Page 54

She sighs and pulls up a plastic orange chair, so she’s at my level and looking right into my eyes. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry to tell you this, but he’s already on a plane to Australia.”

“The Thunder Down Under?” I click on the brand’s social media page and see the last post – a big photo of Damon’s beaming face in a first-class plane cabin with the caption: Guess Who’s Going to be Balls Deep?

I think I want to vomit. I don’t know if it’s my injuries, the drugs or Damon’s dumbass grin.

His girlfriend almost died and yet he didn’t think he could delay an intimate waxing sponsorship deal?

“Did he call?” I ask.

“Sorry love, we just got a message via that slimy creep…”

“Ben?”

“Yes, yes, that’s it. Ben. We called Damon multiple times on the drive down and it was just going to voicemail.

Eventually, frantic with worry, I got in touch with Layla who put me in touch with that Ben.

How rude is he? Anyway, he brusquely told me that Damon won’t be contactable for the next few hours as he’ll be on a plane.

I was so confused, he was with you when you fell but according to this Ben fella, the plan was always going to be a late night flight after the awards and, well, baby, he caught it.

” Mam grimaces, seeming genuinely sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

I still can’t believe it. “Does he know how hurt I am?”

Mam bends over and retrieves a bunch of newspapers from her bag. I’m on the front page of them all:

TELLY TUMBLE – Fans pray for Angelica as she’s rushed to hospital after falling off podium on live television

PRAYERS FOR OUR ANGEL – award-winning star in critical condition after lighting near-miss disaster

Each story is accompanied by an unflattering screenshot of me falling backwards, my mouth wide open in horror, pics of me and Damon on the red carpet earlier and then shots of all the fans outside the hospital lighting candles and laying down flowers, as if I’ve legitimately died.

“People have travelled far and wide, everyone’s been so sweet,” Mam says, before adding, “it’s all a bit melodramatic, but we know you’ll love this drama.”

I manage a smile. “I do, it’s like I’m at my own funeral but still alive to hear all the nice stuff! But if Damon knows how hurt I am and he still chose the brand deal, I just don’t get how he could do that.”

If strangers can come to the hospital to pray for me, then surely Damon, the man who has told me he loves me and would do anything for me on multiple occasions, can give up an advert opportunity.

But he hasn’t. His actions don’t match his words and, in that instant, it’s like everything becomes clear.

His actions have never matched his words.

There’s only one person that Damon has loved, or ever will love, and that’s himself.

Why have I wasted so much time on him? Don’t I deserve someone who loves me back?

The cards surrounding me from friends and family, alongside the hordes of fans waiting for me outside, prove that I do.

It’s funny as I should feel sad, but I’ve been heartbroken by Damon so many times before, and in this instance, having survived something so much worse than him, I can see he doesn’t deserve my tears either.

I feel sad…but for him. His life is going to be so miserable, if he keeps chasing all these false markers of success and never succumbs to loving and being loved by someone.

He’ll wind up one of those sad regretful types in Verity’s makeup chair.

All I’ve ever wanted is to love and be loved, and lying in this hospital room I see I’ve achieved that.

Sure, I don’t have the ‘one,’ but I have lots of ones, in my mam, my dad, Madison, Layla, my fans.

How lucky am I? It doesn’t have to be all about romantic love; friendships and family are just as important, I feel that now.

“But all the flowers? These are my favourites. I thought they were from Damon.”

If Damon didn’t do this, then who did? Mam and Dad just look at each other, as if they don’t know what to say.

As I look around at the beautiful flowers in their rainbow of colours, I hear a noise. The door opens and there, framed in the doorway, is Leo.

I’ve never seen him look this way before - there’s concern in his eyes, whether it’s out of worry about me or fear of what I’m going to say, I don’t know.

What I do know is that my last message to him was like slamming a door.

But alongside his look of concern, there’s a fierceness, as if he’s here to put himself between me and anything that could ever hurt me again.

His sleeves are rolled up and I concentrate on the muscles of his forearms as I can’t quite bring myself to meet his eyes again.

I can feel my heart pounding, a fierce if foolish hope growing that maybe he’s come to say what I know now I’ve been waiting to hear.

I have to stop myself remembering how his arms felt around me, how it felt to kiss him and remind myself instead how damning the evidence against him is.

Mam looks nervous and says her and Dad will be waiting outside.

“Do hear him out, love,” she says, as she retreats.

I’m trapped in this bed so I’ve got to listen to him. But I can’t promise I’ll forgive him.