Page 8 of The Girl I Once Loved

The number on the screen is familiar, etched into my memory like an old scar. I finally muster up the courage to press it, bringing the device to my ear. Each ring feels like an eternity, my heartbeat thudding in my chest.

"Skylar?" Eliza's voice, sharp and business-like, cuts through the silence.

"Hi," I reply, my voice trembling.

"How’s my favorite protégé today?"

I take a deep breath, fighting back the shame that always seems to coat my chest whenever she greets me that way.

Protégé. What a word.

Certainly not one often used to describe a person who spent most of her young life hiding perpetually in the shadows.

Certainly not something used to describe…me.

"Daisy’s getting married," I murmur in reply, preferring to rip the bandage off quickly.

“Oh! Well, congratulations! That’s wonderful news. She’s been dating her boyfriend for quite some time, right?”

“Yeah,” I respond noncommittally, not wanting to think about just how long it's been. Because it’s hard to think about Daisy and Derrick…without thinking abouthim.

“You don’t sound awfully excited. Is everything alright?” Eliza questions, sensing my uneasiness.

“Yes, everything is fine. It’s just that Daisy would like me to help her with the wedding preparations. That means I’ll be gone for close to three months. The whole summer in fact,” I tell her simply, because the truth is far too complicated to get into. Eliza doesn’t know just how messed up I really am. And it’s probably best for my livelihood that it remains that way.

“The whole summer, huh?” she repeats pensively as if listing the pros and cons in her head to see if she’s on board with me being absent for so long. “Well, good for you,” she finally says, having made up her mind on the matter. “It will be just the nice little break you need. You’ve been working so hard these past few years, you’re due a vacation.”

“Oh no. I’ll still be working,” I quickly correct her. “I’ll just be doing it from Thatcher’s Bay.”

But just saying the name of the small fishing island makes my throat tighten…makes it hard to breathe. To think.

“Don’t be silly.” Eliza's tone softens. “Take advantage that you’re in between projects at the moment and enjoy yourself. Just take some time off and relax a bit. You’ve earned it.”

“I…I need something to do to keep my mind off...things,” I reluctantly admit. “Work will be good.”

There's a moment of silence on the other end, and the next time Eliza speaks, I can tell she’s measuring her words carefully. "Skylar, if you have to work, why not write something…for yourself? Like we talked about. Maybe it’s time you wrote something of your own. Like I’ve said numerous times before, I’d be glad to help you in any way I can with your debut novel."

The suggestion hits me like a punch to the gut.

"No," I reply flatly. "I'm not ready for that yet, Eliza. I like being a ghostwriter. I thrive in the shadows, crafting words for others. Writing something of my own...it's not something…it’s not something I’m interested in at the moment.” I add the last part more for her benefit than for mine.

Eliza has no idea I’ve been suffering from severe writer’s block. Writing someone else’s story, I’m completely at ease with. But writing my own story? Not so much. It’s a sore spot I have, knowing that before, I used to write like the words were coming directly from my fucking soul. That the stories flowed out of me, filling my head every hour of every day. That I had notebooks and notebooks filled to the brim with them and there weren’t enough hours in a day for me to purge them out onto paper.

But that all changed.

Hesucked them all dry. Every last one.

Leaving me with nothing except to mourn the ashes of my words.

“All I need is a project. Any project, Eliza, to occupy my time.”

"Hmm. I think I’m starting to understand.” Eliza's voice comes out gentle now. “It isn’t easy going back home. I can sympathize with that since my own family is hard to swallow at times. Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays are all I’m able to stomach, if I’m being truthful. But sometimes, going back home can be good for the soul, too. Sometimes, it forces us to face our own inner demons, which can be very therapeutic. Better than any three-hundred dollar an hour therapist,” she adds light heartedly. “I guess what I’m trying to say with this, Skylar, is that maybe it's time for you to look deep inside yourself and share whatever story you’ve been hiding…with the world."

I shake my head, even though she can’t see me, my eyes welling up with tears.

"I’m good, Eliza. Right where I am. As a ghostwriter."

As a ghost…

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