don’t fully understand why he wasn’t.
I close my eyes. Once again, my best performance isn’t good enough. This is the one thing, the one thing, that I bring to the table, the one thing I’m good at in relationships. Without that...what can I really offer him that he’d want?
Nothing, I realise numbly. Absolutely nothing.
Dean
She hasn’t seen me watching her, and it should stay that way.
I stop peering around the kitchen door and head back to my studio.
Slamming cupboard doors is not like Em, and while it's not triggering one of my episodes, it's making me uncomfortable. And Eli hasn’t been himself all morning. You have to really know him to see it, but because he and I are close, I’ve been alarmed since he arrived and I saw how downcast he was.
I’m puzzled. Leo and Sadie both fired a text to me last night, on our dedicated EmEli WhatsApp group, saying that they seemed to be getting on really well. Like, really well. Apparently there was dancing and lots of cute eye meets, and it was, according to Sadie, ‘adorbs’.
What the hell happened?
Well, whatever it is, it needs fixing, and it needs fixing now.