Page 62 of The HalloQueen

The weekend came and went. He didn’t call or text. My heart fluctuated between red-hot anger and sadness, surprisingly, both over the idea that the three of them must have worked it out and left. No idiot would throw out 200 years of love with someone for some woman they’d fucked a couple of times. Especially not after the other night when he just…left. He’d just left.

It was Monday afternoon before I’d finally gotten a text from him and my heart plummeted at its simplicity.

TOMMY:I need you.

Rationally, I knew he must have been starving if he’d been true to his word and not hunting, but if he thought he was going to come by, suck my anxiety, and then walk away without apologizing, he had another thing coming.

So what if he “needed” me? I’d needed him that weekend, and he’d never bothered to apologize. He’d never even bothered to text me! The launch was scheduled for Tuesday at 9 am and he had the balls to text me at 2 in the afternoon on Monday? No fucking way, man. The buffet was closed. The whole agreement was supposed to ensure that I had a stress-free and successful launch and he’d flaked on me. Not only had he flaked, but he’d hurt me. He’d broken our agreement, not me.

At first, I ignored the message, unsure of my feelings, because the feminist daughter of lesbians wanted him to crawl on his knees and beg me for forgiveness and for him to fall over himself for being such an asshole, but I was also a horrible gossip. Not knowing if he’d seen Monique or Yusuf was driving me insane. Did he need to break up with me? Was there anything to break up? Was he leaving? Were the three of them going to ride off into the sunset and go terrorize another town? If he was back with them he was going to need to get the fuck out of Quaker’s Wharf. I was not going to share this town with him and his lovers. Nuh-uh, no way. And there was no way I was paying for their grand exit either.

I had intended to ignore him just enough to startle him, but as the weekend passed and he hadn’t reached out, my anger turned to fear. Then the fear solidified in my stomach as anxiety, then my anxiety turned into to-do lists, and the to-do lists turned into work.

I knew I had cleansed the house but I wasn’t sure I’d have the resolve able to sit inside and listen to him bang on the door when he discovered he was unable to come in. I didn’t want to cave, so I went to work and busted my ass. I filmed, and folded, and tagged, and filmed more, and worked until my eyes were going to fall out of my head. When Shannon appeared for work Monday morning we put our heads down and raced toward the finish line with blinders on. It was five when Shannon sighed and turned off her computer.

“I don’t know what else we can possibly do, Bels. It’s going to be great.”

“Mmmhmm,” I answered, my leg bouncing enough that my knee was audibly hitting the bottom of my desk, “of course, it will be great. You’ve done amazing work, thank you, Shannon.”

“Yeah…” she said skeptically, “But you also have worked ten times harder than anyone else I know. You are a rockstar. So it’s time to turn it off, Bels. Let’s grab my girls and go get some dinner to celebrate. Chicken nuggets and hot fudge sundaes for everyone! Or hell, take the rest of the night off, go fuck Thomas until you can’t see straight and I will be right back here tomorrow morning at 8 to panic with you.

I chucked, knowing she didn’t know about the fight, “I’m fine. You go ahead and go get the girls. You’ve gone above and beyond this past week. It’s been so nice to have help doing all of this. Go enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Annabel, I’m serious, you need to go home. There is nothing left to do. Turn off the computer.”

“There’s always something else to do.” I could fold boxes, film more content, or take more flat lays, or -

“Go. Home. Go feed Tim. Go get drunk for all I care, but you’re leaving when I do, and I’ve gotta go right now. Come on.”

“I can’t just -”

“Do I need to call your mothers? You need to leave now. End of conversation.”

“Why would you need to call my mothers when you’re already acting like one?”

“Oh god. You’re in a great mood. Get the fuck up, we’re leaving.” She stood and came to my chair, spinning it out from under my desk, “I will wheel your fat ass out of here if I have to. It’s done. It’s ready. We’re going home.”

“My fat ass could kick your fat ass any day of the week,” I muttered, extending my hand to grab my purse that Shan extended out to me. “Fine. But I’m not waiting until eight to come in tomorrow. What if the internet crashes or the computer breaks or -”

“ANNABEL,” she groaned, “Everything is going to be perfect. Calm down!” She scratched at the back of her neck before rolling out her shoulders, “You haven’t even eaten today. I’m worried about you.”

I laughed half-heartedly, tapping my fingers against my lips as I stood and evaluated the office, making sure I wasn’t missing something obvious, “You don’t need to worry, you have just never seen a launch day before. You have no idea what kind of chaos will be unleashed tomorrow.”

I begrudgingly left the office with her when my stomach let out an audible rumble and the smug satisfaction on Shannon’s face made me want to punch her. I probably was hangry, but I refused to give my stomach something to vomit up at midnight when my nerves got the better of me.

TOMMY:Bels, I need to see you immediately. Where are you?

I was not getting dumped the night before a launch. He could eat tomorrow when the ball was already rolling and I’d be too busy to process how I felt about him breaking up with me. That seemed like a reasonable plan. I wandered toward downtown, walking aimlessly until I ended up at the beach. It was a lovely evening. With September had come a cold snap, giving Quaker’s Wharf a break from the abnormal heat and ambient hum of window air conditioning units. The trees along the beach had begun to change, and the small swells of the bay reflected the distorted seasonal colors. The water called to me, far more than dinner, opening myself up to get dumped, or thinking about the launch. I wanted to stick my toes in the sand, read some smut on my phone, and listen to the water. I’d lived so long relying on myself, that reverting to that version of myself for the night seemed like the safest option for my heart and mind.

I burrowed myself into the sand under a tree out of sight from the parking lot with my blanket from my Jeep and landed on reading a new Gargoyle romance, turning my phone to airplane mode and sunk myself into the Los Angelos cityscape where Gargoyles slept so high in the air that no one knew they were there. I read for hours leaning against that tree, dissociating and hiding from the stress that lurked all around me. It wasn’t until the female main character began explaining the amazing ability to turn specific appendages to stone during playtime that I realized that the sun had mostly set. Darkness was encroaching on the beach, and the noise of passersby had quieted to nothing.

I tensed, the hairs on my arms standing on end, and felt the prey-like urge to hide. I knew it was the unease that I’d learned came from being in the presence of an Other and sighed. “Seriously? What are you doing here? If I don’t answer your text it’s a pretty good indicator that I’m not ready to talk to you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I snapped before even turning around, but the laugh that greeted me was not from who I was expecting.

“Bels. Just who I wanted to see.”

26

THOMAS

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