Page 99 of Falling for Grace

“What are you cooking?” I glance over the counter at Theresa, who’s standing in front of the oven wiggling to the radio as she fries something.

“Onions and garlic. Don’t you just love that smell?” I turn my nose up. “Or not. Now, Grace, don’t take this the wrong way because you’ve been looking fairly shitty since all the stress and drama with he who shall not be named. But Babe, you're looking greener than normal. You feeling okay?”

I launch off the sofa and run to the bathroom, expelling the contents of my stomach into the sink before I even manage to lift the toilet lid up. My stomach heaves until everything I ate earlier in the day makes a quick and swift exit via the route it went in.

What the fuck?

That was extreme.

But I feel immediately better.

“Holy cowbells!” Theresa runs into the bathroom, wiping her hands on a towel. “Are you okay? Silly question, looking at the state of the sink. Gross, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I run the tap and lift the plug out. “Grab me the anti bac, please?”

“Anti bac? Bleach that bad boy, because ew.”She reaches down next to the toilet and passes me the bleach. “Are you sick?”

“No, I don’t think so. I feel better.”

“Can you manage a glass of wine?”

I hesitate. Brandon used alcohol as a way to escape, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed that I was also enjoying the odd glass of wine to ease my mind and relax the tension in my muscles that has taken what feels like permanent presence in my life.

“I probably shouldn’t. Alcohol isn’t really the answer.”

“No, but neither is milk, so let's get you a big ass glass of wine, shall we, and not worry about it. Besides, it’s made from grapes. Counts as one of your five a day.” Theresa waltzes out of the bathroom.

I’m stressed, there’s no doubt about it.

Brandon is safely settled into the rehabilitation centre, with zero access to a phone, which makes me less jumpy in answering mine on the off chance it’s him and has ignored my plea for radio silence. I still haven’t plucked up the courage to listen to his voicemails, the symbol a constant reminder that I’m chicken shit.

My heart hurts. My head hurts thinking about everything. But I’m feeling more settled than I have for a while. I called my work and managed to get myself an extended period of leave, politely telling them, “I need to sort my shit out.”

Theresa hasn’t been to work, either, and we’ve spent the last three days talking and vegging out. I’m all talked out, but I also feel clearer than I have in a long time.

I was to blame for the whole public meltdown. I pushed him when he told me to not to. I smothered him when he asked for space, all because I felt guilty. On reflection I realised I was selfish in my actions. With that acknowledgement I thought I would spiral into the dark place where I was afraid I would be headed following the very public breakdown. But somewhat surprisingly I was dealing with it remarkably well and I realised I wasn’t the same Grace I used to be. I was stronger, more resilient.

The story was still out there but it wasn’t painting me as the enemy.

Brandon’s people had put out a statement and an injunction had been made to remove the video from the public domain. I had no idea how these things worked, but I was grateful for it. They had also contacted me through Ava. Security was posted outside of my apartment 24/7. I was assured paparazzi would not get close to me, which was reassuring, but I still hadn’t plucked up the courage to leave the house just yet.

I had, however, started to formulate my own plan. Although the video was being removed the story remained, and it potentially allowed me to turn the loss of Maya into a platform where I could raise the profile of a medical condition that isn’t discussed often.

But I wanted to do it with Brandon.

Ben and Rob had both been round, dropping off groceries and keeping me company. Well, Ben had been keeping me company, Rob had been boning Theresa while Ben and I sat and chatted in the living room. This afternoon Ben popped in between classes and asked the same question I had sat thinking about constantly since I had thrown Brandon out.

“Can you forgive him?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. Deep down I think I would, I would forgive, but I was afraid that I would never be able to forget.

“Do you still want him in your life?”

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation, and Ben smiled.

“And there's your answer.” He sat forward, his hair in its usual unkempt state. He was wearing his gym clothes. He really was attractive, but for me, he was a friend, and one that I hoped I could keep. He placed his mug of tea on the coffee table. “You’ll forgive him because we forgive people, simply because we still want them in our life.” He stood up.

“It’s been three days, Grace. I don’t know what you're still doing here, to be honest.” He grabbed his keys and wallet on the side.

---