Author's Note: Here's chapter fifteen! Please read and review. It's
almost nearing the end of the story, probably one or two more chapters to
go. Thanks for all your reviews. HM
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LIZZIE'S POV
Lizzie kept staring at her computer screen, her gaze fixated on the message that read, "Adam Gerbalm has logged off."
She read and re-read that message, and yet it still didn't register for her. She was stunned at how abruptly Gordo had left her.
He's logged off? Wait, he's coming back, isn't he? I'm still angry with him! I still have some things I need to say to him!
"Gordo?" she whispered.
No, he's gone, he's gone, he's really gone . . . .
With that realization, she slumped in her chair, put her elbows down on the desk, and covered her face with her hands.
She began to sob, as tear drops gently yet persistently worked their way around her palms and gracefully slid down her arms.
What--what just happened? Why did we fight like that? I don't understand, I don't understand . . . .
She stood up from her desk and walked over to the bathroom. She grabbed the container of tissue and climbed on her bed. As she wiped the tears from her face, she shook her head and tried to sort through her messy feelings.
Everything happened like the way the fortune teller said it would, being in San Francisco, meeting Adam, and a mouse being stuck on his hand, so, so, I don't get it, why did it turn into such an awful, awful nightmare?
This wasn't supposed to happen, not like this, not like this . . . .
And why am I still so angry with him? I mean he's right, isn't he? He didn't really do anything, he didn't cheat on me like Stewart . . .
But, but, still, I'm right, I'm right, I can't trust him, there's no way I'm going to open my heart up and get hurt again. I can't love him if he doesn't really love me. I can't, I just can't, it's too scary, I just don't want to get hurt again . . . .
She began to sob once more, consumed with despair, as a nagging feeling kept insisting to her that she may never see Gordo again.
She then stood up, walked to the middle of her room, not knowing what to do with herself. She felt like she should get some rest, but she knew she was too upset and anxious to fall asleep.
As she stood there, the room suddenly started to spin, as the weight of everything that happened came crashing over her. She looked at her wristwatch . . . it told her that it was 6:10 a.m. As her stomach started to kick and stir, she suddenly realized she hadn't eaten anything in quite some time.
I need some food, right now.
She remembered when she came up to the hotel room seeing a vending machine in a side-room next to the hotel elevator lobby. Starting to shake from fatigue, grief, and hunger, she hastily walked over to the desk, shuffled through her purse and grabbed some loose change.
She then walked to the door, quietly turned the door handle, and stepped out into the hotel hallway.
*********************************************************************
DAVID'S POV
As he logged off of the internet and turned off his computer, David yelled, "Argh, I hate you, Lizzie Mcguire!" He slammed shut his laptop computer, jumped out of his desk chair and began pacing around his hotel room at a furious clip.
"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!!" He kept shouting at the wall as he circled around his bed, walked back and forth in front of the television, and then wandered back to his desk.
He stood there, staring at his closed laptop, and muttering, " You can't trust me? Me? Geezus, I'm the one who shouldn't be trusting you Lizzie, lying to me like that, manipulating me like that!"
I never want to have anything to do with her again, I don't care if I ever see her or talk to her . . . .
Still deep in thought, he mindlessly continued to walk back and forth in front of the television.
Man, this is exactly what needed for to happen, Gordo, so that you can forget about your childish fantasies and just move on with your life! You've got an amazing career ahead of you, that's what you need to be concentrating on. Forget Lizzie! Forget her!
With that last thought, he stopped dead in his tracks, thought for a moment, then dug into his pants pockets and picked up the little mouse figurine, lifted it up to the light, and gazed at its worn ears and fading smile.
His hand began to shake as his heart was flooded with fond, nostalgic memories of being together with Lizzie. He couldn't stop himself from smiling as he watched all those wonderful moments with her flash and flicker in his mind.
He fought back tears, squeezed the figurine, and muttered to himself, oh, god, even though I hate you right now, I still love you, Lizzie . . . .
For past several moments, when he had been fighting with Lizzie, all he could feel was an overpowering, visceral anger towards the woman he loved, and he wanted to do nothing more than to hurt Lizzie the way she had hurt him tonight. He wanted her to feel for herself the pain and rejection he was feeling.
And when he wrote his final message to Lizzie, he thought he knew exactly what he wanted . . . he wanted to have nothing anymore to do with Lizzie McGuire, he wanted to banish away all the love he had ever felt for her, and he wanted to move on as if she had never been a part of his life.
But, those feelings of anger were now being joined by feelings of love, grief, sadness, and longing. As he gazed mindlessly at the blank television screen, he whispered, "What in the world just happened?"
Did I actually tell her that I didn't love her anymore? Did I really tell her that I'd be happy never talking to her again?
The hotel room fell deathly quiet as he just stood there, in front of the television, looking up at the ceiling, wondering about Lizzie, wondering about where she was, what she was feeling, what she was thinking.
Emotionally spent, he looked at his wristwatch. It was now 6:00 a.m. He been up all night chatting with Hilary/Lizzie and now it was almost time for him to start work on his film. But, in this moment, he could care less about his movie and film career, all he could think about was the awful, black feeling lodged firmly in his chest, wishing he could go back in time and change everything that happened just a few minutes ago.
He got up from his desk and plopped onto the bed. Despondent, he put his head on the pillow and tried to fall asleep, hoping to escape, temporarily, from those conflicting emotions nagging and tugging at his heart.
A few minutes later, as he tossed and turned in his bed, he muttered, "damn it, I can't sleep," and sat himself up.
"God, I'm such a schmuck!" He yelled to himself. "Why did I let myself believe things were going to turn out alright?"
He felt so incredibly stupid and naïve for allowing himself to get caught up in fantasies about magic, synchronicity, and destiny, for thinking that on this night something special and serendipitious would occur.
That's what you get for believing in superstitious fantasy, Gordo, a complete and utter nightmare. He yelled angrily, "Come on man, you knew deep inside you and Lizzie never were meant to be together!"
He got up off the bed again and began to pace once more, propelled by another surge of volatile and angry adrenaline.
"Arggggghhh!" He shouted. It's no use, I'm a complete wreck. I can't stop loving and hating you at the same time. Lizzie McGuire, you've done some number on me, you really have . . . .
As he was immersing himself in self-pity and despair, suddenly, he began to feel his throat constrict, as if someone was grabbing him by the neck. I - I can't breathe . . . .
Gasping for air, fueled by a surge of nervous energy, he jumped off the bed, grabbed his coat, and began heading towards the door.
I've got to get out of here, I'm suffocating, I need to get some air, I need to get outside, I need to get out of this room!
He quickly turned the door handle, opened it, stepped out of his room and into the hotel hallway.
As he turned left to head towards the elevator, he started to pass by the room next to him, hotel room 333. As he was walking right past the door, he heard the door opening from the inside. He briefly turned his head towards room 333, but he couldn't see inside and he kept on walking.
After he had taken a few steps, a strange sensation flowed and coursed throughout his body, a sense of familiarity flooded his mind. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. He watched as a young blonde woman started to walk out of room number 333 and start to turn towards him.
She -- she looks really familiar, she looks a lot like, she looks a lot like . . . .
When she finally turned fully facing him, his jaw dropped as his eyes made contact with the blonde woman's eyes. It's, it's, it's, oh my god, it's . . . .
"Lizzie!?!??"
The blonde woman stared straight into David's eyes, and her face began turning pale from the shock of utterly unanticipated recognition.
"Go-Gordo!?!?"
LIZZIE'S POV
Lizzie kept staring at her computer screen, her gaze fixated on the message that read, "Adam Gerbalm has logged off."
She read and re-read that message, and yet it still didn't register for her. She was stunned at how abruptly Gordo had left her.
He's logged off? Wait, he's coming back, isn't he? I'm still angry with him! I still have some things I need to say to him!
"Gordo?" she whispered.
No, he's gone, he's gone, he's really gone . . . .
With that realization, she slumped in her chair, put her elbows down on the desk, and covered her face with her hands.
She began to sob, as tear drops gently yet persistently worked their way around her palms and gracefully slid down her arms.
What--what just happened? Why did we fight like that? I don't understand, I don't understand . . . .
She stood up from her desk and walked over to the bathroom. She grabbed the container of tissue and climbed on her bed. As she wiped the tears from her face, she shook her head and tried to sort through her messy feelings.
Everything happened like the way the fortune teller said it would, being in San Francisco, meeting Adam, and a mouse being stuck on his hand, so, so, I don't get it, why did it turn into such an awful, awful nightmare?
This wasn't supposed to happen, not like this, not like this . . . .
And why am I still so angry with him? I mean he's right, isn't he? He didn't really do anything, he didn't cheat on me like Stewart . . .
But, but, still, I'm right, I'm right, I can't trust him, there's no way I'm going to open my heart up and get hurt again. I can't love him if he doesn't really love me. I can't, I just can't, it's too scary, I just don't want to get hurt again . . . .
She began to sob once more, consumed with despair, as a nagging feeling kept insisting to her that she may never see Gordo again.
She then stood up, walked to the middle of her room, not knowing what to do with herself. She felt like she should get some rest, but she knew she was too upset and anxious to fall asleep.
As she stood there, the room suddenly started to spin, as the weight of everything that happened came crashing over her. She looked at her wristwatch . . . it told her that it was 6:10 a.m. As her stomach started to kick and stir, she suddenly realized she hadn't eaten anything in quite some time.
I need some food, right now.
She remembered when she came up to the hotel room seeing a vending machine in a side-room next to the hotel elevator lobby. Starting to shake from fatigue, grief, and hunger, she hastily walked over to the desk, shuffled through her purse and grabbed some loose change.
She then walked to the door, quietly turned the door handle, and stepped out into the hotel hallway.
*********************************************************************
DAVID'S POV
As he logged off of the internet and turned off his computer, David yelled, "Argh, I hate you, Lizzie Mcguire!" He slammed shut his laptop computer, jumped out of his desk chair and began pacing around his hotel room at a furious clip.
"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!!" He kept shouting at the wall as he circled around his bed, walked back and forth in front of the television, and then wandered back to his desk.
He stood there, staring at his closed laptop, and muttering, " You can't trust me? Me? Geezus, I'm the one who shouldn't be trusting you Lizzie, lying to me like that, manipulating me like that!"
I never want to have anything to do with her again, I don't care if I ever see her or talk to her . . . .
Still deep in thought, he mindlessly continued to walk back and forth in front of the television.
Man, this is exactly what needed for to happen, Gordo, so that you can forget about your childish fantasies and just move on with your life! You've got an amazing career ahead of you, that's what you need to be concentrating on. Forget Lizzie! Forget her!
With that last thought, he stopped dead in his tracks, thought for a moment, then dug into his pants pockets and picked up the little mouse figurine, lifted it up to the light, and gazed at its worn ears and fading smile.
His hand began to shake as his heart was flooded with fond, nostalgic memories of being together with Lizzie. He couldn't stop himself from smiling as he watched all those wonderful moments with her flash and flicker in his mind.
He fought back tears, squeezed the figurine, and muttered to himself, oh, god, even though I hate you right now, I still love you, Lizzie . . . .
For past several moments, when he had been fighting with Lizzie, all he could feel was an overpowering, visceral anger towards the woman he loved, and he wanted to do nothing more than to hurt Lizzie the way she had hurt him tonight. He wanted her to feel for herself the pain and rejection he was feeling.
And when he wrote his final message to Lizzie, he thought he knew exactly what he wanted . . . he wanted to have nothing anymore to do with Lizzie McGuire, he wanted to banish away all the love he had ever felt for her, and he wanted to move on as if she had never been a part of his life.
But, those feelings of anger were now being joined by feelings of love, grief, sadness, and longing. As he gazed mindlessly at the blank television screen, he whispered, "What in the world just happened?"
Did I actually tell her that I didn't love her anymore? Did I really tell her that I'd be happy never talking to her again?
The hotel room fell deathly quiet as he just stood there, in front of the television, looking up at the ceiling, wondering about Lizzie, wondering about where she was, what she was feeling, what she was thinking.
Emotionally spent, he looked at his wristwatch. It was now 6:00 a.m. He been up all night chatting with Hilary/Lizzie and now it was almost time for him to start work on his film. But, in this moment, he could care less about his movie and film career, all he could think about was the awful, black feeling lodged firmly in his chest, wishing he could go back in time and change everything that happened just a few minutes ago.
He got up from his desk and plopped onto the bed. Despondent, he put his head on the pillow and tried to fall asleep, hoping to escape, temporarily, from those conflicting emotions nagging and tugging at his heart.
A few minutes later, as he tossed and turned in his bed, he muttered, "damn it, I can't sleep," and sat himself up.
"God, I'm such a schmuck!" He yelled to himself. "Why did I let myself believe things were going to turn out alright?"
He felt so incredibly stupid and naïve for allowing himself to get caught up in fantasies about magic, synchronicity, and destiny, for thinking that on this night something special and serendipitious would occur.
That's what you get for believing in superstitious fantasy, Gordo, a complete and utter nightmare. He yelled angrily, "Come on man, you knew deep inside you and Lizzie never were meant to be together!"
He got up off the bed again and began to pace once more, propelled by another surge of volatile and angry adrenaline.
"Arggggghhh!" He shouted. It's no use, I'm a complete wreck. I can't stop loving and hating you at the same time. Lizzie McGuire, you've done some number on me, you really have . . . .
As he was immersing himself in self-pity and despair, suddenly, he began to feel his throat constrict, as if someone was grabbing him by the neck. I - I can't breathe . . . .
Gasping for air, fueled by a surge of nervous energy, he jumped off the bed, grabbed his coat, and began heading towards the door.
I've got to get out of here, I'm suffocating, I need to get some air, I need to get outside, I need to get out of this room!
He quickly turned the door handle, opened it, stepped out of his room and into the hotel hallway.
As he turned left to head towards the elevator, he started to pass by the room next to him, hotel room 333. As he was walking right past the door, he heard the door opening from the inside. He briefly turned his head towards room 333, but he couldn't see inside and he kept on walking.
After he had taken a few steps, a strange sensation flowed and coursed throughout his body, a sense of familiarity flooded his mind. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. He watched as a young blonde woman started to walk out of room number 333 and start to turn towards him.
She -- she looks really familiar, she looks a lot like, she looks a lot like . . . .
When she finally turned fully facing him, his jaw dropped as his eyes made contact with the blonde woman's eyes. It's, it's, it's, oh my god, it's . . . .
"Lizzie!?!??"
The blonde woman stared straight into David's eyes, and her face began turning pale from the shock of utterly unanticipated recognition.
"Go-Gordo!?!?"