by Jean Haus
Looking back, I don’t think Amanda and I were ever really friends. Unfortunately, embarrassingly, I was her victim just like the people we—wow, I hate to admit this—bullied. She was Amanda, ruler of our high school, and I was her sidekick. Amanda equaled awesomeness. I was awesome by association. Even though she put me down regularly, bossed me around, and came on to any guy I had even the slightest interest in, that slice of awesomeness became my identity with my self-esteemed attached to it for almost three years. I’m not blaming Amanda for who I was. Immature and lonely I made those choices. As twisted as it was, I put up with her belittling me—and came to accept her view of me—to keep my sidekick position and remained blinded to who I’d become with the association.
Until you.
Ever since you woke me up my life has changed. I’ve changed. I’ve become the real me. And I have you to thank. But hearing she works with you brought back all those memories and insecurities. And maybe I’m not over that time in my life as much as I thought. Maybe I need more time to build my confidence.
Please be patient with me.
I do trust you.
And I do believe in your love.
I’m wearing my heart on my wrist.
Forever yours,
Paige
Shit. I feel like an ass.
I roll over and flop on my back. Running a hand down my face, I think girls are majorly fucked up. Sure guys can be assholes, but we don’t play head games with people. Well, at least I don’t.
I sit up and stare at the pictures of Paige on my dresser. Paige, lovelier than the orange streaked sky from a setting sun behind her, smiling and kicking water at me from the surf. Paige scooting down and hiding behind Emily in front of the castle at Disneyland. Paige giving me the finger in her bathing suit by the pool. Modest about her hot bod she’d been trying to hide from the camera all day. In the passenger seat of my car, Paige peeking at me from between the strands of her long hair.
I pick the last picture up. Her caramel colored eyes look weary. Her full lips are caught in a slight huff between her sun-streaked locks. Man, she’s beautiful. Though never shy on stage, with me in everyday life Paige doesn’t exactly exude confidence. I’ve been aware of this to a certain degree. Just looking at the picture makes it obvious. And I always found it fascinating how someone so beautiful, inside and out, doesn’t see it. Now thinking about her living in someone’s malicious shadow for so long, I’m starting to comprehend her wariness.
And yeah, I kind of get her flip out now.
And yeah, my heart is constricting for her.
I flop down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. After collecting my thoughts, I grab my laptop and lay it across my stomach. My fingers fly over the keyboard.
Paige,
You’ve torn down my conviction and made me see the light. How? By the utter pain and honesty your words conveyed. My heart bled reading your words and I know it wasn’t easy for you to write them. I’m sorry it came to you spilling your guts and smearing them across miles of internet for me to understand. Perhaps not completely, but I get your reaction now. I can see why Amanda working with me is upsetting for you.
Old habits die hard.
However, don’t let your past or Amanda define you. You are one awesome person. I know you’re smart, talented, beautiful, and sweet—that bullying stuff is hard to believe—but don’t even let me define you.
You define you.
And you’ve been doing that. You’re strong enough to get over your past. Trust in me. Trust in us.
I believe in you.
Love always,
Zach
Closing my laptop, I let out a sigh. I so fucking wish I could call her. But waking her up on location in the middle of the night isn’t an option. She has commitments more important than my anxiety, which is clawing at my insides.
I reach for the book I started yesterday on my shelf, but my high tops peeking out of the closet catch my eye. Maybe kicking Drake’s ass in a round of hoops will relieve some stress. I sit up and reach for the shoes. Yeah, knocking his hat then stomping on the stupid thing will do me some good.
~7~
Paige
I open the door to my room with a sense of glee and twirl inside like a six-year-old. Twelve days. I’ve only got twelve days left. Though I’m learning a crap load about acting and getting paid for it too, I still miss Zach every freakin’ day. I also miss my family. But Zach’s the one that leaves my heart empty. Yet in a little less than two weeks, we’ll be together. It feels like I haven’t held him in forever.
The whole Amanda thing still lies between us. I’m working on getting over it. I’m not happy she works with him. After those two deep emails, we’re pretty much back to the same old Zach and Paige. Yet the tension she brought to our relationship hasn’t totally dissipated. He promised to tell me if anything changed. Like she said more than hi and I left it at that. I do trust him. I do. I do. I do. And I want the tension gone, gone, gone.
Other than my time on the set, I’ve been going out a bit more, despite the fact we’ve worked through most of the weekends. We’re behind on schedule, which I guess is normal. Bret has continued offering his support and friendship. He always sits next to me when we go out for dinner and keeps bringing me treats and even flowers to cheer me up. Although he doesn’t have a girlfriend, he seems to get my gloominess over missing Zach.
Even if a bit egotistical, Bret’s a pretty nice guy.
I’ve also visited Zoe a few times, but I’ve kept it to a polite minimum. I can only take her endless gossip for so long. I’ve learned to accept people at face value after being the primary source of malicious gossip—what was wrong with me? I’m aware people’s actions tell who they are. Not what others say about them.
As always the first thing I do when I get home is go to my laptop. And as always the visual of Zach’s message has me smiling. One click and I get a little bit of Zach. Not as much as I want, just enough to sustain me throughout the day. Sometimes, especially when I can’t call him for days, his emails remind of the time when I fell in love with him through his words while he was in a coma.
Hey Paige,
Well, I got my first major outline back from my plotting class this morning.
(drum roll)
Ninety seven percent. Not too bad. I’m still pissed at myself about the missing three percent. Shit. Maybe we get along so well because we’re both perfectionists. Maybe that’s why we’re perfect together.
It’s good to hear you’re more relaxed on the set. I knew your talent and determination would settle those nerves eventually. And I’m not surprised both the director and his assistant have pulled you aside and complimented on your work. Yes, you are that good.
I have an Amanda update.
(Suddenly I’m a bundle of nerves.)
Don’t worry. It’s nothing major.
Drake and I met for dinner at La Cantina during my evening break yesterday. He brought Amanda with him.
(Ugh. Drake are you trying to ruin my life?)
You know Drake. New girl at work. He’s making his move. Or should I say moves? Though pissed he brought her, I couldn’t say much. I’m not sharing your past with Drake without your consent. So he’s clueless, which is normal.
She mostly laughed at Drake’s lame jokes and asked me some questions about being a trainer. She wants to do what I do eventually and maybe in time open her own gym. That’s probably the reason she took the job. So it appears your fears were for naught because it looks like she’s hooking up with Drake. If you could call him a hook up. The guy has serious commitment issues. But she actually seems to think he’s funny. I’m guessing she’s not the smartest bulb in the box.
On to better things.
Only twelve more friggin days until I hold you in my arms.
Squee!
Do I sound like Emily?
Waiting patiently,
Z
I stare at the screen. What the hell? He had dinner with Amanda? My boy
friend sat at a table with, ate, and talked with that bitch? Hi is one thing. Dinner a whole different level.
I’m breathing hard. My hands clench the bottom of my seat. Unrealistic fear slithers down my spine.
I go click on the flat screen on the wall and sit on the edge of the couch. As usual, the TV is on some Finnish music channel. My Finnish is non-existent, but music doesn’t need language. Guitars blare as my knee shakes. Not to the heavy rhythm of the drums, rather to the anxiety flowing inside of me.
Okay, he had no idea. I shouldn’t be upset with him. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. And allowing Amanda to create friction between Zach and me isn’t an option. I refuse to be sucked into my past.
After getting my knee to settle, I slowly move toward the desk and computer.
Zach,
Awesome job on the outline. You’re worried about three percent? The outline was probably so perfect your professor searched for something to nitpick. Really, I’m sure it was one hundred percent.
Okay, I’m not going to lie. Your dinner with Amanda has me a bit upset. You, Amanda, and even Drake at a table together freaks me out. But I understand you were blindsided. However, I’m not sure I want Drake knowing about my past. It’s just so embarrassing I acted like that. Maybe you could just let him know you don’t really care for her or something? That you don’t want to be around her.
Like as soon as possible.
And yes, one huge squee on the twelve days!
My squeal beat an Emily squeal hands down.
Love ya,
Paige
Though I feel much more anxiety than my email reveals, I hit send. I’m trying very, very hard not to let the past define me.
~8~
Zach
Worked sucked today. The day was never ending, yet there was one major reason for the suckage. And I’m somewhat afraid of disclosing today to Paige. Especially after her forthright email about dinner the other day. But I will.
“Dude, why are you home so late?” Drake asks from his ever-present spot in front of the TV as I walk inside the apartment. “You missed a major online shoot out.”
Drake works days. I mostly work afternoons and evenings. He spends his nights gaming or partying. I try to spend the nights I’m home doing homework, reading, or writing. If Paige were here, I’d be spending time with her. “Did the hat help?” I ask, referring to the green plastic on his head.
“Definitely. Luck O’ the Irish, you know?” He nods over his shoulder. “That came for you today.”
I move toward the box on the counter. Paige’s handwriting is scrawled across the top. After searching amid the junk drawer—how we’ve accumulated so much junk in less than two months is beyond me—for scissors, I cut the string around the box. Inside above the tissue paper lies a note.
Wanted to make our plans for a winter ski trip to Mammoth Mountain official. Hope you like. Made in Finland it’s supposed to be the best.
Love,
P
Under the tissue, I find a dark plain cap with the tag Finnsvala across the front. With the smooth fabric—something Paige touched—in my hand, the gift brings a longing for her deep inside of me. Then guilt at the sight of my hand holding something hers did. Though I shouldn’t feel that way, I do.
Something thuds on the carpet. I’m guessing a controller.
“She sent you a hat?” Drake says, suddenly behind me. “Tight. It’s kind of plain though.”
“It’s for skiing not for parading around the apartment.”
“Now parades, they have some cool hats in them.”
Resisting an eye roll, I grab the hat, the box, and the note then head to my room.
“You gonna play tonight?” Drake shouts from the living room.
“No. I’ve got some stuff to do.”
“More love letters?” he yells then adds with a laugh, “You are so whipped.”
Shutting my door, I cringe. If only it were a simple love letter. I’m afraid today’s email is not going to go well. At least that’s what my gut is communicating.
I grab my phone, lie on the bed, and hit random on the music. I need to collect my thoughts before I email Paige. Somebody That I Used To Know plays in my ears. Shit. Like I need to hear this right now. I rip my earbuds out then toss my phone on the dresser. The damn song feels like an omen.
Yet I have to believe Paige trusts me.
I reluctantly reach for my computer.
After a crap load of sighing and temple rubbing, I begin to type.
Hey Paige,
I miss you so damn much, but I hope everything’s still going excellent for you. I’m expecting to be wowed—as usual—by your performance on the big screen.
Today was one odd day. Although I was booked solid, they wanted me to do my two-week performance review. And I’m not sure how it happened, but Amanda was my trainee. Maybe wanting to be a trainer someday, she volunteered?
I’m aware this is probably upsetting. However, other than a bit of chitchat in the beginning and end, she acted like the model trainee. She asked questions and even had me show her some of the reps. Bryce, one of the managers, was there the whole time. I was actually more worried about him and his little clipboard more than anything else. Amanda’s performance really helped. I hate to say this but she seemed nice, even asked about Drake. From what you shared about her, I know that seems impossible. Maybe she’s changed? Anyway, I got a perfect score on the review. More important, I’m hoping this doesn’t upset you too much. It really was just a work thing.
By the way, your hat came today. It was a perfect gift.
Now I can’t wait for winter.
Missing you,
Z
What I’ve left unsaid—saying it just seemed too cruel—is going to be the dilemma. And Paige isn’t dumb. She’s going to know my hands were all over Amanda. It goes with the territory. I’m just hoping she doesn’t let the past interfere with the future.
With us.
~9~
Paige
Oh hell no.
Upsetting?
You think?
Wanting to throw my laptop across the room, I stand up and get away from the desk. I end up pacing the short length of the sitting room. My fists clench at my sides.
He thinks she’s nice? Thinks she has changed? Thinks she’s after Drake? What a moron. Men are so clueless. She’s after you idiot. What does he think? She stole guys—okay they were never really mine—from me by being a bitch? This is major. She just made her first move.
On my oblivious boyfriend.
I’m so livid. I can feel my nails about to break the skin of my palms. Unclenching my fists, I lean on the wide windowsill and force myself to breathe. I’m about to burst into tears. Thousands of miles away from Zach, I feel helpless. The rooftops below me are a blur.
I trust him. I trust him. I trust him.
But what if?
She has done it before. She always won when it came to guys. She always won when it came to anything. Period.
I sigh and wipe wet frustration from my face.
Even though I trust him, the thought of her near him, the thought of his hands on her has me freakin’ furious. The image of them together with his palm on her stomach—his fingers feeling the tightening of her muscles—as she crunches underneath his touch has me wanting to scrape my frontal lobe. Gross. To both.
The sound of a knock on my door pulls me from the vicious circle of my thoughts.
I just stand there. A louder knock sounds and I force myself across the soft beige carpet. Passing the mirror, I check for sings of turmoil. The tears and smears of makeup—I’m still a little shocked at how much they pile on me each day—are gone after another wipe. And a calm, cordial expression helps distract from my red and slightly puffy eyes.
I’m not surprised to see Bret waiting in the hallway. We really have become friends the last few weeks. Even riding together every day to and from the set.
“Hey,” he says. “We’re a
ll going to this new restaurant…” He studies my face as he steps into my room. “Something wrong? You okay?”
I close the door. “Just—just some issues with my boyfriend.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” I shake my head roughly. “No. I don’t. Reliving it and all that.”
He clears his throat and gives me a gentle look from those green eyes. “So you probably don’t want to go out.”
I’m about to say I don’t, I’m supposed to call Zach later, but the thought of talking to him has my stomach rolling. I’m upset. Very upset. I need some time, how much I don’t know, before talking to him. Because it would be very, very ugly at the moment. She seemed somewhat nice…After everything I told him, how can he think that? Does he even listen to me? Why couldn’t he just tell his manager something to get out of the review? He had to know instantly that I would be upset. Usually he’s so in tune to my feelings. Usually he goes out of his way for me. So why not this time?
I give Bret a weak smile. “I’ll go. I can meet you in the lobby in about fifteen?”
He frowns. “Too many of my fans in the lobby. I’ll wait for you here if that’s okay.”
“Um, sure,” I say, brushing past him into the room and wondering if he really has that many fans downstairs. I at least need to send Zach an email. Not calling without a warning will probably freak him out. I know it would me. “I just need to send an email and wash—freshen up.”
He brushes his hair back from his forehead. “Take your time. We’re not supposed to be there until nine.”
Very conscious of Bret sitting behind me on the couch, I type out a quick message while practically gnawing off my bottom lip.
Zach,
I’m a little upset (More like whole freakin’ lot) that you trained with her, but I really don’t have time to get into my feelings right now. I’m going to dinner tonight with a bunch of other actors and some of the crew so I won’t be able to call. Sorry. I’ll write tomorrow.
