“Yeah, okay.” I end the call and drop my phone on my desk. The screen of my laptop has the image of a beautiful, tattooed man, so like Royal, taunts me. Fuck him! If he’s too chicken to tell me himself, I’ll do it for him.
When Royal’s phone goes straight to voicemail, I don’t stab it shut. “So, you’re too fucking scared to tell me yourself? Well, fuck you, Royal-fucking-Foster. You can go and be happy with your new toy. I don’t need you.”
I need a drink.
I’ve been wallowing since yesterday evening. I’m not expecting anyone, so I can indulge myself in a huge pity party. A drunken one too.
I wake up thanks to someone violently shaking my shoulder. It’s Finn, and he’s frowning at me. “What the fuck is going on?” He dumps his bag on the floor by the side of the sofa.
“Nothing is going on. I’m fine.” I sway as I try to sit up. “Whatcha doing back home anyway?”
“It’s Sunday evening, Memphis. Have you been lying here all weekend? And you’re not fine, you’re drunk. What the fuck has gone on in the forty-eight hours I’ve been away? All I get is some garbled message about stupid men and stupid tattoos.” He’s waving his phone at me.
I don’t remember calling him. I don’t remember calling anyone. “No idea, mate.” I push upright and get my balance and get past him. I want to lie down again.
“Memphis, look at me. What’s happened? Is it Royal?”
“That fucker can go fuck himself and the fucking perfect little twink he’s found.” I flop down onto the sofa and reach for the glass of gin and tonic. It’s hardly got any tonic in it by this stage, but I don’t care. I swig the contents down, wincing at the harsh taste of almost pure gin.
Finn snatches the glass away and sniffs it; he recoils at the strong alcohol. “Jesus, Memphis, you’re kidding me. There’s no way he’s done that. He’s mad about you. Are you sure? Why would he do that?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. He can have all the boys he wants.” I try to take my glass back, but Finn lifts it out of my reach. “Give it back.”
“No, I’m cutting you off. Time for strong coffee and some answers. Because the Royal you’ve told me all about wouldn’t do that.”
“Yeah? Then why has he ignored all my calls? His family are covering for him too.” I feel sick, and as the bile builds, I rush to the bathroom. Only just making it to the toilet before the contents of my stomach—which is mainly alcohol—rises in my throat.
It takes more than one purge. I retch until my stomach cramps and my throat burns, then collapse on the tiles.
When I open my eyes again, I’m not on the bathroom floor. I’m in my bed and only wearing my underwear. What the fuck?
“Memphis?” My name comes out as a question. It sounds like Finn, but why the hell would he be in my flat? “How do you feel?”
My eyelids flutter shut again; it’s all too bright. “Go away,” I mutter into my pillow.
“Nope. Nuh-uh. Open your eyes again.” My mattress dips as the weight of my best friend sits by me. “You’ve got some explaining to do. First, what happened to your phone?”
This makes me curious, so I open my eyes a sliver. “Whatcha mean?”
Finn holds up the shattered screen in front of me. “It looks like you threw it against the wall. Seriously, Memphis, what’s going on?”
“Did you stay in here all night? Matt’s not going to like that.” I groan, knowing this is another bullet in the gun Matt’s going to be aiming at me. “Royal has met someone else, but instead of telling me, he’s gone radio silent and so have his brothers and dads.” My words come out flat, monotone since telling him makes it all the more real. “So, I got drunk.”
“Matt’s not here. You told me this last night, and I still don’t believe it. I’m going to call him and sort this shit out.”
“NO!” I shout, sitting up in bed and clutching my head. “Leave him alone, please, Finn. I can’t blame him. I’ve caused all of this. Let me have today to mope. I’ll be fine by tomorrow. I’m going to sleep the day away. Go away, or Matt will have another reason to hate me.”
He hesitates, then nods. “Okay, but shout if you need me.” Then he looks at my phone. “You need a new phone.”
“I’ll sort that tomorrow.”
I flop back down and close my eyes. I doubt I’ll get to sleep again, not after telling Finn about Royal.
The next time I open my eyes, it’s dark. I did sleep the day away. I do feel better for it. My head is clearer, but it’s my heart, instead, that hurts. It’s probably for the best my phone is dead, or I’d be calling Royal, begging him to pick me.
“What do you want to eat?” I call to Finn. It’s Wednesday, and we’ve had a long day, both of us working flat out to reach a deadline for a new website and rebrand of a chain of sports clothing stores. It’s nine at night, and it’s ready to go. With one more check, Finn presses send on the file to the head of marketing.
“Pizza, it’s quick.” He smiles at me. He’s been good at staying silent about Royal and my meltdown. I know he wants to ask if I’m okay.
