Fall for Me by Claudia Burgoa
Chapter Eighteen
Willow
Today is not a good day.Generally, it’s one of the worst. I wish this day were over just as much as I fear six o’clock will come, and I’ll feel lonelier than I do right now. At the moment, the continuous traffic coming and going into the offices keeps my mind off my birthday and focused on directing the packages and visitors to the right place. Pathetic. This stagnant place is about to become my life sentence. From a temporary receptionist to a full-time employee for Beesley Enterprises. My agent quit yesterday. Like my former roommate, she’s leaving for LA.
When I asked if she could continue to represent me, she explained her new vision is the small screen. Streaming movies and independent shows. Who is she? She didn’t spell it out, but we both know I’m out of the scene. I’m too old to make it into a Broadway show. Hazel insists I have to keep trying. If this is my destiny and what makes me happy, I can’t give up now. Plenty of actors and actresses don’t make it big until their thirties.
“Why don’t you go back to school, Wills?” She had mentioned over the phone last night. After our heated discussion on Monday, I’ve tried to call her and be more proactive. “We can help you with the tuition.”
Poor kid, she believes everyone is as charitable as her. Hasn’t she learned from what happened to her last month? She asked our grandfather to let her transfer to Columbia, but he declined. The man will only pay for her grad school if she continues studying at Duke where he graduated. I doubt he’ll pay for some stupid classes to entertain my hobby. That’s what my career is becoming, an expensive diversion. Twenty-seven years old, as of today, and I don’t have a house, a job I enjoy, a retirement plan, or a five-year plan.
I laugh, realizing I don’t have a one-week plan.
Compared to my younger sister, I’m a failure. She has a college degree, a big office, a team under her supervision, a house in Raleigh where she studies for her master’s degree in business. Since high school, she’s been planning her future. I have seen her five-year plan which she updates accordingly. Who the fuck is that organized? Not me.
How am I supposed to show my grandfather I’m worth keeping around when I can’t be like her?
I’m a mess. My sister is right, something inside me destroys what little I achieve. Only a few weeks ago I was on the verge of drowning. Poor Hunter, he stayed with me while I curled around my useless suffering and cried myself to sleep. That man is a saint. He’s my savior. All I have. I ask myself daily how long he’ll stay. Checking my phone for the fifth time in the past hour, I worry. He hasn’t texted me all day, nor called. “Trust me,” he said. Yet, he disappeared on me. I’m trying my best to stay strong, controlling the deeply insecure woman inhabiting my body.
Last night he called to say there was a problem with a case. Today, he didn’t text or call. My parents haven’t reached out to me—no surprise there, they don’t give a shit about me. Their mantra is Fuck Willow.
Why is today a Wednesday?
Hazel won’t be here until tomorrow night. She has called and emailed me. Though, it’s not the same. My grandfather is away on a business trip with Fitzhenry Everhart. Does he know about today? Yes, Grant knows everything, even the most insignificant details of my life. He plans accordingly to avoid what disgusts him. He’s making it clear with his actions I don’t belong near him. I’m broken. So far, he hasn’t complained about my outburst. He’s so understanding. How long will he accept who I am before he suggests I change?
You don’t belong anywhere.
I do. Of course, I do. I belong with Hunter. If only Hunter were here everything would be so much better. He would listen to me.
Am I becoming too dependent on him?
Some days it feels as if my entire existence hangs by the thread of his attention. He’s the anchor preventing me from drifting away. I hang on to his every heartbeat, his aroma, that low voice, and those blue eyes as deep as the ocean. He reminds me so much of the water I wanted to disappear into so long ago. Is this what my life is now? My breaths match his. It’s as though I only exist because of him.
As the clock announces that it is six in the evening, I text him.
Willow: Should I wait for you?
I wait about ten minutes while I sit at my desk, but no answer comes through. My body shakes as I fight the embarrassment of calling his office. This is an emergency. He gave me the number in case I couldn’t find him. His assistant answers right away, assuring me that when he’s done with his appointments for the day he’ll call me. She has orders for him not to be interrupted by anyone.
“I’m not just anyone, I’m Willow, his girlfriend,” I clarify. She seems to not have any knowledge of who I am and the reason for my call. “Hasn’t he mentioned me?”
“Dear, you’re no special snowflake if that’s what you think.” She chuckles, her indifference poking into the already sore spots. Pain beginning to surface. “Last week it was someone named Anna, three weeks ago Henrietta, next week might be a Stacy or Katherine. Who knows? He finds them faster than they disappear.”
I go mute, what is happening?
This can’t possibly be true. Not Hunter, he’s one of the good guys.
“This week it’s Jordan. I think you missed your week, dear.” I imagine him sitting in a restaurant with this Jordan. She’s tall and elegant with long, fiery hair and expressive eyes. That’s where he was last night, having sex with his new flavor.
“What did I do wrong?” I mumble. “I did everything right.”
“All of you are the same,” the woman on the other side responds. “Give it up and move on, dear. Be with someone who will let you use him.”
Just now I notice that I forgot to hang up and let her inside my thoughts. How fucking stupid am I? Of course, he used me while I kept him interested. Once we started having sex, he lost interest. The new reality shows itself to me. The wound inside my heart reopens, oozing negativity and fear. All the negativity I have been working so hard to keep away traps me into a ball. His rejection is suffocating me.
The need to release the pain burns my skin.
Every second that passes I’m shaking more. My skin is heating up. I want to peel it off me. Running away from the building, I hurry to my grandfather’s house. The entire trip is a blur of people pushing me away, cars honking, and the doorman calling after me. I don’t stop. They can’t see what’s happening. The release is only a few floors away. Entering my grandfather’s place, I go to my en suite bathroom, finding the kit I’ve hidden.
Opening the metal lid, I find the small, thin razor. A voice says not to do it. This feels like a relapse, a step backward from everything I promised myself I’d be after the time my roommate saw me drunk and slashed apart. But I need to let everything escape from my system. Hazel’s small voice asking me not to leave her is what pushes the edge of the blade deep into my skin. Letting everything go will keep me floating until I reach the shore. She’s my person. The only one who wants me around. Desperately, I continue tracing lines on my legs, my stomach and enjoy the oozing of the blood flowing outside my body along with the pain—the copper smell calming my troubled mind.
If I don’t let it out, I might die. Today wasn’t any different from all the other shitty birthdays I’ve had. I recall that first birthday when my mother decided to cancel it because I touched the frosting on the cake. Dad called the few people that were coming and took her away to her room. I ended up watching Hazel who was only two years old. After that, I never asked for a party. I tried to stay quiet when she said she needed silence. Everything to keep Mommy happy, to ensure that she loved me.
I feel dizzy from drawing so many lines, but I’m happy as the weight on my chest leaves. My worries levitating with it. My mind starts wandering, I see myself flying, and I stand up on my weak limbs. They carry me to the balcony. Pushing the doors open, I imagine the wonderful feeling of letting the wind carry me. I want to fly and let the air purify me. No more pain, no more uncertainty, no more rejection or loneliness. I can be myself. Who am I? Do I recall who I was before I tried to make every person I know happy?
Shaking, I continue my way to the railing. It’s too far for me to reach. The cold air hits me hard. My eyes start closing, and I feel like I’m falling into the blackness. Free at last.
