Arrogant Aussie

by Masen, Kat

  You’ve done this a million times—think you’ve seen her.

  I dare not move, I can’t even breathe, I’m frozen to the spot. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, it’s loud and disrupting. The hairs on my arms stand to attention as a militia of chills marches down my spine.

  This is just my imagination.

  The beating becomes louder and louder, it’s intolerable, my breaths are deeper and deeper by the second. The air around me incredibly thick, almost choking.

  “Oliver…”

  This isn’t happening, not now. Gabriella’s eyes are boring into me, speckles of hazel though darker than I remember. They’ve already clawed into my skin, a parasite quick at work ready to demolish everything I’ve worked so hard to build over the last eleven months.

  I’m unable to respond, shocked to see her gaunt figure. Her cheekbones are more prominent, embedded into her pale face. Dark circles surround her eyes. They shadow the normally exuberant orbs which reflect back every time I look into her beautiful face.

  Overall, she appears thinner, her arms are skinny in the sleeveless white blouse she’s wearing. She looks terrible, almost sick.

  Is she sick?

  Fuck, the panic and wild thoughts consume me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I want to talk to you.” Her expression dulls as her gaze shifts to Krystal. “But you’re busy… I see.”

  Krystal stumbles forward, sticking out her hand and introducing herself. “Olly and I were about to grab a nightcap.”

  Gabriella fumbles with her purse, bowing her head and unable to maintain eye contact with me. “Listen, this was a mistake. Goodbye, Krystal, enjoy your nightcap.”

  She repeatedly presses the elevator button as I quietly suggest Krystal go inside my apartment and wait there.

  The anger inside of me swirls like a tornado in waiting, ready to unleash without a thought of the consequence. Seeing her again has resurfaced the memories of the pain and humiliation she’s put me through. It burned so bad through every inch of me, like fire lacing my veins, fast and apathetic to the pain it’s causing. I’m riddled by emotions, the unwanted build-up residing in my stomach waiting to be spat out of my mouth in hurtful words.

  “What the hell are you doing here? In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t wanted to talk to you for the past eleven months, and that hasn’t changed.”

  Push her away.

  Don’t let her crawl in.

  Not now, not ever.

  “I understand. I just wanted to apologize—”

  “You understand?” I raise my voice, a sinister laugh escaping my lips. “It’s a bit too late for apologies. I think it’s best you should leave. Besides, I’ve got someone here, and she’s waiting.”

  It’s the thousand knives stabbing straight into her heart I get some satisfaction from.

  Payback for what she did to me.

  Revenge should feel so good.

  Yet, my desire to watch her crumple by my hurtful actions is suddenly shadowed by remorse.

  Lowering her head, her neck almost disappears as she stares directly at the floor. “I… ah… I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have come here.”

  As the elevator opens, she steps in, and before it closes, her eyes glance up directly staring into mine. There is so much weight in her stare. The once vivacious and overbearingly annoying girl I had known looks like a former shadow of herself, standing beneath a dark cloud, empty and hollow.

  She had always been quick with her wit, the ability to put me in my place when I overstepped the line with careless words. But now, she’s inhibited, as if her voice is no longer hers, her mind is no longer thinking how it used to.

  “Goodbye, Oliver.”

  The doors close, and once again, she disappears out of my life.

  Fuck.

  Inside my apartment, I fling myself onto the sofa with my head between my legs ignoring Krystal’s over-the-top commentary about how fancy my apartment is.

  I need answers.

  No, you fucking don’t.

  I scroll through my phone, then remember I deleted her number. I contemplate calling Chance or Aubrey, but something holds me back.

  I will go to breakfast tomorrow and ask the burning questions.

  Rein in the curiosity.

  Open the vault I desperately buried.

  Because one thing is racing through my mind and is refusing to settle.

  After all the hurt she’s put me through—I still fucking love her.

  Oliver

  Both Chance and Aubrey have rambled on for a good hour about life back home, work, and my least favorite subject—Pixy.

  “The lil’ bugger has been crashing in your room. I’d say he misses ya,” Chance says, cheerily.

  He leans back, resting his arm behind Aubrey. The guy looks happy. Even Aubrey appears more relaxed than usual. Her hair looks like it’s been cut, and unlike the time I spent with her in the house, she appears to be wearing makeup which brightens up her normally tired face.

  “Say hello for me,” I snicker behind my glass of orange juice.

  Beside me, CJ is quietly coloring in a picture the restaurant has given him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this quiet. He’s also grown so much since I last saw him—taller, lost the baby fat around his face, and looking more and more like Chance.

  I miss him, and I miss them.

  Aubrey continues to carry the conversation, telling us everything she wants to squeeze in over the next few days. They’re flying up to the Gold Coast after Sydney, then a quick trip to the Whitsundays before heading back home.

  In all this babbling, not once does she mention Gabriella. My frustration turns to impatience and finally gets the better of me.

  “This is all great, but when are the two of you going to fess up about Gabriella being on this trip?”

  Aubrey coughs, pulling a napkin to her mouth as Chance drinks his glass of orange juice. A side glance passes between them, each one reluctant to speak up. Very unlike them, indeed.

  “Look, it wasn’t our idea,” Aubrey drags, careful with her words. “There’s a lot going on, and other matters which needed um… attention. But she really wanted to apologize to you. There’s just… you know, never mind.”

  “But what if I don’t want that? I haven’t once mentioned her name to you during our chats,” I remind Aubrey, airing my frustration.

  Aubrey puts her napkin down. “Just give her a chance to explain, okay? You owe her that.”

  “I owe her nothing, Aubrey,” I respond, agitated. “You’re aware how it all ended.”

  “Hey, don’t take it out on, Aubrey,” Chance fires back. “Stop being a dickhead. The woman still fucking loves you. Give her the damn courtesy of at least explaining what really happened.”

  The three of us sit in silence with the patrons around us conversing amongst themselves while we quietly eat our food. Guilt creeps in. Chance is right. Bastard. I shouldn’t have taken it out on Aubrey. This isn’t her problem.

  This is all my fucked-up emotions getting the better of me

  “Sorry, Aubs.” I let out a sigh, the heaviness filling my chest. I shouldn’t ask the question. In fact, I should leave well enough alone. But it burns inside of me, racing toward the tip of my tongue, begging to be free. “So, what did happen?”

  Aubrey places down her fork, staring at me intently. “It’s not my story to tell. But for all intents and purposes, she no longer speaks to her family. That’s all you need to know.”

  It might have been all that Aubrey thinks I need to know.

  And maybe it is.

  But stupid me needs more. To get more, I need to go straight to the source.

  And that, itself, will be the most dangerous part.

  After a short discussion, I will be meeting Chance and Aubrey later tonight at a mutual friend’s place for a quick drink.

  After breakfast, I head back ho
me to quickly change into my gear for a training session at the field.

  Coach worked us hard. After a ten-minute drill working on our touch, awareness, communication, and passing, my heart rate picked up ready for the next phase of the session.

  Our defenders were on point, keeping the right distance between one another, showing the attackers one way to make the pass predictable.

  Every muscle in my body was pushed to its limits. There were sweat beads dripping from my forehead as we played a small-sided game. We switched plays to develop our decision-making skills and awareness. Coach is quick to commend us on our counter speed but warns us to rein in our cocky attitudes because our next game is going to be tough.

  Back home, freshly showered and changed into a pair of jeans and a white tee, I stare at my phone beside me. My fingers twitching. I’m anxious to type her name into social media to see what I can find. Finally, I succumb, and the search pulls up several names, none of which are her. Switching tactics, I scroll through Chance and Aubrey’s with the same result.

  Fuck. I throw my phone on the cushion, frustrated.

  Chance had informed me they were staying at the Four Seasons.

  With my keys, phone, and wallet in hand, I quickly grab my baseball cap and sunnies and leave my apartment. It’s only a short walk, and with my hurried pace darting in and out of the crowds, I make it there ten minutes later.

  I have no game plan, simply running on pure adrenalin. Inside the hotel, I make my way to the mezzanine level, ordering a drink and sitting at a table with a full view of the lobby. Two hours go by and nothing. Gabriella could be anywhere. The time on my phone displays seven o’clock.

  Letting out an irritated groan, the mane of curls catches my eye first. She’s in the lobby wearing a crimson dress. I’ve never seen this color on her. It’s an unusual choice kick-starting my heart and reminding me of her understated beauty.

  She looks nothing like last night. On closer inspection, she’s made a hell of a lot of effort with the way she dressed including her makeup and hair. The kind of effort you make for a date.

  I shut my eyes for a brief moment, trying to control my ragged breathing by the jealousy consuming me.

  They open wide again. This time, I pay closer attention to her mannerisms. She appears nervous. Repeatedly, she adjusts the hem of her dress pulling it down to her knees. Pulling out her phone, she checks it, only to place it back in her purse and do the same a minute later.

  Her eyes search her surroundings until a man stops in front of her. I lift my cap to get a better view of the situation unfolding in front of me. The man’s a lot older, perhaps in his forties, the salt and pepper hair a dead giveaway. He’s dressed in an ivory sweater and dress pants, nothing spectacular. They appear to be talking—him rather friendly, and her smile has turned relaxed.

  He motions for the door, and with a nod, they begin walking toward the exit. I scramble for the stairs, desperate to catch up with them, but an elderly woman slows me down until I’m outside and they are nowhere to be seen.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  She’s dating an older man. My mind can’t comprehend the image.

  Her, him—a fucking date.

  I have ten minutes until I promised to meet Chance and Aubrey in this very lobby. I’m ashamed I even came here, angry at myself for allowing my emotions to control me once again.

  But most of all, the jealousy is eating away at me like a parasite.

  Gabriella Carmichael is a force to be reckoned with.

  And once again, I’m standing in the middle of her path of destruction.

  Gabriella

  Jet lag is the bane of my existence.

  It sucked me in like a colossal leech of energy. If I stop moving for a second, I will fall asleep in the middle of the day. Instead, I’ve jumped on a tour bus and taken in the beautiful sights of Sydney and visited Bondi Beach, all in an effort to fall asleep at a decent hour in sync with this time zone.

  Wrong.

  I power napped. Ten minutes to be exact, but the timing was poor. Power napping at seven in the evening means I am wide awake at ten with nowhere to go.

  We’re staying at the Four Seasons—one of the best five-star luxury hotels in Sydney according to Chance. It’s situated among the city’s vibrant shopping and business districts and also next to the popular historic Rocks District and harbourside Circular Quay.

  The hotel is luxurious, and a stark reminder of the lifestyle I was raised in though no longer experience. Although the hotel is well over my budget, Chance knew someone who knew someone else and managed to get us an excellent and affordable rate.

  My suite has dramatic views of Sydney Harbour, a beautiful place to glance out from the chair beside the window. With my legs curled up beneath my chin, my overly wired brain has begun to replay the last few months up until last night.

  Idle hands make for the Devil’s playground.

  The moment I landed back in California, I took Aubrey up on her offer and accepted the administration role at her law firm. It paid decently, but to top up my funds considering I was starting with absolutely nothing, I took on a night job at a local bar serving patrons.

  My mother would die on the spot knowing her daughter was waitressing.

  On the weekends, I volunteer at one of the homeless women’s shelters downtown. Whatever I did during the week would balance my yearn to give back. I am not stupid, the silver spoon I once owned had to have taught me something about life. Truth be told, giving myself to those in need made me happy. I didn’t have money to throw around or donate, but my time was more valuable than anything.

  Life has been one lesson after another. I constantly find myself learning new things. Things which come so easily to people around me, yet in so many ways, my wealthy upbringing sheltered me from reality.

  The change brought on waves of emotions. It’s mentally draining, but it is my life now. Every decision I make comes straight from my head and heart.

  And true to form, my family has shunned me.

  But I haven’t once regretted my decision to leave.

  Yet, the shock of the revelation of my true paternity began to consume me. I am already emotionally unstable, trying my best to find my feet as well as gain confidence in what feels like a whole new world.

  Several times I’ve reached out to my mother—spur-of-the-moment desperation to learn more about my biological father.

  Time after time, I hear nothing in return.

  Then one day, she responds with a letter.

  Dear Gabriella,

  I thought it was best to write you this letter as contact with you is forbidden in our family.

  I am saddened by your decision to leave, the aftermath a punishment for my indiscretion twenty-six years ago.

  However, I understand your desire to trace your heritage and believe I owe you at least that.

  Miles Kelly was his name. An Australian swimming champion I met at your grandmother’s Annual Charity Ball.

  While it may be difficult for you to understand, I want you to know that I loved him. Miles was more than a fleeting affair. He was a man willing to give me everything. Miles loved me, and in the short time we were together, my world completely changed.

  If things were different, maybe your life would have been different. But as you know, the Carmichael monarchy doesn’t allow for such a scandal. Edward found out, Mile’s visa was canceled, and I never saw him again.

  I found out months later I was pregnant with you. In ways, finding out at fourteen weeks was a blessing, or Edward would have forced me to terminate. He refused for anyone to learn of my indiscretion and demanded his name be on your birth certificate.

  Miles was originally from Australia, and from memory, his parents owned a bakery in the Blue Mountains called The Mile Stop. Perhaps, if you trace the whereabouts of that place, it may lead you to him.

  I’m sorry I can’t help you any more than this. My talking to you may ca
use you more damage than good.

  Take care of yourself.

  Your Mother.

  I wipe the tears away with every word I read. Emotional pain has a biological purpose—it is the foundation of becoming a warrior. It educates us to re-evaluate the unhealthy relationships surrounding us. It makes you question your beliefs, wreaks havoc on your soul, but most importantly, it sings to your heart. A song of truth, a melody only you can play.

  At times, I find myself strong enough to pursue my father, Miles. But like a strong current building from an impending storm, I am easily swept away into self-pity mode, imagining how different my life could have been if my mother followed her true love.

  During these self-destructive moments, my childhood replays like an old-time movie. My father, as I know him, has always treated me as an outsider. I was never good enough to be his daughter and never enough for our family. I was destined to be a disgrace to the family because I did not carry the Carmichael blood.

  But the universe has a way of guiding us when darkness blinds our vision.

  Chance had a business opportunity requiring a visit to Australia. I knew Oliver had returned to Sydney after hearing Chance mention it to Aubrey one day.

  Aubrey was excited to visit Chance’s hometown for the first time, and to my surprise, they asked me to come along. At first, I politely declined. But it wasn’t long after, and only last week, the man who is supposedly my father, responded to the message I’d sent to him on social media.

  I was surprised, shocked, half expecting him to tell me he isn’t interested in any communication. I researched and read many stories of adoptive kids tracing their biological parents. My situation was unique, but nevertheless had the same sentiments. The good part, Miles wanted contact, a chance to explain what happened twenty-six years ago and to finally meet me.

  And hello universe—he lives in Sydney.

  It made sense to travel with Aubrey and Chance. A fourteen-hour flight warranted traveling companions. What didn’t make sense was to throw Oliver back into the equation.