I can’t help but notice the way Dolly’s eyebrows rise slowly. ‘We?’
‘Yeah?’ I say, unsure if this is quite right either. I wish conversations didn’t feel so slippy to me.
Her brows slowly furrow into not quite a frown, but a question, I can tell that much. ‘What do you mean? You want me to come talk to production with you?’
I blink. This feels off course too. Because, yes, I think we should talk to production, but wouldn’t it make sense to bring this whole situation to them together? Perhaps we speak to Louise and Reb at the same time?
I realise belatedly, that I’ve been blabbering my thoughts out loud.
‘Carys,’ she says slowly, and a nervous ache grows in the middle of my torso. ‘What do you think is going to happen today?’
‘We don’t have to,’ I say, waving my hands. It all comes out in a nervous rush. ‘I don’t want to pressure you, or anything, and I know you probably want time to break things off with Warren first. But maybe we can talk about the easiest way to tell production so that we can leave without ruffling too many feathers. Or, you know, whenever we decide to go? I don’t want to rush you.’
That ache turns into a pit when Dolly shuffles off the bed stiffly, roughly throwing last night’s dress back on. She doesn’t look at me the whole time.
Still turned away from me, she takes one long deep breath in, like she’s preparing to monologue. ‘Carys, what are you talking about?’ she asks, her voice steady and flat.
‘Us?’ It’s supposed to be declarative, insistent, but it comes out as a question. I can’t get a handle on any of the words or how they sound because my heart is beating so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear myself.
Dolly looks up at the ceiling, and I understand thisbehaviour. It’s not the same as my lack of eye contact, which happens because it’s easier for me to concentrate if I don’t have to think about reacting or emoting or reading the other person properly. The kind of not looking Dolly is doing is about not wanting to look at me. And that is terrifying.
‘Carys,’ she says slowly.
Why won’t she look at me?
‘Carys, last night you said it would bejust once.’
The whiplash of this conversation is unending, and I scramble through the script of last night to try and remember what she’s talking about. ‘I said I wanted to feel the fireworks.’
‘Justonce,’ Dolly insists.
‘I don’t think I said that. I meant… like…foronce.’
‘Carys, you saidjust once. I remember it. I wouldn’t— I went along with you because I thought we understood each other.’
That can’t be right? Wasn’t it obvious that I meant much more than a one-night stand? Because after we kissed everything changed?
Didn’t it?
Panic floods through me because she’s misunderstood or maybe I’ve confused things by not being clear.
Dolly shakes her head and backs away from me slightly like I’m a wild animal. I feel like one, caged and ready to snap.
‘Fuck,’ Dolly whispers, wiping her hand down her face.
‘You’re coming with me,’ I say, cursing myself that I forgot the pesky question mark again.
‘What?’
‘I’m leaving.’
‘Yes.’ She nods once as though this was the obvious part.
‘And you’re coming with me?’ I ask properly this time.
But there’s a familiar look in her eyes, that look of pity and regret, the look I’ve seen too many times.
‘Aren’t you?’ My voice falters.
