“You don’t even care!” I hissed. “You don’t think this is a big deal to me! It’s a big deal!”
“You’rea big fucking deal tome, Faye.Iwouldn’t fucking bail onyouthis quickly, it’s pathetic.”
“Except you did,” I snapped. “You did bail on me, after three months when you stole my directorship from me without me knowing.”
“Fine,” he said. “Have it your fucking way.”
And then he slammed the door.
My heart smashed, it fucking smashed, and it wasn’t because of Vincent, or Italy, or even because of Andy Morgan’s secrets, it’s because I knew I was fucking myself, running when I should have been standing and fighting. But I was too far gone, too committed, too fuckingme.
I opened the wardrobe door, started piling my clothes in heaps, and I was already calculating my get-out route, down south in a cab to Mum and Dad’s, and from there who knows? A fresh start. Another fresh fucking start.
A slip fell from its hanger, pooling at the bottom of the wardrobe, I cursed as I went for it. The slippery little piece of crap had fallen behind a load of Andy’s storage stuff, some old records, and a framed map and something else in a frame. I pulled it out to free some space, and it knocked me sideways.
It was me and him. A print in black and white,and I was smiling. Opening night. He had his hands on my waist, and his lips to my cheek and I was grinning happy. So happy.
I’d loved him then. I’d loved him so much I could hardly fucking bear it. I’d loved every minute I’d spent with him, and then it wasn’t enough anymore. It was never enough.
I had no idea he’d loved me, too. No idea.
But I did now.
A sob in my throat, and I dropped to my backside, just me and that picture and my stupid dramatic bitch of a heart.
“I’m still here.” His voice came through the door and he was right on the other side. He tapped the door to illustrate, and the sound was low down, lower than the handle. I pictured him there, sitting on the floor, his legs up to his chest in the corridor. I scooted along with the picture, propping myself against the other side. Just a couple of inches apart. So close and yet so fucking far.
“I can’t stay,” I cried.
“You can,” he said. “You just have to want to.”
“But everything…” I sobbed. “It’s such a mess.”
“I can’t undo taking your name off the directorship, but I can put it back on there, in a flash. And as for Vincent, and whatever other crap there is to work through, we’ll do that, too. None of it fucking matters if you’re here, Faye, we can work it out. You just have to stay. Have to want to stay.”
“I don’t know, Andy…” And the tears kept coming. “I found your picture… of us…”
“Which one? I’ve got quite a few.”
“Opening night, black and white.”
I heard him laugh. “That doesn’t narrow it down much, Faye. I’ve got quite a few of them, too.”
“You’re kissing my cheek. I’m wearing that dress with the buckles.”
“Ah, yes. It used to be in the living room, above the dining table, far wall.”
“Why did you take it down?”
“Besides the fact that you’d bailed to fuck some other guy and leave me with a club to run on my own, you mean?”
“Yes, besides that.” The slightest relief in my chest, the slightest flutter of something nice.
“I was trying to move on. It’s not much of a pussy magnet believe it or not. Puts the chicks off.”
“Does it?” I bit my lip to stop a giggle.
“I wouldn’t know, to be honest it never really came to that, it was just pre-emptive. You ruined me for anyone else, Faye.”