Page 6 of A World Apart
Later that evening, I sat on my bed, staring out the window as ‘Broken Promise’ played softly from the little portable speaker perched on my windowsill.
“Most people think this song is about heartbreak,” I’d explained to Becka earlier, just before she’d made me turn GVibes off. “But it’s really about life not living up to the expectations you set for it.” Becka had hummed in half-hearted acknowledgment, already tired of my endless fawning.
'Broken Promise' had always been one of my favourites. It resonated with me — probably with anyone who’d ever been let down by something they’d counted on, only for it to fall through. It made me think of my mum. Of my… biological father.
It reminded me of the lengths I’d go to, the sacrifices I’d make, just to achieve the things I felt I needed in life. A purpose.
As the song ended, I sighed and started getting ready for bed. Just one more day to get through untilhewas here. A nervous flutter began in my belly, and it was some time before I could sleep,
Wednesday
All of Wednesday my patience was tested. I was mostly stuck with busy-work for admin. I photocopied so many copies of NDAs, contracts, and affiliate-use forms that, by midday, my hands were splotchy with ink and my thumb was indented from stapler over-use.
At lunch, I’d tried to meet up with Becka, but she’d been too busy to stop, sending me an apologetic text to say she couldn’t leave her desk. I’d wandered aimlessly down to the market instead to grab a few things for dinner.
By the time the end of the day had rolled around, I’d had to practically drag Becka away from her desk.
“You would not believe how busy this dude is making our social calendar,” she muttered darkly and sounding not-at-all enthusiastic.
“Aww, I’m so sorry that the international superstar is making your life difficult.” I poked my tongue out the side of my mouth. She cracked a smile, but I could tell she was feeling the strain.
“It’s not really him that’s the problem. It’s the press. You would not believe how fucking nosy they are.” She ran a frustrated hand down her face − carefully though, she spent ages doing her makeup this morning.
I would absolutely believe that of the press.
“And obviously we’re not allowed to confirm that he is actually coming here,” she continued. “I honestly have no idea how they even know. We’ve only just found out, for fucks sake. She exclaimed, pushing open the front door to the street perhaps a little harder than necessary.
“I mean, it wasn’t even this bad that one time we had ‘you-know-who’,” she said. We were on the street walking towards the bus stop, so no names.
“Voldemort?” I asked innocently. She gave me a droll look.
“All I’m saying is, this kid better be the nicest person to ever walk through those doors,” she huffed out, seemingly running out of steam.
I said nothing. We both knew I was hyped to be in the same building as him, but that was no reason to rub it in. I only took her arm in companionable silence as wewaited for the bus, which didn’t smell half as bad this time of the day as it did in the morning.
Sometimes the patrons did though, but one problem at a time.
Thursday
Without even needing to discuss it, Becka and I had both decided we’d get into the studio early today.
She was at the kitchen counter filling both of our travel mugs when I emerged from my bedroom. She gave me an assessing look up and down and then nodded approvingly. I appreciated the support because lord knows I’d agonised over this outfit all bloody morning.
In my position, I did not have to wear anything resembling formal or office-attire, but I also couldn’t just rock up looking like I’d just rolled out of bed and given that I’d only been here a scant month, my choices were distressingly slim.
I’d finally settled on a pair of black combat boots, black denim slim-fit jeans, a white t-shirt and a black and white plaid shirt that I could either put on over my t-shirt, or wear around my waist if I got too hot. I left my hair down, like I normally did, but I’d given it a bit of extra attention this morning when I’d blow-dried it. I normally don’t bother, but I was damned if I was going to be in the same building as an artist I admired and not take an extra 10 minutes of effort. I wore the same amount of makeup as I usually did − mascara, brows, and a neutral colour lip crayon. I’d never hear the end of it if anyone at work thought I was trying to doll myself up.
“I’ve sorted us an Uber,” I said, skipping over the whole ‘good morning’ thing.
“Spectacular." Becka said with a grin as she handed me my travel mug.
“Hmm,” she hummed, “what perfume are you wearing?”
I unlocked our front door as I answered, “I’m wearing two.”
Becka followed me out and locked the door behind her. “Two?”
“Thought I’d give it a go and I’m actually pretty happy with the result.” I grinned at her as we walked towards the bigdoor to the street.
