Disclaimer: It's probably obvious, but I don't own any of the HSM characters or their related elements.
Written July 2, 2006
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Chapter 8 – The Left and the Leaving
I turned in early, unable to stand the silence in the apartment after he left. Wrapping myself in the bedsheets, I tried to will myself to sleep, but instead found myself surrounded by memories of him. His scent was still on the pillow beside me, and I thought of how he held me close while we slept. Suddenly hot tears were pouring down my cheeks, and they kept coming until I finally drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, the apartment was devastatingly still. I wandered through the rooms getting ready for work, and felt like I was moving through a cavernous museum, filled with hundreds of things that had lost their meaning without Troy there. I kept shaking myself mentally, telling myself I was capable and self-reliant, and that this was all necessary to emerge stronger and more confident. But no matter what I did, I couldn't seem to stop the loneliness from seeping in. I felt small, and lost… and just a little bit scared.
I left early for the office before I could begin to cry again.
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At work, I tried to put the whole evening out of my head. I sat in front of my computer, trying to summon up the self-assurance that had got me through yesterday. But each time I even started to come close, a different memory of last night would suddenly surge forward. His hands gripping the counter. How defeated he looked when he saw my bare hand. And then I couldn't think of anything else.
On the verge of tears, I kept looking up toward Anna's office. I knew she wasn't there, but I wanted so badly to talk to her about everything. But after a while, I turned back to my computer, brushing at my eyes with the back of my hand. There was no one here for me, I told myself again. I just needed to be strong.
The phone rang and I picked it up. "Hello?"
"Gabriella. This is Bob Marsh."
"Oh..." The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. "Bob, right..."
His voice was brusque. "You gave me a call yesterday, about the Molitor story."
Oh, of course. "That's right, I did. How can I help?"
"I've just checked my calendar. My wife has been scheduled for day surgery in the early afternoon on Sunday. So I won't be able to do it."
Day surgery?Was he serious? Why why why could no freelancer do this one stupid interview? I almost threw the receiver at my desk in frustration, but thought better of it. I put on my sweetest voice and tried again. "Isn't there some way we could possibly work it out..."
He let out an incredulous laugh. "I'm sorry, Gabriella, but I don't think so. My family comes first. But good luck to you with finding another writer on your story." And with that, he hung up.
I jumped slightly, startled. Nobody had hung up on me like that in a long time. In fact, only one person used to hang up on me like that... and that was Taylor, my best friend in New York.
New York... where I needed someone to do an interview during brunch on Sunday.
And suddenly my heart did a leap as it all fell into place. Forget the freelancers. I could do the interview. I had a travel budget, and I could definitely get exactly what I wanted out of the piece. And finally, I could be somewhere where there were people on my side. On top of that... I wouldn't have to go home to the empty apartment this weekend.
Without thinking, I snatched up the phone and dialed Taylor's office in New York.
"Taylor McKessie."
She answered abruptly, but a sense of relief flooded through me at the sound of her voice. I could feel myself really smiling for the first time in days.
"McKessie? Montez here."
I heard squealing at the other end of the line. "Gabi!" she said. "Wow, I haven't heard from you in ages. I thought you San Francisco hippies just hadn't figured out phones yet."
"Well, I just got mine installed," I said, laughing. "I'm trying it out now. How's it sound?"
"Crystal clear," she said. I could hear her typing in the background. Taylor was always efficient with her time. "Welcome to the modern era, longhair. So what's up?"
"Well, how's your apartment looking lately?" I asked.
"My apartment?" She sounded confused. "Spotless, as usual. What do you need to know that for?"
"Just wondering if there's any room for a hippie in the next couple of days."
"You're here this weekend." She breathed in sharply. "Are you here right now? Come down to the office, let's meet up for dinner. And of course you can stay. My apartment's a mess though. I lied earlier."
She was hilarious. "No, I'm not there right now, but I will be," I said. "I'm going to book a ticket this afternoon, and I'll be there in the evening. Sound okay?"
"Sounds perfect. I can't wait. Send me an e-mail with the details and I'll meet you at the airport."
And then just like Bob, she hung up. But this time, I was ready for it. With a sudden excitement filling me, I called Poptech's travel agent, and booked a ticket to New York.
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At home, I packed a small bag with my things when I suddenly thought about Troy again. I hadn't been thinking of him since I talked to Taylor earlier today. A hollow feeling washed over me, the excitement over the trip fading. What if he came home, and I wasn't here? Should I call him to tell him I'd be gone?
My stomach twisted. I thought about it for a second. I really needed to do this for the magazine. And besides... Troy didn't want to talk. He had said himself that we needed some space. So twenty-five hundred miles would probably be more than enough.
But I looked around the apartment, and felt a faint horror at what we had become. He had left me, and now I was leaving him… and I felt suddenly like we were destroying something precious through all this. Tears began to prick at my eyes again, and I shook my head sharply, trying to think only of Taylor and how excited I was to see her. And I realized how much I had to go—I needed to see her, to tell her everything, to help me figure this all out.
Brushing my hand over my eyes again, I took a deep breath and composed myself. I scribbled a note about New York on a piece of paper and propped it on the kitchen counter for him.
And just as I was about to leave, an impulse came over me. Running back to the bedroom, I dug the ring out of my jacket pocket and put it back on. I didn't know if this was a stupid thing to do… but somehow, I already felt better.
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Author's Note: Well, we're on the road to recovery, I think… Oh, and an update on the review front: we have made it to 12 reviews for the last chapter. That doesn't break our record of 15, but I don't think it's too shabby considering these installments are being posted a bit faster lately. And I'm going to sound like a broken record, but I really think this is worth repeating: I do so love the long thoughtful comments you all leave. They make me so excited to continue with the story. (I'll name names at the end, I promise!)
Okay, your turn now: review!
