I thought about it. The wedding is getting ever so closer, and before deleting my Facebook account, I saw Ollie posting about the ‘love of his life’, Alec. It read like a grovelling letter, but also reminded me he’s been on his phone, he’s been online, and he hasn’t texted me again. Maybe they’ve found someone else to marry them. Maybe they haven’t. Is that my problem anymore? Did I deserve to marry them when my first intention was to win Ollie back? What a horrible thought. What a horrible man I am.
Horrible.
Another word for myself.
I’ve browsed flights, even getting so far as to choose my seats for a one-way ticket out of here. But every time, I’ve closed theapp and thrown my phone across the room, on to the softest surface, though, of course. I may be rotting in this room but I still desired that connection.
I can’t leave.
Not yet.
The thought of returning to Cardiff, to my life in a cupboard with Willow the spider, makes me sad. I want to stay here, where the sun shines, where life is so carefree, and where there’s Sam.
Sam.
I have to see him. I couldn’t just leave.
I wouldn’t freeze him out.
‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘I have to speak to Sam.’
‘I’m worried about you.’
‘Okay.’
What else am I supposed to say?
Don’t be?
It’s fine?
I’m absolutely fucking fantastic?
None of that is true.
‘You know where I am, don’t you?’ Alice asks.
‘I do.’
I let her go, because she would stay all day if she could. Alice, the worrier, no doubt wants to monitor me. She doesn’t need to. I won’t do anything life altering.
I just need time to wallow.
To think.
It had all been going so well, this solace thing.
My room is dark, no social media and no distractions. My mind taking me to places that I boxed up and never wanted to look at again. It’s almost cathartic. Therapy couldn’t have taken me here. I bring to mind everything I’ve ever been told about myself, and break it down, realising that I wasn’t foolish, or horrible, or an idiot.
I’m halfway through pepping myself up, listening to a podcast on self-development, when the door knocks.
I haven’t ordered room service.
Maybe it’s the maid.
I look around my room, most of my clothes tidied away, because I’ve been lying in the nude this whole week. The only mess is a couple of mugs and glasses of finished and half-finished drinks.
They will go away.
