Deranged Delusions

23. I Might Say I'm In Love

It took me maybe three weeks to realize that I made a huge mistake.

The day I left New York, I flew back to Los Angeles, spent a week packing and sending things over the Atlantic Ocean to this random flat that the Zomba Entertainment Group found for me.

The start of the second week found me flying over to the good old United Kingdom and getting settled in my new apartment that’s right down the street from where I work. And it was the start of the third week, when I sat down on my new couch and looked at my blank television monitor that I started to wonder what he was doing at that exact moment.

It’s what I’m doing right now and I want to fucking kick myself for being this stupid. I was so busy those first few weeks with getting my life in order and changing places of residence, getting a visa and all that shit that I didn’t realize how boring my life was without someone to take care of – especially Justin.

I’ve seen the various magazine articles that he’s been in since the release of his second album and he seems to be doing okay for himself. Okay, he’s doing fucking wonderful and he’s doing it without me. How, I haven’t the faintest idea because about a year ago he could hardly function without me telling him what to do.

Maybe he’s moved on. Maybe I’ve moved on, and maybe it’s for the best.

Then why the hell am I still wondering what he’s doing almost three months since I’ve left his services? Really this is starting to piss me off and I don’t know how to make it stop. Maybe it isn’t for the best and I made a mistake.

And that’s why I’m sitting on my couch on a Saturday night, not going out to the pub with my new fellow employees, and watching a blank television screen. I admit that I’m mostly the one to blame in this whole thing because I was the one who severed contact; I was the one who said enough and had the balls to move away from the situation.

I think I’m starting to see that I was a coward and ran away from confrontation. He was more than ready to stare it straight in the face but I swallowed the bullet and choked on it.  That’s my own fault, and my own undoing. But I’m not going to sit on my ass and wonder what he’s doing at this exact moment. He’s probably forgotten all about me and is screwing around with some new model he’s been tied with.

Why should I sit around and mope? We weren’t even together in the first place. I never allowed for an ‘us’ to happen and I’m damn proud of that. Seriously.

I pick up my cell phone to call my co-worker and closest adversary, Rhonda, but I see that I’ve already got a voicemail. Thinking it’s my pudgy English friend, I quickly call the inbox and find that it isn’t Rhonda at all.

It’s work.

Joy.

“Lauren, hello, this is Corey Hutton and I was just calling to confirm that you’re going to be attending the Zomba Entertainment Group Gala on the third of November. Rhonda Lewis explained that you’d be going with her but I was just calling you to make sure that I had the right story. Please call me back as soon as possible and remember, the dress is black tie. Thank you and have a pleasant evening.”

The Gala, how could I forget? It was only going to be the biggest party the office had seen aside from the Christmas party back in 2003 that I so obviously missed. I think Rhonda would decapitate me if I refused to go and so I had reluctantly hinted that I would be going to the Gala. I had a dress and all the fixings hanging in my closet but I was still debating on whether or not I was going to attend.

At least this wouldn’t be a party I had to plan. And in a way that made things pretty boring around here. There weren’t any phone calls in the middle of the night asking for errands to be run, no one screaming at me that something wasn’t right. In all actuality I should see it as a blessing, but I miss the random demands that were thrown my way when I was still working for Justin. Hell, I even miss Clive and he’s as bland as some of the food you find around here.

I can’t sit around this apartment and let my mind wander. There’s no way I’ll be able to get through the night and I can’t have another night of no sleeping. That would just totally and completely kill me for work on Monday. I make a quick call to one Corey Hutton before I pull on my coat and wrap a scarf around my neck, heading for the door.

A walk in the brisk, end of October chill will almost surely get my mind off of this whole supposedly missing Justin business. The cold wasn’t that bad, I’m kind of used to it seeing as I grew up in Montana where it pretty much turns into the frozen tundra when the snow first falls.

I love how everyone here is so reserved and they keep everything private. You don’t have someone shoving their face in your business and you almost certainly don’t see people getting into other’s personal spaces. I respect that about Londoners because they respect me and keep out of my way for the most part.

Justin didn’t know when to stay out of my business. He didn’t know when it was a smart move to approach me about certain things. He just barreled in and didn’t care what I was thinking. It was all about clearing his name and making sure I wasn’t pissed at him for any longer than I needed to be. It got annoying as hell, but it was endearing just the same. That drive got him to where he is today and while I’m proud of him for his current successes, I want to kick that ambition for making me push myself away. He’s too persistent, and that’s something I have a hard time dealing with.

I round a corner, sidestepping a few late night walkers and suddenly a huge pair of cobalt eyes are glaring at me. I sigh heavily and ruffle my hair before I turn away and take a deep breath. Why do I always forget about the huge poster promoting the European Music Awards on this street? Why do I always forget to remember that this particular poster happens to sport an enormous image of Justin kneeling by a sign proclaiming that the said awards are taking place in Denmark just next week? And why the hell do I have to sit down on a bench across the street from this poster and just stare at it?

I am a sad excuse for a human being.

I sit on the bench for a long time. I don’t even check my watch, I just let the cold hit me over and over again, but of course I can’t get him out of my head. Not when he’s staring at me from across the road. A huge bus travels in front of the sign, blocking my view and I sigh loudly before I lean my head back, closing my eyes so I can get the image out of my mind.

Once I sit up, my pocket starts to buzz and I realize I have a phone call. Great. Who the hell is ruining my evening? I look at the caller ID and realize that it’s an unidentifiable number. Wonderful. Hopefully it isn’t some random person from Soho asking me to attend some shoddy art festival or something next weekend. Really don’t want to have to hang up quickly.

“Hello?” I bark into the phone.

“Lo-ho, Fo’ Sho’!” a voice hollers into my ear and I have to hold it an arm’s length away to keep from going deaf. Jesus, is it who I think it is?

“Trace?”

“Sup bitch?” and for the first time in three months I’ve received a drunk dial. Oh how I have not missed these little pearls of beauty in my life.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” I ask and the man giggles incessantly before I hear something crack in the background.

“We’re gonna party!” he squeals in the phone and I roll my eyes before I get up off the bench and continue to walk. Sitting down is going to make me extremely agitated and while I really want to bite his head off, I restrain myself.

“How did you get this number?”

“I’m an agent. A secret agent!” he reveals and I feel like I’ve been thrown back into the second grade. “I can get anything I want!”

“Then why are you calling me?”

“Because I want you…” his voice fades away before another sound is heard in the background. Someone else’s voice.

“Hello?”

I hang up before my mouth says anything without first consulting my brain. The smart thing would have been to say hello back, but that would have been a huge mistake on my part. I’m not ready to talk to him yet; I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to talk to him, at least not now.

The wind starts to pick up and I think I’m done walking around London at night. I have work to do over the weekend and next week is going to be filled with answering Rhonda’s questions about the impending Gala and which one of us will be the one getting trashed for the evening.

I hope to God it’s me.

“You look gorge, Lauren. Really. That dress is perfect, really. Such a buy, I can’t believe you managed to find it on sale,” Rhonda explains as she takes a long drag from her cigarette before she extinguishes the stub in the ashtray located on my small balcony. She’s dressed in the chic black dress she has reserved for all these parties and she’s watching me stand in front of my full length mirror while I model off the dress I’m wearing for this evening.

The Gala has already started, but Rhonda and I are going to be making a late entrance. Fashionable, yes, but late nonetheless. I’m sure our boss won’t be too happy but he’s going to have to suck it up and deal with it. The way I’m performing at my new job, I shouldn’t have a problem getting a promotion by Christmas.

“You don’t look bad either. Granted you wore that dress when we went to see Les Mis two weeks ago, but you look good nonetheless,” I joke and she swaps me on the shoulder before she walks over towards my bed and picks up my wrap from the comforter. She throws it to me and I quickly pull it around my shoulders. Her phone starts to ring in the living room and she quickly runs out of my room to answer it.

Apparently it’s Corey on the other line because I can hear Rhonda using her ‘professional voice’ as she paces through my apartment. I use this time to continue getting ready and praying to God I don’t run into William from Advertising tonight. The man has been trying to get me to go out with him from the moment I stepped foot into the International offices and while I do enjoy his accent, his breath is something else.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. The thought of being cordial and sociable with a bunch of people who I hardly know hardly sounds appealing,” I respond as we exit my flat and head towards the ground floor.

“Hmm, well you’ll get over it,” Rhonda says with a laugh.

“God, I hope so.”

This party is absolutely insane and I am so glad that I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

For the first time in a long time, I can sit back and watch other people run around like chickens with their heads cut off. I don’t have to make sure the caterer is getting the food ready and I don’t have to have the taxi company on speed dial so we can take the drunk people out in moderation. It’s so relaxing and I’m really enjoying leaning back against a giant column while sipping on some champagne.

I don’t even know why we’re having this party, but I’m not complaining. Free food, a chance for me to look really cute, and I don’t have to worry about getting up in the morning to work. What more could I want?

“More champagne?” a caterer asks me. Well I do want that.

I take a full glass and place my empty one on his tray before he disappears into the sea of people. Rhonda is off somewhere flirting shamelessly with some random guy in the A&R department and I’m fine just sitting back and watching the people and the scenery.

They really went all out in planning this party. It’s in one of the gigantic ballrooms at the Four Seasons located in central London and it’s gorgeous. For some odd reason they’ve decided on a theme of Winter Wonderland even though it’s autumn and not even Thanksgiving yet. But the decorations are exquisite.

The whole place is decorated in white and soft, yellow light. It must have cost a fortune to decorate it like a forest in the wintertime and it’s more extravagant than anything I’ve ever planned before. It almost reminds me of the dinner I had with Justin at Tavern on the Green and…

Yeah, we aren’t going to think about that, Lauren.

“Are you having a good time, Lauren?” Rhonda asks as she slides up along side me. She’s lightly toasted and she’s leaning haphazardly against the white Grecian column I’ve partnered up with for the evening. “I’m having a great time! Did you know the Beckhams are here? I don’t know why, Toria doesn’t even have a recording contract anymore! She looks like a twig, although I do fancy her husband!”

“Rho, stop it. You’re going to make a scene,” I say under my breath as I pull the glass of alcohol from her clutches.

“Nah. You’ll probably flip your lid when you find out who just walked in,” Rhonda says casually before she erupts into giggles.

“Who, William?” I ask with a pained voice. The last thing I need to do is have William follow me around the ballroom trying to get me a drink or have me dance with him. He’s a sweet guy, really, but I just don’t want to deal with him on a night where I’m supposed to act like I’m having fun. And being in the company of William isn’t anyone’s idea of fun.

“Nope,” she giggles secretively and I have to admit it’s pissing me off. I hate it when people get drunk because they either tell you things straight up or they decide that it’s better for you to guess. And Rhonda is the latter. “You’ll know it when you see him!”

But I don’t need Rhonda to elaborate on anything because I just caught sight of a rather short young man pushing his way through the crowd of Zomba employees, a taller figure following closely on his heels.

“Oh fuck me,” I whisper under my breath before I turn around to face the blanch column. Rhonda laughs loudly and claps her hands as I bring a hand up to my face to shield myself from the two figures walking in our direction. I pray to God they haven’t seen me because I know that the standard round of awkward questions will follow.

“Your face is bloody priceless,” Rhonda crows and I want to throw champagne in her face and tell her to grow up. I have to make a clean exit from this ballroom before I run into one of them. I feel bad for making Rhonda leave early, but there is no way I’m going to let her stay…

Where did she go?

“There’s someone I think you’ll want to meet,” I hear Rhonda’s voice over the string quartet that’s just started playing. Oh God, if she’s doing what I think she’s doing I will never speak to her again. Ever.

“Look, I don’t even know you,” his voice protests and I pray to the little Baby Jesus that he’ll get fed up and walk away. But knowing Rhonda, she won’t let him.

“Nonsense. We’re practically family when you think about it,” she exalts and I quickly move to the other side of the column just as Rhonda pushes Justin to the place where I was just standing. “Where the blazes did she run off to?”

Now’s my chance. Just run for the exit and screw Rhonda. She can fend for herself tonight. I can’t even imagine looking him in the face let alone actually talking to him. I start to book it for the exit but I run right into a smaller figure and I swear under my breath when I notice the ridiculous tattoo on his forearm.

Leave it to Trace to make black tie casual.

“Well imagine finding you here!” he crows with triumph, “You’re looking good Lauren. Where are you going?”

“Away from you, Ayala,” I sneer before I try to walk around him. But he’s a quick little bugger because his hand is now latched firmly on my arm and he isn’t letting me go. He’s strong too.

“Would you just talk to him?” he asks me sincerely and I shake my head. “Stop being so damn stubborn and just give him the time of day. I’m not asking you to sleep with him or give him your first-born child. Just have the decency to ask him how he is.”

Apparently Trace learned how to speak coherently since I last saw him because his words are striking a chord in my head even though I don’t want to listen to it. He grins when he sees my shoulders droop and he quickly guides me back to the column where I was previously standing. I’ll just say hello, good job on the European Music Awards, and a hasty goodbye and then I don’t have to see him ever again.

Good plan. Brilliant, even. 

He’s standing with his back towards us, apparently having a pained conversation with Rhonda who is now completely trashed. I would love to walk away and stand from a distance while I take in his discomfort but seeing as Trace has a cast iron grip on my hand, I know I’m not going anywhere. Great.

“Hey, Justin!” Trace calls out and he slowly turns around to face us and… sweet suffering Christ on the Cross, he looks absolutely gorgeous. Like, breath stealing gorgeous. Why have I never seen him in a tuxedo before and why didn’t he wear one before? Good God Almighty.

The look on his face changes from aggrieved to practically euphoric and I nervously tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I don’t need to be feeling like this and I don’t want to feel like this when he’s looking at me. These feelings should not be resurfacing and I shouldn’t even be having them in the first place!

“Um, hey Trace,” he says quietly and I can hear the anxiousness in his voice. Good to know that he’s feeling just as awkward as me.

“Look who I found!” he says cheerily and I want to sock Trace in the face. The little bastard is going to get it, I swear.

“Hi, Lauren,” Justin whispers before he looks me in the eye. I think my knees just buckled because he’s looking at me with those stupid blue eyes that just draw you in. I don’t want to be drawn in, I want to be cast away and I almost certainly don’t want to be speaking to him again. Oy vey.

“Hey,” I say softly and Trace lets go of my arm before he rushes over to Rhonda and pushes her towards some tables and chairs on the opposite side of the room. Great, alone with Justin. Just what I’ve always wanted.

“How are you?” we both ask at the exact same time and we both break into nervous laughter in unison. Shit, I need a drink.

“You go first,” he ventures.

“I’m doing well. You?”

“As well as can be expected.” This is just a big, steaming pile of awkward shit.

“That’s good, I guess,” I try and I know we’re going nowhere fast. Which is a good thing right now, but I don’t want to excuse myself because then I’ll be a rude bitch and that’s not something I want him to think that I am anymore.

Wait, why the fuck do I care what he thinks? I’m done with him! Why should I care?

And no, I refuse to believe its love, because it isn’t.

“Well I’m better now,” he adds before he flashes a sheepish grin that I know is supposed to make a million girls weak in the knees but I try my best not to let it affect me. I’ve lived with that smile for about four years, give or take, and I’m not about to let it get to me.

And his blatant attempts at shy flirting are going to get him nowhere.

“That’s good.”

“Yes, it’s very good,” he responds and I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the column. Maybe if I show him I’m bored as hell, he’ll get the message and leave me alone. But instead we’ve fallen into a silent battle of the wills. He doesn’t budge from his position in front of me and I am not leaving my little station for anything. The building could fall around me and I wouldn’t move. And I know that he isn’t going to be moving either. Splendid.

The quartet stars up a new number, a waltz by the sound of it, and I let my head lean against the pillar. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them, his hand is in my line of vision, outstretched.

“Would you dance with me?” he questions, almost pleads. I look up into his eyes and I can see a mixture of beseeching and want. Eh, what hurt could it do? Besides, once we’re done, I’ll get the hell out of here and forget this ever happened.

I put my hand in his and blatantly ignore the fluttering in my stomach. It has to be the champagne that’s the only explanation for it. We make it to the middle of the dance floor and I can feel the tension that’s between us and I really don’t want to play with that. Fucking around with this type of fire is bound to get one of us thrown into the hospital with third degree burns over the majority of our bodies.

And I refuse to be the victim.

He places his hand on my lower back and I unceremoniously drape an arm over his shoulder before he takes my right hand in his and we’re off at a nice, leisurely waltz around the floor.

I notice Trace and Rhonda standing by the food. Rhonda is practically on the ground passed out, but Trace is munching on some little crab cakes and watching Justin and I with rapt attention, a huge smile on his face. If the little troll thinks something is going to happen, he’s dead wrong.

“Did you watch the EMAs?” Justin questions as we continue our dance around the floor. I don’t want to partake in conversation right now, all I want to do is dance and then get the hell out of there.

“Yeah. It was a good show.” It really was. He did a good job with the hosting and I was pretty proud that he won a couple awards. Watching him make that album and then seeing him cash in on that success is something I secretly enjoy. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

“Thanks. It was such a crazy week.”

“Glad it’s over?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh hell yes,” he says quickly and I find myself laughing at his relief. The ice is cracking…

“Its good to see you again, Lauren. I miss you…”

“Justin,” I say swiftly, cutting off his words. I don’t want this to turn into New York again. I don’t want to fight. “Please don’t.” My resolve is crumbling and I want to kick myself for agreeing to dance with him. He’s got me out here and now I can’t turn away because that would just look extremely awkward and I know Trace will probably run up to me and push me back to Justin.

“Lauren,” he starts as he spins me around quickly before his hand is back on my waist and the song changes to an even slower paced song. Is the quartet playing Coldplay? I’m too busy trying to place what the song is but Justin’s voice brings me back to the conversation he wants to have.

“I need you to listen to me and don’t say anything until I’m finished.” I don’t think that’s going to happen. I have a feeling I’m going to be interjecting with comments here and there. He’s never been able to keep me quiet for long and I don’t think this case is going to be any different.

“I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for not being honest and for stringing you along. I never meant to hurt you and my intentions weren’t out of spite or revenge. I know I’m a huge dick, and it took me hurting you to finally see that. I’ve been kicking myself every day since you left because I let something so good and wonderful walk out of my life. I honestly and without a doubt love you…ah! Don’t say anything!” he says quickly as I open my mouth to say something. What, I don’t know, but I want him to stop talking. I don’t think I’m ready to hear this…

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me and I know that I’ll never take you for granted again. You’ve been there through absolutely everything and you did it your way and stood up for yourself and showed me that you can be who you are and not be sorry for it. I’ve changed for the better because of you. And I don’t think that I can ever stop what I feel for you.

“And I know you feel something too because what else would explain the tears in your eyes?” My hand leaves its position on his shoulder and I press a palm to my face, trying to erase the tears that have, unbeknownst to me, fallen down my face.

“Anyway…I guess I’m giving you an ultimatum. I’m going back to the States tomorrow and there’s a seat on my plane with your name on it. It leaves at eleven o’clock with or without you…” his voice fades away as he reaches into his coat and pulls out an envelope. He hands it to me and I notice that it has my name scrawled on it in his almost illegible handwriting. Other couples are dancing around us and all I can stare at is that damn packet resting in my hands. “If you’re there, we can figure <i>this</i> out. And if you aren’t, then I’ll stop. I’ll try my best to find a way to move on and maybe we’ll be better people because of it. But I know I won’t be able to be who I am if you aren’t there with me and…” his voice falls and he looks down at the ground before he claps a hand to his forehead. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“Who the fuck am I kidding? I’m a complete mess without you. I haven’t been able to sleep knowing that you aren’t just a phone call away. I don’t know what to do when things go wrong because I don’t know who to turn to. I tried to be with other women but dammit I can’t! Do you realize I haven’t had sex in almost three months? It’s driving me crazy knowing that you’re the only person who has ever made me feel this way! You’re worse than the crack I used to shove up my nose and I fucking love it. I adore being addicted to you, to know that you’re the only person who really gets me even though you won’t show it… I need to stop. You have your ticket, you have your choice, you have my heart. Just know that I love you and I think I’ll love you no matter what decision you make. Enjoy your evening, Lauren. Hopefully I’ll see you later.”

And before I have a chance to speak he’s pushed his way through the horde of dancers and has disappeared into the crowd, leaving me stranded in the middle of the floor with my future resting in my hands.

Dammit.

***