Page 59 of Ms. Lead

Suddenly it becomes too much again, and I throw myself onto my pillow, crying like I haven’t in years. Letting my emotions overcome me for once and allowing myself to feel this pain. I know that when I leave here, I will need to cover it up, push it aside, ignore it, and pretend it doesn’t exist. That’s just how I do things.

While inside, I’ll be dying a slow death by a thousand cuts, on the outside, I’ll be Bianca Torino, unruffled by life’s curveballs and ready to take on the world. Only I’ll know better.

For now, I need to let it hurt, and it takes my breath away how much it does. Even when I caught Colin in his betrayal, it didn’t hurt this deeply. This is new and fresh, and overwhelming. If I’m not careful, it could paralyze me. It could break me. Honestly, I think that’s already happened.

I’m completely broken.

Chapter Thirty-One

OLIVER

SPECIAL

Three Weeks After the Grand Canyon

A few weeks have passed since I arrived home, and little has changed. Actually, nothing has. I’m still miserable and miss Bianca every single day. I can’t seem to avoid reminders of her, even being an ocean away. When I work on my book and review my notes, I remember exactly where we were and what she was doing while I was writing. She was always in my periphery, and I was always aware of her.

That’s what makes this so hard, she’s nowhere near me, just not there. A hollow feeling starts to spread in my chest whenever I think of it, which seems to be all the time now, too.

I’m a mess.

I’m waiting to have lunch with Darcie at the most bougie Covent Garden hotel in a three-story glass atriumed restaurant that would otherwise impress me, but not today. I’m already bristling at the barrage of questions that are about to be hurled at me.

I’ve avoided Darcie since my return, limiting our communications to email and text, though she has left me many voicemails that I simply ignore. I only agreed to this lunch under heavy duress because she promised to have another lead reconnecting with elusive Max Calnetta.

Flipping through my phone to pass the time while I wait, I go through the pictures I took in Las Vegas. I find myself doing this more and more just to keep my memories fresh because some days, it feels like I’m forgetting everything. I go into full-blown panic at the idea.

The MS brain fog that hits out of nowhere can make me question my entire existence and every experience I’ve ever had. When it clears, I realize how crazy that is. Still, it plants an unsettling worry in my head that someday I’ll completely forget everything about Vegas and Bianca. I know that’s not how it works but try telling that to an already anxious brain when you’re in the middle of it.

I come across a particular favorite picture of mine that I took of Bianca when she didn’t even know I was looking. It was the morning of our trip to the Grand Canyon, after a very memorable night before, she was singing and dancing in the kitchen while she cooked us breakfast. Her hair is a sexy tousled mess, and she’s wearing my t-shirt and nothing else. While I know there’s nothing else, the picture isn’t graphic. I like that I keep that little secret nobody else could see if they looked at it. It’s mine and mine alone.

Her eyes are closed as she belts out a Billie Holiday song, just a little off-key but with full passion as always, swaying her hips smoothly to the beat. She was so comfortable with me, so open, so vulnerable, and I chose to turn my back on that only hours later. Not even a full rotation of the sun, and I was gone, leaving only a note.

Fucking coward.

I swipe quickly, going backward in time to Tahoe and the boat, which brings up even more memories of me being a complete twat. I keep going and come across a picture of Bianca and Ava at the Carmichael’s house during the family barbeque. The two are in the large kitchen, scooping ice cream for everyone. They each have fingers in their mouths and sly grins at each other after “testing” the ice cream to make sure it was still cold enough.

The tether between us that I push down constantly, pangs. When I can’t push it away, like now, I ignore it. There isn’t anything else for it.

“There he is,” I hear Darcie’s cheerful voice cut through my reverie. I quickly shut off my phone and stand to greet her. At least I haven’t completely lost my manners. She air kisses each cheek before holding me at arm's length with a judgmental eye. “Oh, Oliver. You look absolutely horrid.”

I glance around briefly, seeing if her voice carries like I think it does. Luckily there isn’t anyone in earshot.

“Thanks so much, Darcie. You’re looking lovely as well.” The sarcasm in my tone cuts the air between us sharply as I pull away from her.

I ignore her pained reaction as best I can and retake my seat. Just because I ignore it doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect me. I internalize every barb of pain I inflict on someone else. It just adds to my internal wounds.

She sits across from me and waives down the server, a bleach blonde emo girl with charcoal eyes and a nose ring that somehow both feels out of place and right at home.

“I’ll have a Negroni Sbagliato, please.”

I roll my eyes, knowing this is an idiotic trend she’s trying to follow.

The server also knows this and seems to contain her angst about the entire thing.

“Would you like that with Prosecco?” The deadpan on this girl is remarkable and impressive. Though, working here, I’m sure she’s seen a lot of pretension at play.

“Of course,” Darcie replies, like there would be any other way to make a Negroni. It was Bianca that told me that ‘sbagliato’ meant ‘broken,’ so I have to bite my tongue not to correct Darcie about the whole thing. It’s not worth it.

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