Feeling particularly morose, I logged off with TheBigSix and Yellowshoes, then climbed into bed with my mobile phone. I wanted to call Neil and fully explain myself, but I had no idea how I’d be received. Would he even bother to answer?
Taking the plunge, I hit his number and pressed call. It rang out before going to voicemail. Inhaling a deep breath for courage, I decided to leave him a message.
21.
Neil
I felt like someone hit me over the head with a cricket bat. After a hellish night, I’d slept only a handful of hours. I hadn’t even had that much to drink, but the after effects of emotional turmoil were wreaking havoc with my cranium.
Callum and Leanne had been far too understanding and not nearly angry enough about what I’d done. I struggled with whether I deserved their forgiveness. We’d gone back to their flat after the club and talked for hours, hashing things out. I hated that they felt guilty for the position I’d been put in because I was the one who’d abused the power I’d been given. They had nothing to feel guilty for.
I was still considering handing in my resignation. They were too fond of me to see my deception clearly. And perhaps they just didn’t want to train in a new assistant. I was like a pair of old boots; reliable, comfortable, familiar despite my faults.
And then there was Afric. She’d told Leanne everything without asking my permission. It was a huge violation of trust, and I was fuming mad about it. Don’t get me wrong; I still adored her and there was no changing that. I knew she’d only talked to Leanne because she cared about me, but it was still shitty of her not to give me any prior warning.
Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I saw I had a missed call and a new voicemail. Both were from Afric. The voicemail had been left last night. I lifted the phone to my ear and hit play.
Hi, Neil. It’s Afric. Well, obviously, you know it’s me. I guess you’re probably asleep right now. Or not answering your phone because you hate me, which is understandable. I’m a drunken arsehole who doesn’t deserve your friendship. I’m sorry for what I did, but in a way, I’m also not sorry because it needed to be done. This thing with Annabelle was getting way out of hand, and it was never going to end anywhere good, you know? You’re probably wondering why I ran off so suddenly, or, well, Leanne might’ve already told you, but she supported my idea vis-á-vis …erm, that thing we discussed in my apartment before we went out last night. Just know that it’s all been taken care of. I thought I could do this one thing for you, and then you wouldn’t have to grapple with the moral implications. I am obviously far less moral than you since I spilled to Leanne without your permission, and I also have no qualms about the other thing, not when I know what Annabelle planned to do with those screenshots. Honestly, you should be thanking me because that bitch is mad as a box of frogs. Oh, shite. I’m fucking this up, aren’t I? I always ramble when I’m nervous. Anyway, I would love it if you could forgive me, but I also totally get it if you’re not there yet. Be aware I’m prepared to grovel on my hands and knees. That’s literally how much I care about you because Afric O’Connor doesn’t grovel for just anybody. I miss you already … I want to snuggle with you on that pristine sofa in your neat little living room and watch cosy eighties romcoms. I might also remind you that we made a pact never to fight again, so technically, you can’t be fighting with me since it goes against the pact. Then again, pacts can always be broken, can’t they? The way you looked at me in the club probably confirms that. There was a chimney on top of your head, and it literally exploded. I was covered in soot. Okay, now I really am talking shite. I should get some sleep. Again, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to stop being my best friend, but I understand if you never want to look at my stupid face again. It’s up to you, and I’m here ready and willing to be yelled at and finger-pointed at until you feel better.
The message ended, and I put my phone down, leaning back against the headboard. She was adorable and frustrating and ridiculous, and a part of me just wanted to forgive her right now because I wanted to snuggle on my couch and watch romcoms, too, but she’d also broken my trust. I was a wounded deer, and I wasn’t ready to let the person who’d shot me come and mend my wounds just yet, no matter how nice it would feel.