by Alex Rosa
I shake my head. This is ridiculous. Is he here to help, or is he scolding me?
His blasé attitude teeters on patronizing. Does he care about my heart or my grades? I can’t tell.
“What are you talking about? It was never about that. Gio is a friend, that’s it. What it comes down to is that, you’re right, I lied.” I pause, gritting my teeth, because saying that out loud for the first time stings every corner of my being, but I try to recover by continuing with the heartfelt truth. “I know I was an idiot. Modeling is my choice and can be a topic for another time.” I sigh, placing the cup on the counter, crossing my arms over my chest as I huff, “I hate that Blake called you and not me.”
He shrugs me off, and the tenseness around his eyes tells me he wants to ask me more about school and modeling, but he holds back, and miraculously he keeps on an even keel as he says, “I’m here for you, but you gotta make this right. Whatever that means. Either fix it or end it. You two can’t be in limbo like this. Both of you have pride, but that’s not what it’s about anymore. Be honest.”
I’m trying . . . now.
We migrate to the living room. Josh resumes his seat next to Vanessa, who’s smiling the same dopey smile as him when they’re near each other, and I want to hate it.
“You know, Skye,” Vanessa says, adding herself to the conversation, “You and Blake are so intense and firecracker-y. This was bound to blow up with everything you were holding back, but he’s not just going to drop everything. Not after what you two went through to be together. I know it’s been a few days, but he’ll come around.”
I ignore the quiet, disagreeable chuff from Josh. My anxious frustration is still on the rise. “It would be easier to solve if he would answer my phone calls.”
They both shake their heads, admonishing me, and it’s my brother whose words come out as exasperated as I feel. “It’s not that easy. Give it time, but uh, don’t give it too much time, either. You want the length of time to be just right.”
Brother of the year, everyone.
My eyebrows shoot up as I rise from the couch, my nerves coiling at the base of my spine. “Josh, what are you? Goldilocks and the three bears? Time, but not too much? I get it. I’ll be patient, but I need Blake. I need him to talk to me.”
The jingling of keys at the front door sounds through the now-silent living room.
Vanessa breathes out, “How did you do that?”
“Do what?” I ask, my eyes pinned on the door as I hold my breath.
“It’s like you summoned him.”
I roll my eyes, even though I might be turning blue. “Yeah, we do that sometimes.”
What sucks is, I wish I could say that with confidence, because isn’t it sort of true? We share that same thread of life where we wish for the other to appear, and somehow magically there they are; we even finish each others arguments . . . er, sentences.
Dammit, I want to smile, but the moment Blake walks through the door, his eyes are like a crashing wave against mine, nearly knocking me off balance.
I realize I’m not so ready to have the conversation I so badly want to have.
There’s a moment where no one seems to know how to react, but the sigh that echoes from Blake as he steps inside has me terrified and on the verge of tears. This whole thing sucks, and I don’t know how to gauge anything. I wish I knew what was at stake.
Not knowing what else to do, and feeling that our drama is too out in the open, combined with the fact I can’t stand seeing Vanessa and my brother curled around each other as they give me relationship advice any longer, I rise from the love seat and head back to the kitchen.
Blake seems to find this maneuver appropriate in the heavy silence as he beelines for me.
It isn’t until I turn around that he gives me a sad but slight lift to the corner of his perfect mouth before placing an envelope on the granite counter between us.
“How are you?” he asks, ignoring the envelope he just unveiled.
“Did you just ask me how I’m doing?” I repeat, confused by the question, unsure if I heard him right.
He clears his throat, his eyes jumping to the envelope briefly before skimming over all of my exposed skin.
“You go for a run?”
I nod, my brows furrowing as I watch him. What game are we playing? Am I allowed to go all-in and tell him I’m sorry? Or is he just here for idle chitchat?
Frantic with the need to fix this, I reply, “Blake, I’m sor—”
“No. No more apologies. I need to see action now.”
His words emotionally eviscerate me. He cuts right to the chase, but he’s the one who started the chatter. It’s unfair.
His hand falls heavily onto the envelope, index finger out, pointing at it. I find it ludicrous that I, too, have my own envelopes sitting upstairs needing his attention . . . or our attention.
“You decide . . .” is the next thing out of his mouth, slicing through my thoughts.
His words wash over me, and I think I realize what he’s going to do, and I already know this isn’t the way I want this to go. That much I know. I’m more annoyed that he thinks it comes down to a choice. It was never about choosing. That’s when my sadness twists into anger as I wait for him to finish what he needs to say, my eyes never leaving the envelope.
“This is a plane ticket to Wisconsin. For you. It’s for Friday.” He pauses, licking his lips, his eyes screaming at me, but I don’t know what they mean. “Things have been on edge lately, but I need you to choose, either come with me to Wisconsin, or . . . or you can go to Milan with Gio. It’s entirely up to you.”
My brows scrunch together, and my heart is ready to spring free from my rib cage. Sure enough, my brain-to-mouth filter has short-circuited among the overload. “Are you telling me to choose between you and modeling, or you and Gio? Which is it?”
The right side of his mouth crooks upward in a cruel manner, and for once, that singular dimple that’s revealed is devastating.
“You’re either there to board the plane, or you’re not. I’ll understand either way.”
This time my insides contort. Understand either way? What does that mean?
I’ve become mute, rooted to the spot, and my face, which has never been known to save me my dignity, must look sad: I can see it in the way Blake’s bottomless jade eyes droop as they watch me.
I’m so thrown by the interaction that I silently watch him turn around. I’m petrified. When he strides back to the front door I open my mouth to stop him, but no sound comes out. When the front door slams shut, I fall to the floor, bringing my knees to my chest.
Anger unexpectedly crashes into my guilt like an atom bomb, erupting inside me, and then I’m fuming.
I’m not sure of anything at this point.
It was never about choosing, but then again, maybe it was.
That’s when I feel lost.
Chapter 19
Blake
I’m sick of Kyle’s fucking apartment. The guy needs a girlfriend, or he needs to hire a maid. I don’t know which would force him to get in line and clean up his mess, but his couch is starting to gross me out the more I spend time on it. Even if he was kind enough to let me crash on it for an undetermined amount of time. For now, since walking away from the gallery Friday, I’d say three days is enough.
I sigh, exiting the apartment onto the busy street, needing coffee. I fight the urge to brazenly stalk my girlfriend, who I’m not talking to but desperately miss.
I shake my head. No, I won’t think of her right now, having spent nearly three restless nights on Kyle’s disgusting couch thinking about her. Whether I’m thinking about her lying and keeping things from me or how I crave her skin, I’m a mess. A fucking natural disaster. A landslide of I don’t know’s and I need you now’s.
However, I will ride this out. Actions speak louder than words,
and I took desperate measures, but it’s not because I don’t love her. On the contrary, it’s because I can’t seem to breathe correctly anymore, unsure if she’s completely mine. She needs to show me.
Though, I don’t know what I’ll do if this doesn’t work out.
I know she’s mad, but I’m madder.
I could really go for a cigarette right about now.
I’ve become a robot the last few days, too. Ritualistically, I pull out my phone, turning it off. Skyler usually tries reaching out to me twice a day. Once in the morning, and once in the evening. I ignore each call. Especially since giving her the plane ticket. That’s the only answer I want right now.
I know she hated the move. She forgets how transparent her emotions can be. I could feel her pain when I opened the door, and saw those round, doe eyes ruthlessly devour me in hopes of a remedy. I wanted to be it for her, but it’s not that easy. I hated even more seeing her pain turn into anger when I told her she has to choose. It was that look that has me scared the most. At first, her showing up at the airport felt inevitable, but when her expression etched itself with something nearing resentment, I was thrown for a loop. It made the situation suddenly unpredictable.
I still stalked out of there like I knew what I was doing. Really, I had no fucking clue. I went in there with a mission: give her the ticket, allow her stare to eat me alive, and leave.
It’s now the day before the flight to Wisconsin, and everything feels wrong. Maybe it’s because I can’t see the finish line. My angst fogs my brain, making it hard to see a destination.
When I remember the shock of seeing those photos of Skyler at the gallery, and how raw they were, I’ve never felt so hurt. No one is supposed to see Skye like that. That was my Skye on display for everyone. The part of her I thought she saved for me. I know that each natural emotion is who Skyler is. She doesn’t hide or shy away. She’s out there for you to witness. It’s her gift, and I know that, that last photo of her smiling was for me, but for some reason I couldn’t get past the feeling that something so priceless to me was being given away so freely. It’s earned. Though, I know it comes with the job. I should know that better than anyone. I just didn’t know it would make me feel so uncomfortable when it hits so close to home.
This isn’t even about her asking for my permission, because that would make me a possessive asshole, and that’s the last thing I want. However, a warning would have been nice. Like the warning she asked for before seeing me on TV with Kathryn. Maybe then we could’ve shared her moment of success together, because the photos where undeniably stunning. It would have made it easier for me to cope with having to share that part of her with Gio, too. I know she doesn’t see it that way, but I do.
“Blake, ciao!”
My feet come to a halt as I cringe. I’ve been blindly moving down the street, absentmindedly going in the direction of the small café on the corner. I’ve been coming here nearly every day, and Giovanni Vigilucci was merely an annoyance inside my head, but seeing him in real life has me clenching my fists.
“Gio,” I reply curtly, not glancing in his direction, which I’m assuming is the corner table in the outdoor seating area. I’m about to turn back around and head in the opposite direction in search of somewhere that doesn’t have a way of haunting me.
Gio says my name with more crisp velocity this time, and I want to punch him in his smug mouth.
I force myself to make eye contact with him, and his look of concern surprises me. Even then, his words come out harsher than he looks as he gestures at the seat opposite him. “Join me, will you? Breakfast is on me. I want to talk.”
He’s able to string all these concrete sentences together, quickly and to the point. It’s the thing that gives him the ability to rule his world. I wish I had that much fucking control of who I am. I hate this guy, but I also kind of envy him. Then I think of Skye, and I’m back to hating him again.
Regardless, I feel like I can’t refuse because of what he did when Skyler’s ex showed up, but I let my feelings be known as I step into the café, taking a stance next to his chair.
I pull off my sunglasses, folding them into my shirt as I reply, “Gio, you’re kind of the last person I want to see right now. I don’t need breakfast. I need you to make this quick. I won’t apologize, because right now I need to cool off in order to be adult about this.”
Gio’s steely resolve doesn’t intimidate me like it used to because that was our professional relationship. We are way beyond that now. This is personal. We’re personal. I might’ve been eager to please before, but nothing comes between me and what I’m trying not to fuck up, and that’s my relationship with Skyler. I have zero fucks to give when it comes to asshole interruptions, even if he does care.
We stare at each other for a long moment, as if sizing up our levels of testosterone. I don’t know who wins when he finally gestures at the chair again. “Please, sit.”
I turn to see a blond waitress across the patio, and she smirks when I lock my eyes with hers.
Nice, because I need coffee, like, five fucking minutes ago.
I smile wide at her, causing a blush to creep over her cheeks. “Hi, miss? Can I please get a cup of coffee?”
She nods eagerly, and I thank the heavens for this face, because if I can’t get coffee I’m going to need whiskey to get through any conversation with Gio.
Though the girl looked like she was in the middle of clearing a table, she drops what she’s doing and scurries away to get me a cup.
I turn back around to take a seat.
Gio sips from his coffee mug slowly, brows pulled together as he watches me. He places the mug down and asks, “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?” I say, placing my black Ray-Bans back on my face, shrugging.
“Do you always flirt with women to get what you want?”
Gio might as well have slapped me across the face. His disapproving look is also uncalled-for.
“Don’t act like you don’t do it, too,” I retort.
“Ah, yes, but I don’t have a girlfriend.”
I deflate, and he capitalizes on it. “Do you think Skye would approve of what you just did?”
I shake my head, conflicted. This is not what any of this is about. I’m ready to get up and leave. It took thirty seconds, and I’ve already had enough.
Distracting my need to run, the waitress appears, placing a full mug on the table in front of me. “Here’s your coffee. Let me know if you need anything else.” She’s eye-fucking me, and I hate that it only proves Gio’s point. I turn away without another word to her, and she’s gone.
“Gio, we’re not talking so you can ridicule me. I should be the one doing that to you.”
His face contorts, and his hand waves me off. “Ridicule? I was merely noting an observation. I don’t want to argue with you. I thought it was fortunato—er, fortunate, that we ran into each other, no? And what have I done wrong? There’s nothing for you to be mad at me for.”
“I’m mad at Skyler, too, Gio. Don’t think I’m not. This is between her and me, but how could you put those photos in your opening? How could you ask her to go to Milan when we had a trip—”
“Ah-ah-ah,” he tuts, cutting me off. “You have that wrong. I didn’t know you had any such trip. How is it my fault she did not tell you about those photos? Let’s get right to the point here, Blake. I kept my distance. What goes on between Skyler and me is completely friendly. I’d say we’re professional, but she’s also a friend. I haven’t crossed any lines. What you’re mad at is not me, but the fact that she didn’t keep you in the loop of her life.”
I grumble. I know all these things, but hearing him say them has my body tensing and ready to punch something, anything.
“But I tell you what . . .” he says, trailing off, allowing himself a long sip of his coffee before going on, and I know he can see my jaw rigid wi
th unfortunate interest.
“The girl loves you, Blake. Tanto amore—so much love. I’ve never been more jealous of a man the way I am of you, and maybe that’s what you fear, and maybe it’s what you’re looking to call me out on, but spare me. Just because I understand what you have doesn’t mean I am going to take it, or even try. Capisci? I only ever have Skyler’s best interest in mind. That’s professionally, and because she’s my friend. You should know she only ever does anything with you in mind. The things she held back from you were out of love. Even I can see that. Don’t forget what she has going on, too. She’s in this bizarre, unfamiliar land of opportunity. It’s an overwhelming place. So, she’s making some poor choices. We all do when we don’t know what we’re doing, but we do learn from these failures. I’ve heard you’ve had your own stumbles, too.”
My stare lands blankly on a spot in the distance, absorbing his words. Some of the things he’s saying are things I already know, but to hear them confirmed by someone else is a hard pill to swallow. There are also the things that spark a wick of uneasy confusion and self-doubt, something I’m not too acquainted with.
Gio’s loud sigh draws my attention.
“You probably shouldn’t be so hard on her . . . or yourself.”
I shake my head, still reeling from the shift in my perspective, but the shift merely swivels on an axis. The axis built upon the gravitational pull of the fact that she needs to show me that she loves me. Saying it is one thing, but I need to see her take a risk for me. However, things suddenly don’t seem so black-and-white as go or don’t go.
My throat tightens, and I swallow a sandpaper gulp when the fear of what tomorrow holds washes over me like the Sahara desert.
