“What did Andrew do?”
“Nothing, we had our first major fight and almost broke up over it.”
“Do you think Elliot would break up with me over this?”
She shrugs. “I don’t think this is as simple as that, Katrina. Drunk or not, if he was willing to risk everything for you a few days ago, I’m sure his feelings haven’t changed that much. But I’ll talk to Andrew, see if I can find out where Elliot is and what’s going on with him. Maybe just be patient? I’m sure he’ll come around. I’ve never seen a guy look so smitten over a girl before.”
I run my hand through my hair, releasing a loaded breath. “I hope you’re right.”
* * *
A week later, I still haven’t heard from Elliot. He’s returned to the office, but he’s avoiding me. I think it’s time to officially call it: I’ve been ghosted. We’re over.
I’ve been ghosted and I’m so angry I want to set something on fire and throw it through his office window. Because this feels like shit. Most breakups involve harsh words or at the very least, a lame explanation. There was no crying, no yelling, no nothing. It sucks.
Time drags at a snail’s pace, and my insides churn, rolling into one big ball of pent-up anger. I’m angry at Elliot for ignoring me. I’m angry at David for leaving me, and I’m angry at myself for getting caught up in another guy when I’d promised myself I wouldn’t do that again.
I need a new job.
I can’t keep working here when I feel like this. But at the same time, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of disappearing like he wants me to. I want him to know I’m here, know that I’m better than whatever game he’s playing. I want him to know he can’t break me.
Still, I don’t exactly have the courage to walk right up to him in the office and hand him the law journals and microfiche like I’m supposed to—I’ll probably need a bit of time to work up that level of boldness—so I purposefully leave them in his office at lunchtime on Friday.
I’m trying to be as quick as possible; in and out like a ninja. But when I pass Beth’s desk, I’m rooted to the spot, catching sight of a photo pinned to her corkboard. It’s David. She’s in it too, smiling and looking at the camera while he kisses her on the cheek. I’m going to be sick. My head throbs and my stomach twists. The world tilts and I’m not sure if I can keep standing. That photo is everything I ever wanted. David’s love. David’s attention. David’s time. But he chose to give those things to her. He chose to give everything I ever wanted to another woman, and as fate would have it, it happens to be the one woman who thinks I stole her man. And now I have no one. Is that irony? Or is it simple Karma biting me in the arse? I’m not sure, but I desperately want to rip that photo down, tear it into little pieces and stomp it into the floor—maybe even spit on it.
“We took that at my friend’s birthday party last weekend,” Beth says from behind me. I didn’t even hear her walk up.
Taking a calming breath, I plaster a fake smile on my face, before I turn around. “It’s a great picture,” I say, briefly meeting her eyes.
“Thank you,” she says, walking over to it and touching it. “I think we look great together, don’t you?” Is she goading me?
I don’t have the energy for this.
“You make a cute couple,” I reply, trying not to bring vomit up with the words. Then I point in the direction of the library and walk away.
“I’ll tell David you said hi. I’m about to meet him for lunch.”
I turn and offer a small smile. “Tell him he was wrong.”
“About?” She shrugs, not understanding.
“Everything.”
Picking up my step, I desperately need to get out of the office to clear my head. I can’t think in here. The air is too cramped and I just need to see the sky and watch the birds, walk along the harbour until my mind can function again.
Grabbing my bag, I catch the lift downstairs, gratefully alone as I ride it to the ground floor. When I step out, that’s no longer the case. David is waiting on the circular lounge in the foyer. Couldn’t they meet somewhere else? Tears surge in my eyes, so I smile tightly and start directly for the door.
He jumps up. “Katrina, wait a second.” Just the fact he calls me by my full name now hurts.
“I’m late,” I say, speeding towards the door, trying to keep it together. God, why does the sight of him always make me want to cry?
He catches me by the arm, stopping me in my tracks. I stop moving but keep my face turned away from him. I’m barely holding myself together and David knows me well enough to read my emotions. “Is everything OK?”
“What the fuck do you care?” I say, snatching my arm from his grip.
“Just because I need space, doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing my emotions back down inside of me, doing a terrible job as a tear drops, anyway. “You love me but need your space. You love me but you’d rather date Beth. You love me but I’m too good for you, so you have to walk away.” I shake my head as I wipe at my face. “It’s all bullshit. You ended our friendship and left me because that’s what you wanted to do. You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself.” Turning away, I storm out the door, squeezing my eyes shut to keep any more tears at bay.
For the next hour, I walk at top speed through the streets of the city, trying to work away my anger and disappointment. When I think about Elliot or David, I want to cry or scream out my rage. They both deserted me. I wasn’t good enough for either of them. Neither fought. Neither took a real risk in order to have me. They just took my offered heart and decided it was too heavy to hold.
Fuck them.
Fuck them. The only person who seems willing to commit to his feelings for me is Christopher. He hurt me physically, but he never stopped fighting for me. He never took away his love. For a brief moment, I can almost imagine myself giving him another chance. We were good together before drugs got involved, and I do believe he’d never hurt me again. But it’s hard to think about him and not be re-visited with flashbacks of the attack.
But at least he cares enough to keep trying. I have to give him that.
I get back to work late, my mind still in a fog as I walk through reception just as Bianca finishes with a call. “Long lunch?” she says, her expression cold as she taps on her keyboard.
“Something like that.”
“You know, you seem depressed lately. I hope we’re not going to see any new scars because you can’t handle losing.”
Pressing my lips together, I let out a slow breath then approach the reception desk, resting my forearms on the cool surface as I lean towards her. “Didn’t your mother teach you never to assume, Bianca?”
“I don’t have a mother. But thank you for reminding me.”
A jolt of empathy hits me, a sliver of understanding blooms. Maybe that’s why she’s so angry all the time.
“Well, I suppose that was a prime example wasn’t it? I assumed you had a mother to teach you manners, and you assumed I got these scars because I’m mentally unstable.”
She looks at me and tilts her head.
“How did you lose your mother?”
Her catlike eyes narrow. “I didn’t lose her. She left when I was young. My dad raised me.”
“See? Now I have a little understanding of you.”
“You don’t know jack shit.”
“Would you like to know how I got these scars?”
“Why not?”
“My boyfriend picked me up and threw me through a glass sliding door.”
Her mouth drops open and her eyes go wide. “Holy shit. Was he trying to kill you?”
I bounce a shoulder. “He doesn’t know. Drugs were involved, and he didn’t know what he was doing until he came out of it.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. So maybe, the next time you meet someone with unsightly scars, don’t use those scars to torment them. We already feel shitty about them, and unless you know
exactly how they got there, you probably shouldn’t assume.”
“I…I’m sorry,” she says, her expression softening.
I nod then leave for my desk. At least that’s one less pile of bullshit I need to deal with.
Throwing myself into work, I motor through everything in my tray, searching the office for missing books then asking Priya if there’s any more for me to do since I was at a loss.
“Why don’t you just go home?” she says, glancing at the time. “There’s less than an hour and you’ve done more than enough today.”
“Thank you.” Relief fills my chest because it also means I won’t have to risk spotting David in the station crowd heading home. Feeling a tiny bit lighter than I was this morning, I grab my things, taking the door that leads to the copy machines so I get out of here unnoticed.
Just as I reach for the door, it opens and I almost walk smack into Elliot. Shit. My blood fills my ears as my chest stops taking in air. We stop and stare at each other, both clearly frazzled to be face-to-face.
Say something. I dare him with my eyes even though I know he wouldn’t consider making a scene at work. He looks at his feet and clears his throat.
“Excuse me,” he says quietly, acting as though we haven’t fucked each other into exhaustion while promising the world for the chance of another taste.
He steps to the side to let me through, and I click. Something inside my brain snaps, and I just can’t be pleasant anymore. I can’t control this need to blow up the world and take him down with me.
“Go and fist yourself,” I snarl. If I’m going to get dumped for being a Westie, I might as well act like one. “You are a coward. A monumental fucked-up-douchebag daddy’s boy. You think I don’t know why this happened? You think I can’t figure out your daddy didn’t like me so I’m out? Fuck you. Fuck you and your promises and every single thing we ever said or did. You were a waste of my time, and I regret meeting you.”
“Katrina,” he says, holding out a hand. I’m waiting for some sort of reason. Some sort of excuse. But when he looks around and tightens his jaw, I know I’m not getting it. “Keep your voice down.”
My eyes go wide and I get louder. “Keep my voice down? Who the fuck do you think you are? I don’t know what your game is, Elliot Roberts. I don’t know what sick and twisted pleasure you took in tricking me into caring about you. But you don’t get to end this. I do. It’s over. It’s so fucking over!” I yell, preparing to push past him in a dramatic exit before I realise we’ve managed to attract observers.
“You two. My office. Now,” Priya demands, her arms folded tightly across her chest as she waits for us to move and follows behind us.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
The moment we get inside her office, she closes the door and commands us both to sit.
“What the hell was that?” She stands behind her desk with her hands on her hips, looking between the both of us, her face set in aggravation.
Elliot goes to open his mouth, but she holds up her hand to silence him.
“It was a rhetorical question. I know what that was. The whole office knows what that was. What part of a ‘no-dating policy’ don’t you understand? I had you both in here, assuring me that there was nothing going on, but there so obviously is right now.”
“There’s nothing going on between us,” I tell her, coldly. “Not now.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t you see? This is exactly why we say no dating. Couples fight, and they bring those fights to the office. Elliot, I expected more from you.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice sounding strained as he speaks.
Placing her hands on her hips, Priya glares at the both of us as she takes a moment to think, her hand touching her forehead. “I don’t want to fire you. I don’t want to fire either of you. You’re both excellent employees.” She places both of her hands on her desk and leans forwards. “If you can guarantee me this is over, I’ll issue you both with written warnings and we’ll be done. But mark my words, if anyone even thinks you two are back together you’ll both be out, no matter who your family is.” She directs that last part to Elliot.
I stand up. “I guarantee you, Priya, there will never be anything between us. You couldn’t pay me to date him.” I glance at Elliot as he sits stoically and meets my eyes. I don’t even want to cry. I’m too damn mad. “And if you don’t mind, I was on my way home.”
Priya nods as she takes a seat, gesturing to her door with one hand. I get out of there as fast as I can, making a beeline to the train station, desperate to get home.
I am so done with him. I’m done with men.
* * *
The moment I walk in the front door, I see my mother and burst into tears. I stayed strong and held my emotions inside on the way home. But I can’t any longer. I need my mum.
“Mummy,” I cry, falling into her arms.
“What is it, sweetheart? Did you lose your job?”
“No. It’s Elliot. He’s an arsehole and we’re over.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry. He seemed so nice.”
“Well, he isn’t. He doesn’t want me anymore.”
She sits with her arm around me and listens as I sob out my story, telling her how stupid I feel to get my hopes up when Elliot told me he was falling for me. I feel even more stupid for believing the hype when I met his friends too. I thought he was different. I thought he cared. But he’s just like the others, unwilling to fight, too fast to turn away. He’s just as bad as David. What is it about me that’s so forgettable?
“You were so happy when we had coffee. But I have to admit I was worried something happened when you came back that afternoon. I wish you’d told me how his father treated you.”
“What difference would it make? Elliot does what he’s told. And I don’t fit the life his dad wants for him.”
“Maybe I could have Katey talk to him?”
“Oh, no. Please, no. I’m done with him, Mum. After this, I can’t take him back. He made his choice, and it isn’t me.”
Thirty
I spend the next week in mourning; moving through my life like a zombie, performing all of my necessary tasks while my mind focuses on nothing but my troubles.
In a few short months, I’ve managed to drive away my best friend—my heart—because I chose a relationship with a man who dumped me at the first sign of trouble. I want to turn back time, get a different job and erase every nasty thing David and I said to each other. It may not have changed much, but at least we’d still be friends. I miss him the most. But there’s no turning back. We really fucked that one up.
Each time my phone beeps I jump and grab at it, fiercely—naively— hoping for a lifeline. Each time I’m saddened when instead, it’s a text from my mother with information about dinner or her whereabouts, or my brother sending me a joke to try to cheer me up, and of course, there're the texts from Christopher.
That cover band you like is playing the Irish on Wednesday. Thought you might like to know.
At least I can manage to keep one guy interested in me, I think despondently as I look down at his carefully typed words. He never uses emojis.
While I don’t expect a call or text from Elliot, I would like to find one. Just something small to say he’s sorry for fucking with my head and my heart. But I’m not holding out for that.
I’d also like something from David. I feel bad for treating him ruthlessly when I saw him in the foyer at work. I feel even worse for reacting with shock when he told me he loved me. I should have been over-joyed. I should have been willing to take that risk with him. But I was scared. I was scared of it being true, and I was scared of finally being with him, and just like David, I was scared of getting too close and losing our precious connection. Now, everything is ruined with him, and it didn’t work out with Elliot either. I made the wrong choice, and I should probably tell David that. I should be brave and tell him how I feel. Especially since now, I have nothing left to lose. But my pride, and the fear he’ll choose Beth ag
ain stops me from trying. Turns out I’m a coward too.
When I wake on Wednesday morning, I feel empty. And very swollen from another night spent crying and feeling sorry for myself. I go to the freezer and pull out an ice pack, wrapping it in a tea towel before laying back down to press it over my eyes. My mother makes me a cup of sweet milky tea—as she has been every day for the last week, saying it’s great for heartache—and leaves me alone again.
“Why don’t you just quit that job?” she asks when I drag myself to the door to leave. “Get something closer to home with no boy drama.”
“Because I won’t let them chase me away, Mum. Keep fighting, right?”
She nods. And I force myself through my day, each movement like I’m pushing through wet cement.
“Are you busy?” Carmel says as she approaches my desk.
I close the update I’m working on and shake my head. “What’s up.”
She looks around and talks in a whisper. “Andrew spoke to Elliot. It took a while because we couldn’t even say your name without him clamming up. But he admitted that his dad threatened to cut him off entirely if he continued to see you.”
“Because I’m from Western Sydney?”
She pulls her mouth to the side and nods. “Looks that way. He thinks you hitched your star to his wagon and were only after the family money.”
“Ouch.” I can’t deny the burning sensation behind my eyes right now.
Carmel squeezes my arm. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”
“Thanks. It was over anyway,” I say, watching as she turns to go.
The thing that hurts me most is that Elliot didn’t even have the decency to break up with me via a text message. He just left it all in the air, unresolved and hanging. I thought we had enough of a friendship that, at the very least, I deserved an ‘I’m sorry, but it’s over.’ I would have been upset. But I would have understood.
Struggle: Beautiful Series, book one Page 25
