Heartbreak is not good for someone with bowel disease. You know that cliché of the gnawing feeling in your guts? Well, it applies literally to me. Even though I’ve no appetite, I’m sprinting to the bathroom every thirty minutes, you know, just in case. I can’t figure out if the dull unease in my stomach is inflammation or just layers of unsettling emotion. It means that the toilet roll stash in my bedroom is diminishing faster than a supermarket in a pandemic. That’s what getting dumped does to an IBD sufferer.
Apparently, the writer of Alien had Crohn’s disease and based his infamous scene of the alien bursting out of his stomach on how he felt during a flare-up. I don’t know if that’s true but I couldn’t have described it better myself.
All week, Sophie and Amy have been asking me if I’m okay. I don’t know what I am. I’m just going through the motions of my job like a tinman. I’ve been walking around the office robotic, pale-faced, zombie-like. Doing everything with detached numbness. Hiding at my desk until it’s time to leave for fear I’ll bump into Tristan although I never do because he would need to go out of his way to make that happen in an office this big. Mild polite conversation, barely passing as banter is all I can manage. Even going to the canteen is soul-destroying because every damn menu option reminds me of him and his particular tastes.
Is this what grief feels like? I’ve never had someone close to me die before. The sorrow in my heart keeps me from sleeping, eating, talking, laughing, anything really. It’s just a constant wave of sadness washing over me, and I’m scared it will never cease.
What can I tell Sophie and Amy? I can’t tell them the truth. “Yes, I’m fine, I was sleeping with the CEO, but then I drugged his kid, so he dumped me and now I’m suffocating with sorrow and think I have broken heart syndrome as well as irritable bowel disease.”
It’s times like this when IBD comes in handy. You mention you feel poorly because of an irritable bowel, and it will kill all conversations. I had to tell them I had a bad cold as well to explain the sniffling symptoms. My eyes are constantly misting over, and my voice sounds tired and hoarse because I’m crying so much at night.
Only Megan knows the truth.
Right now, I feel like I won’t recover, which I know is ridiculous because couples break up all the time, many after decades together. Tristan and I had just started out as a couple. But regardless, it’s hit me hard. And it’s only been seven days.
True to his word he was taking me off the Garcia case. At least he had the kindness to do it in a subtle way that didn’t scream of ‘you screwed the boss!’ The story is that I’m needed in my current assignments. We were requiring less direct meetings with Maria these days so I knew my involvement would be petering off. I have one last meeting early next week and only Adi is attending so Tristan and I won’t cross paths.
With me coming off the case, the only contact I’ve had with Tristan is a few short detached but polite messages to tell me that Daniel has recovered and is doing well. I’ve re-read the messages hundreds of times, trying to decipher his emotions from them. I even got Megan to dissect them. Does he miss me? Does he care for me at all? It’s hard to tell from ‘Daniel is recovering well, thank you.’ Every single one I follow up with ‘I’m sorry.’
Nothing comes back.
I’m also dying to know, what did he do with the painting? Did he throw it out?
So here I am, outside his townhouse, fear and nerves swirling in my fragile gut. I have to talk to him face-to-face. I’ll walk away with either closure or a second chance with him. Either of those options would be better than this horrible limbo.
I take a deep breath and rap on the knocker. I’m not sure if I’m hoping it’s Natalia or Tristan.
My blood runs cold when I see who answers the door.
Not Tristan. Not Natalia.
Gemina.
At first, she doesn’t recognise me, then her eyes narrow in disgust. “You.”
“I, uh,” I stammer, completely taken aback. I had a speech prepared for Tristan, not Gemina. Now I have my answer in the most painful way possible, slap bang in the face.
“I don’t recall arranging cleaning services,” she says, eying me coolly. “And if I did, I wouldn’t request you.”
I’d be furious if I wasn’t so devastated.
“Is Tristan here?” I ask, my voice trembling. Why did I think coming here was a good idea?
Her eyes narrow. “No, he isn’t here, not that it’s any of your business.” Her eyes narrow. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Have you moved in?” I choke out. I want to run away, but I need to know the whole truth.
She stares at me with a reserved intensity. “Yes. Daniel and I both live here, where we belong. Listen, I’m sorry that you got caught up in this but you need to stay away.” The knife twists deeper with each word. “Stay away from me, stay away from my son and stay away from Tristan.”
I get it, Gemina, you won. You were right, I was just a fling.
I turn on my heel and run down the driveway.
***
Two weeks ago, I would have been ecstatic to attend the Madison Legal annual staff party. There has been a buzz around the office since I started. Even on my first day, people said “Oh, you started just weeks before the annual party, lucky you!”
Of course, the Madison Legal bash would be lavish and extravagant; Tristan Kane is notorious for his high standards of anything he puts his name on. Madison had rented out the Billingsgate Gold venue in East London and filled it with champagne, caviar and the same fire dancers from Venus Envy.
Now Friday night has arrived, and I’m forced to put on my big girl’s smile, a party dress, a second attempt of contouring by Megan, and brave a night of Tristan Kane in the same room but so unreachable.
It’s a great networking event, Sophie told us. A chance to rub shoulders with management and get noticed. Little did she know how many body parts of ‘management’ I had already rubbed.
If I didn’t attend, then Sophie would know something was really wrong. Besides, I need to get back to normalcy sometime, right? It’s been exactly two weeks since the incident with Daniel. I had to call in sick to work the next day after seeing Gemina at Tristan’s townhouse. I said I wouldn’t let this thing with Tristan affect my career. That’s not me. Yet I called in sick to work because of a fling that went wrong with the boss. Talk about self-sabotaging my career before it’s even started.
So here I am, braving it at the all-staff party, trying to claw back any dignity I have left. Sophie, Amy, and I went for a quick drink in a bar next door; even Sophie said she gets nervous at these events and needs the courage.
We follow the crowds into the glamorous venue. This is no tired hotel conference centre with a sandwich buffet. Billingsgate Gold’s triple-height ceilings make it uber decadent, but there are still enough discrete corners to understand why there’s so much gossip about Madison Legal office romances. I gaze around the venue, taking in as much detail as quickly as I can. I won’t rest until I know where he is so I can avoid him. I can hide amongst the throngs of people, just like in the office Tristan would have to go out of his way to find me.
“Are you alright?” Sophie peers at me. “Is it still you-know-what?” She makes eyes at my butt.
“Just cramps,” I lie pathetically, taking the champagne she offers me.
I follow Sophie and Amy around for the next hour, my mind hollow as we mingle with other lawyers. I go through the motions of a typical office partygoer. I make tepid small talk with people I don’t know, I dance a little to appease Sophie and Amy, and I avoid Juan, who is treating the event as a singles party.
I’m starting to think he hasn’t turned up, until Sophie nudges me and I turn around to feel the heavy stare of Tristan. He is standing centre of attention, in a scrum of about ten lawyers. His jaw clenches as his gaze drops down to my dress. I’m wearing the blue flowing dress that Tristan bought as a surprise for me to wear tonight. I thought it would be a waste of a good dress if I didn’t.
His eyes blaze. I recognise that expression. He likes what he sees. My skin prickles with a familiar awareness; a few weeks ago, I would have been excited by him watching me. It’s irrelevant now.
“Soph,” I say, breaking contact with Tristan. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head home.”
She frowns, concern etched on her face as I struggle to keep the tears from falling. “Are you sure it’s nothing more?”
Tristan is still staring at me.
I nod. “I’ll be fine. I just need to go home.” I give them both a hug good night and hurry to the cloakroom, then teeter down the stairs as fast as I can in heels. I just need to escape.
Pathetic. This is what pining over a man has turned me into. I thought I was stronger than that.
I’m a few steps away from the exit when I hear the low gravelly voice of my dreams and nightmares. “Elly.”
Slowly I turn to face him. We stare at each other in silence for a few seconds. If I open my mouth, I might burst into tears.
Up close, he looks tired. “We need to talk.” He runs a hand over his jaw. “Not here tonight. There’s too many people. I have to go to the airport directly from here to fly to Hong Kong. I’m back in two days. I’ll set something up for as soon as I’m back.”
I look away, finding a sudden interest in the chandeliers. What does it matter?
“I’m not good with apologies,” he says softly.
“It’s fine, I get it,” I say, my voice jerky. “He’s your son. He takes priority.”
“I was angry but I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I thought I lost…everything,” he says in a strained voice. “I’m sorry.”
His chest rises and falls as he waits for me to respond.
“Mr. Kane!” A voice booms from the top of the stairs, and we look up to see some senior lawyers bolting down the stairs, ready to ambush the CEO.
I take my opportunity to escape. Exhaling sharply, I push the door open into the cool London night.
I should never have given him a second chance after Greece. The second time cut much deeper. But the second time will be the last time.
