Page 15

Chapter 15

Giselle

A fter my chat with Rosie, I head into my meditation studio, roll out my purple yoga mat, slick a fresh layer of lavender oil onto my inner wrists and run through a handful of stretches to get both my mind and body into a state of calm. It does no good to be in the wrong frame of mind while I’m preparing to teach.

Over the course of a couple of hours, I lead three back-to-back meditation classes, until the strong scent of vanilla and sandalwood, which is drifting in a thin stream out of my incense stick, feels permanently ingrained in my nose.

After the last member of my class has disappeared through the door, I stand to my full height, flexing my toes and relishing in the soft foam feel of my mat beneath my flesh, the rush of fresh blood flowing through my body. A numb patch of static radiating through one of my calves, a sure sign I’ve been sitting in the same position for too long.

Stepping off my mat in an attempt to stretch my muscle and alleviate the cramp, I cross the floor to stub out the incense stick and give a few of the spare yoga mats, which have been used today, a wipe down with an antibacterial cloth.

It’s habit to check my phone after I’ve finished up, noting, with the beginnings of a pit in my stomach, the lack of notifications.

With a near violent shove, I push the negative feeling away. Out of my mind. Out of my body.

I need to get a grip.

It’s Hudson’s birthday for crying out loud; he’s spending time with his family. I don’t expect him to be on his phone all day, pining after me like a lovesick puppy. So why should I be bothered that I haven’t heard from him? He said he’d call when he got a chance and I believe him. Enough said.

Throwing my phone back into my bag, wishing I’d never looked at the thing in the first place, I lock up the door to my studio, waving goodbye to Rex, who stands by the treadmills, coaching one of his clients.

Tucking my chin into the collar of my winter coat, I brave the freezing weather outside, trekking my way back to my apartment. The pitch-black colour of the sky above does nothing to help my emotional mood, stirring up my feelings even further until they’re bubbling right beneath the surface, threatening to overspill, like a bottle of pop being shaken with vigour.

It’s only late afternoon, but with the darkness shrouding itself over the city, it feels much more like night, leaving me disorientated.

Shrugging off my layers in the safe space of my quiet apartment, I head straight into the bathroom, turning up the temperature dial in the shower until it’s almost boiling. While the pipes inside my apartment walls clatter and protest the sudden influx of warm water, I scrape my hair up into a bun, leave my workout clothes in a pile on the tiled floor and step inside the glass enclosure.

The shower in my apartment doesn’t have the world’s best water pressure, but it’s hot which is the main thing, and it does something to help ease the kinks and tension I hold in my back and shoulders.

Once I’m washed, dried, and dressed in a clean pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt, I go to wrap myself up in my fluffy robe, only to stop still when I smell Hudson on the collar. Was it really only this morning that he stood in my kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and my robe?

I slip my arms into the fluffy sleeves, tie the belt of the robe around my waist tightly and raise the material to my nose, inhaling the familiar citrusy scent of him mixed with the smell of my fabric conditioner.

Maybe I should text him just to make sure he got home safely?

Does texting him so soon make me sound needy?

Frowning to myself, I grab my gym bag, fishing my mobile from the dark depths. If I want to text him, then I should just text him. Simple. It’s not needy , it’s showing I care . It’s really not that serious.

Shoving the charging cable into the slot at the bottom, I key in my passcode, bringing up Hudson and I’s latest message thread.

Giselle: hi! Just checking in to make sure you got home safely… missing you x

Jabbing my thumb into the backspace button, I erase the last two words of my text.

For a heartbeat, I bounce around the idea of deleting the whole message, and maybe I would have if a sudden sharp rap on my front door hadn’t made me jump out of my skin and accidentally hit the send button.

Dropping my phone on the kitchen counter, I cross the short distance to my door, squinting through my peephole to see who is standing on the other side.

“Package for you. Came this afternoon,” greets my middle-aged neighbour from across the hall. We aren’t that friendly, I hardly know her name, but we’re cordially enough to take in each other’s packages when the opportunity arises.

My smile feels like wax on my face, but I paint it on regardless, reaching out my hand to grab my parcel. “Thanks.”

My redheaded neighbour nods, turning on her heel without another word to me.

Shutting the door behind her, I rip into the box like package, pulling out the pair of ruby red heels I managed to grab online in the last of the season sales.

My bank account could have done without the extra splurge, but I decide it’s worth it when I feel a bubble of serotonin fizz through me.

Plus, I think, discarding the cardboard spacer, slipping my foot into each shoe, and wiggling my toes to get a feel of the fit, I’ve got a sneaky suspicion these heels are going to make my arse look spectacular.

Praying my downstairs neighbour is either out for the evening, or has his noise cancelling headphones on, I take a step forward, and then another, testing out how it feels to walk.

Not too bad.

Maybe a little bit of rubbing on the back of my heel, but that’s nothing a little square of cotton wool and a plaster can’t fix. As soon as I’ve broken them in and worn down the patent material, I’m sure they’ll be perfect.

Lifting my left foot and then my right, I yank the heels off. Maybe I could wear them to my next class, paired with a red all in one bodysuit I’m pretty sure is hidden away in the depths of my wardrobe…

Buzz .

The notification sound pinging on my phone distracts me from my train of thought.

I bet it’s Hudson.

Giddy butterflies taking flight in my stomach, I make a grab for my phone.

1 new message.

Thumbs flying over the keyboard to type in my passcode, I scan the text message, my stomach dropping an inch or so when I realise it isn’t from Hudson.

Oh.

It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine.

At least, that’s what I repeat to myself as I reply to my mother’s text.

It’s fine, he’s just… busy. That’s all.

But still, my stomach sours, every drop of excitement I’d been feeling minutes before dissipating.

I keep myself busy for the rest of the evening, making myself some dinner in hopes that the process of chopping vegetables and boiling water for my pasta, will keep both my brain and my hands busy.

It doesn’t work.

I eat dinner alone while watching some reality TV, something that doesn’t usually bother me, but tonight only increases the loneliness I’m feeling and then I head to bed.

Sliding beneath the covers, I close my eyes, hoping sleep will catch a hold of me quickly so I can start a fresh tomorrow, but instead I toss and turn. My phone, now lying on my bedside cabinet, taunts me with its lack of notifications.

It hurts to even think it, but maybe, just maybe, this morning didn’t mean nearly as much to him as it did to me.

I pull the bedcovers up to my chin. Just like the collar of my fluffy robe, they still smell like him; the deodorant he wears and something citrusy.

Everywhere I look, everything I touch, he’s permeated with his presence. The unused pillow beside me still bares the dent of his head, the empty coffee cup he’d sipped from hours ago still sits on my table, the extra set of plates and cutlery I stacked in the dishwasher this morning after he made us breakfast…

Unable to take the silence surrounding me any longer, I jab my finger into the power button of my TV remote, flicking through the channels until I find a familiar American sit-com. I close my eyes as the laugher reel washes over me, fighting back the urge to check my phone one last time.

With a huff, I turn my back on the tiny, but scarily mighty, mobile device, forcing my breath into a meditative state, until finally , I drift off.

I sleep fitfully, my mind and body in states of disarray. By the time I’ve had enough of tossing, turning, and watching the timestamp on my phone jump from midnight, to 3 a.m. and then 4:02 a.m., I finally decide to just start my day with the birds.

Even though I know deep down what I’ll find, I still fall into the trap of swiping up and down the empty notification panel on my mobile.

Not a single notification from Hudson graces my screen.

I want to fucking scream.

With rage, with frustration, with disappointment; both at myself and at Hudson.

Swallowing past the lump building in my throat, I reread the text message I sent him last night. The knot in my stomach grows unbelievably even tighter as my eyes dip down, noticing four bold letters – READ – sitting beneath my message.

I can’t believe I believed him; I can’t believe I fell for his pretty words and his promises and I—

A fresh cup of coffee in hand, I slump into my sofa cushions, biting back the tears threating to spill over.

Using my thumb, I wipe away the steam building on my gold ring from the heat of my mug. A distorted version of my face peers back, face pale, eyes red.

I let Hudson take part of my body, for fucks sakes.

God, I feel sick.

I never meant for this to happen, but I allowed him in, allowed him in to see a hidden part of me, and this… this is his repayment.

I should have known; once a heartless playboy, always a playboy. I stupidly thought last night meant something to him, but apparently not.

I’ve let myself get caught up in his web and now I’m the one paying the consequences because I’ve developed feelings for the man.

Sipping my much too hot coffee, I click through a few social media apps simply on autopilot. I know I shouldn’t, I should do something proactive for my mind and body instead – yoga, breathwork, maybe even get a head start on a spring clean – but it’s too tempting, too easy to scroll through without much thought.

For a moment, it numbs the jumbled-up bag of emotions I’m feeling. I can get lost in someone else’s world, in someone else’s seemingly perfect aesthetic life.

But that all comes crashing down when a blurry photo of Hudson graces my recommended page.

Like someone who just can’t seem to quit their addiction, I tap onto his page, the already present knot in my stomach tightening until it’s physically hard to breathe.

It isn’t the best quality photograph to be taken, but it’s not too blurry that I can’t make out the bright smile overtaking Hudson’s lips.

Lips that I know how they feel against my own, lips that have touched me, caressed me, whispered a mixture of sweet and filth dipped words and then sent me spiralling into ecstasy.

The photo must have been taken with the flash on because Hudson’s sage green eyes are lit up golden; practically sparkling with sheer happiness.

I hate to admit it, but it cuts like a sharp knife into my already torn up wound. While Hudson was having his photo taken, laughing and smiling, lit up with joy, I was moping around my apartment, snacking on chocolate biscuits and fighting back the urge to double check my phone for a text message from him.

I was the one tossing and turning all night, my mind creating a thousand and one different scenarios as to why he hadn’t texted…

My thumb slips easily against the pixilated touchscreen, sliding along to reveal the next photograph in the carousel. Setting my mug of hardly drank coffee down, I pinch the screen, zooming in so I can make out every little detail.

It’s a group photo, snapped in a pub if the barman in the background is anything to go by, while the smiling familiar faces of Hudson’s older brothers staring back at me. Two women, Delilah and Faith according to the username tags, sit perched, grinning, on the laps of their respective partners. Blake, another of Hudson’s brothers, sits alone but looks no less happy.

And Hudson…

Hudson sits alone too, a bottle of beer inches away from his mouth, eyes intently focused on the camera in front of him.

A thrill of heat thrums through me just at the sight of him, quickly followed by a zap of annoyance at myself.

Why am I pining after a man, who still hasn’t called or texted when he promised he would?

Ugh.

Fuck this.

Switching off my phone, I toss it into the sofa cushions beside me and stand to grab my journal and a pen so I can get my thoughts out on paper, rather than them cloying up my brain.

I have work to do, both for my own mental health and for my dance classes.

Neither of which include Hudson fucking Millen.