Mr Garcia

I pretended to be asleep so that I didn’t have to hear the lies.

I feel sad for him.

I know that he wants me. Our chemistry together is undeniable, and I know that on some level he cares.

He just can’t do this, even though he’s trying.

I can feel him fighting with himself. The decent thing for me to do would be to take a step back and give him some space.

But knowing all too well how the fucked-up mind works means that he will probably go back to his gentlemen’s club to try and fuck me out of his system. I also know that if he crosses that line, that’s it for us. We will both be the person we regret letting go. The ones that got away.

I exhale, knowing this is a no-win situation.

Stay and fight, I push him away.

Give him the space that he needs, I lose him, anyway.

Maybe this is too hard, and we were never meant to be. That’s the logical answer.

I go to the door and put my ear against it to listen. I can hear the shower running.

Should I go in there and try and talk to him now?

But what would I say?

Hey, can we try and work this out because you’re the first person that has made me feel not dead inside?

I drop my head. It’s not all about me. It has to be about him, too. I can’t force this. I can’t fix him. He has to do this by himself.

My forehead rests on the back of the door as I think. I should just leave it.

If I don’t know what to say, I probably shouldn’t say anything at all.

I need to think on this further. I push myself off the door and get into the shower. Let’s see what the day brings.

Three school visits and two hospital openings is a long time to watch someone to see if they look your way. I can confirm that Sebastian has not. Not even a glance.

And that’s fine. It’s totally fucking fine. I don’t need him to look my way.

He did, however, make riveting conversation and laugh with every other female in the room.

Screw him.

Sneaking out every morning like he’s embarrassed that we slept together.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Actually, I don’t even need to ask myself that. I’ve worked it out.

I’m the queen of self-sabotage.

Nice men who love me, I care for, but don’t want. Assholes who want to pay me for sex and have me at their beck and call, I crave.

No more.

I’m done with men. Fuck them all, I say.

Not literally. There will be no fucking.

No fucking whatsoever.

I’m becoming a nun. I am way too old for this shit.

The car pulls to a halt outside our hotel, and I climb out with Bart. It must be the day for it because he and Jeremy had a fight at lunch, too.

I wasn’t supposed to hear it, but I couldn’t help it seeing as I was sitting with them. Although, I was pretending to be on the phone. Jeremy is pissed because Bart told him he’s going away for the weekend with his wife. Jeremy completely lost his shit and threw his bread roll into his soup. It even splashed on my shirt.

He got up and stormed off, and we haven’t seen him since.

Where the hell he went, I don’t know.

We waited for a long time in the carpark while Bart tried to call him. He didn’t answer. Now Bart is furious, and I’m scared to speak in fear of saying the wrong thing.

But I am confused. Surely, the fact that Bart even has a wife should be reason enough to be pissed. Why would a weekend away trigger him when he goes home to her every night?

Who knows? Maybe Jeremy has a wife at home, too. Nothing surprises me anymore.

I can’t talk or place judgement. I win the prize for messed up love.

I don’t love Sebastian.

Fuck’s sake.

The whole world has gone to hell on a broomstick.

I take the elevator up to my floor and walk down the large corridor to my room.

We’ve come back to get ready for a function tonight, and it’s the very last thing I feel like doing. I have no idea where Sebastian is, nor do I care.

I open the door to my room and instantly see that the adjoining door between our rooms is open.

Oh, it suits him now.

I narrow my eyes. Don’t even.

Calm, calm. Keep fucking calm.

I’m angry, more than I should be, but I don’t like being treated like crap, and I’m not playing this game of his.

He comes around the doorframe, a glass of scotch in hand, dressed in his black dinner suit. “Hello.”

I roll my lips to hold my snarky tongue. “Hi.”

“Why are you so late getting back?”

I widen my eyes. Why are you such a prick? “We had to wait for someone.”