The Girl I Once Loved: Love & Hate Duet

I stare at the phone on my cluttered desk, my finger hovering over the call button, as I consider my options. I need to tell my editor, Eliza, that I’ll be gone for a few months, and right now, I’m wondering how best to go about it. A text would do the trick…but a part of me is hoping that if I call her with the news, she’ll throw a huge fit and tell me there’s far too much work to be done for me to leave for that long and with such short notice. Yup

Maybe Eliza is the key to giving me an excuse to stay away from Thatcher’s Bay.

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 about him.

“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.

He sucked 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…

Eliza sighs again, this time with a tinge of disappointment.

‘Think about it, Skylar. Thatcher’s Bay might be the perfect place to find the inspiration you need. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize that it’s time to step out of the shadows and into the light where you belong. Remember that you are a strong independent woman. There is nothing you can’t overcome. Even going home.’

Easier said than done.

“I’ll think about it,” I lie, sensing Eliza won’t drop the subject any other way.

“Good,” she says, pleased. “Well, have fun this summer. And congratulate your sister on her upcoming nuptials for me. Take care, Skylar.”

I hang up the phone, the weight of Eliza’s previous words sinking in. Right now, I feel as far away from the light as you can get. It takes courage and strength to finish those unfinished sentences that have haunted me for seven long years.

And I don’t seem to have any left over.

I stare out my window at the bustling city, and I can’t help but feel a mix of fear…and anticipation. Three months in Thatcher’s Bay. Three whole months to face all the ghosts of my past. To maybe lock them away for good.

My phone buzzes and I glance down at it.

Gael.

How are you? he writes, and even through a text I can taste the melancholic edge in his words.

Can we meet? I ask, instead of answering his question.

I don’t want to admit that I haven’t been obsessing over our ‘break’ like I’m sure he has. Your heart can only be truly shattered once in a lifetime.

And mine’s already happened.

Our coffee shop? he asks, and that’s when a tear slips down my cheek. Because it hits me that if this turns into the end…it’s the end of everything about my life as I know it. It’s the end of ‘our’ and the coffeeshops, restaurants, parks, slow walks through the familiar streets, cheap wine while I read with my head in his lap…that the word belongs to.

I slide to the floor, thinking about all that will have to be rebuilt.

Everything but my heart, I think.

And that’s the hardest thing to deal with out of everything.

Realizing that I’m broken. Permanently, it seems. That something’s wrong inside of me. Something I can’t fix. My inner fabric is too scarred up to ever be whole again.

It’s raining outside when I finally leave my apartment to meet up with Gael. Uncaring to turn back to grab an umbrella, I walk through it, taking in every drop until I’m standing at the door of ‘our’ coffee shop, sopping wet.

Like I expected, Gael’s already there, sitting at a table with two drinks, one that I know will have my cinnamon vanilla latte with almond milk, because he’s thoughtful like that.

He doesn’t see me at first, which I use for my own advantage just to stand there in the rain, staring at him. Wishing that I could love him. Want him. Need him.

I know one of the reasons I’m suffering from writer’s block is because there’s nothing left in me. I can’t write for myself because it’s too personal. You can’t slice open your wrist and drip onto the page when there’s nothing in your veins to start with.

Gael will be a regret I’ll have to carry with me forever if I can’t get over myself.

I just hope he’s not too heavy to carry.

Finally, I open the door and walk in, his head turning up towards me in an instant. I can see it so clearly in his eyes… how he forgets everything and everyone around him, even if just for a second, excited to see me.

Like he always is.

But with every step I take towards him, awareness comes back to him as he remembers the reality of us.

The sparkling light in his eyes begins to dim, taking small sips at my soul as I watch it fully disappear.

But it still doesn’t hurt. Not like him.

The rain drums a depressing rhythm on the windowpane behind me, and I’m tempted to dash back through the door, escape this before it even starts. But I force myself to take each step until I’m standing by our usual table, and then sitting in the chair across from him, soaking in the atmosphere heavy with tension.

He looks…exhausted, like he hasn’t slept all night. His dark hair is disheveled, and his usually bright brown eyes are clouded with uncertainty. I’m responsible for this turmoil…his pain. After all, I’m the one who can’t seem to let go of the past, who can’t fully commit to a future with him.

I take a sip of my coffee, and it doesn’t taste as sweet as it normally does. In fact, its bitterness mirrors the ache in my heart.

I should say hello. I should ask if he’s slept. But instead…

‘Gael, we don’t need a break,’ I immediately say, unable to keep the words in, my voice shaking. ‘I just…I need some time to get my head on straight, to figure things out. I don’t want to lose you.’

It’s not a lie.

Even if it’s also not entirely the truth.

He leans forward, his elbows on the table, his fingers tapping nervously on the surface. ‘Sky,” he murmurs, closing his eyes like he’s in pain. I shudder when he opens them again and I see all the hurt in their depths. “We can’t be a never ending circle. You won’t let yourself fall for me, and you won’t let yourself love me. I’m hopeful—” he stops and drags his hand down his face. “I’m hopeful that a break will let you find yourself…so you can find me.”

I lower my gaze, unable to meet his intense stare. ‘I don’t need to find myself, Gael,” I murmur. “I just…I just need time.”

“And that’s what I’m giving you,” he says, lifting his chin.

I know if I could say those three little words, he would melt. He would forget about the break. Welcome me back with open arms.

It would be so easy. People say them every day.

They say they love their friends, or someone’s hair, or the fucking weather.

It’s just not something I can say easily.

I open my mouth and he stares at me—hopeful. “I—” I begin, willing myself to get them out.

But just like I can’t get my story on paper, I can’t get my words across my tongue.

Gael sighs and stares away, before his gaze comes back to my face, like he can’t help himself.

He reaches across the table, his hand covering mine, his touch lacking the warmth and reassurance it usually has. ‘I can’t keep waiting for you to decide if you want this or not. It’s not fair to either of us.’

I feel tears welling up in my eyes, and I blink them away. ‘I know, Gael. I know I’ve been difficult, and I’m sorry for that. But please, just give me some time. I promise I’ll work through my issues, and we can be happy together.’

I’m begging at this point. And it’s embarrassing and…unnecessary. But I can’t seem to help myself.

He sighs, his thumb gently caressing my hand. ‘I want to believe you, Sky, but you’ve been saying this for so long. I don’t want to be stuck in a relationship where I’m constantly wondering if you’re going to pull away.’

‘I won’t,’ I whisper, my voice breaking.

He just stares at me silently. Because we both know every word coming from my lips is a lie.

The weight of us… hangs heavily between us. We sit in silence, both lost in our thoughts. The coffee shop buzzes with the usual sounds of conversation, all of them oblivious to the storm between us, the one that echoes the storm outside.

Finally, Gael breaks the silence. ‘I’ll be at the wedding. I want to be there for Derrick on his big day,’ he murmurs. “I guess…I’ll see you there.”

It’s not a surprise he doesn’t want to go as my date, but it still feels like a knife in my ribs. Gael’s always been my buffer, the one to smooth out my awkward edges.

It’s bad enough that I’ll be going to the wedding at all. But now I’ll be going alone, facing two men who give me nothing but regrets…even if they’re for very different reasons.

‘I understand,” I finally say. Because what else can I say? Except…

“It feels like…forever.”

I know he understands the words as soon as they pass my lips because there’s a knowingness in his eyes today. Like he’s trying to come to terms with the inevitable. Accept what I’m still unwilling to let go of.

“I would keep you forever if you let me,” he murmurs sadly, before pushing away from the table. His fingers thrum on the table before he puts his hands in his pocket.

Tears spill down my cheeks, and I wipe them away as I stare up at him. There are some people staring at us now. But like usual, I can’t find it in me to care.

He reaches down to catch a tear, his touch tender and filled with heartbreaking devotion. ‘Just a break,” he says before he strides out of the shop, pausing at the door to stare back at me longingly.

I pretend not to notice though, and it’s not hard. Because I’m trying to trace all the wrong turns in my life, how I ended up here, in this coffee shop. Alone as my dream man walks out into the rain.

It’s a million little choices, and one big one that led me here. Is it like this for everyone? Are they unable to outrun the past until it’s battering at their defenses, clawing at their insides and ruining their heart for everything else?

Or is that just me?

I sip my coffee, a thousand broken dreams hovering heavily in the air.

When I leave the coffee shop, the rain has stopped, the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. I should be basking in its warmth, but to me, the world still feels gray and heavy.

But I make a little promise to myself, that I’ll at least try to escape the demons that wait for me back in Thatcher’s Bay.

And maybe I won’t do it just for Gael.

Maybe I’ll do it for me, too.