I promised you. | Austin Butler

Part 9

I was right about how Brad's birthday night would end up that night and I was right about Andrew and his drunken state. The first message came around 10pm as I was about to crawl into bed. Despite doing nothing but dozing off on the sofa to Patrick Swayze for the evening, drinking hot chocolate and eating popcorn, I felt shattered and run down and prayed that a good nights sleep was what I needed. He was drunk, and his texts read no sense, his photos he sent across where blurry and shaky and I told him to make sure he locked the door behind him on his way in. Multiple heart emojis were sent before he finally carried on his night and I instantly fell into a deep slumber, the cold or flu that I had occurred knocking me out cold. What time he got home I wasn't sure, in too much of a deep sleep to be woken up by him getting into bed, but he didn't arise from his slumber till early 1pm the next day and he looked like he had been hit by a bus. When I tell you this man does not drink often, I meant it, and he spent the entire day with his head down the toilet or dozing off on the sofa. 

My headache was subsiding and I was no longer sneezing every 5 minutes and I knew I'd feel okay to work through the week. My manager told me she could get someone to cover, one of the newer girls, if I needed to take a couple days of rest but I assured her that throwing myself into a gorgeous actors face whilst I gave them a make up effect black eye and bruises would make me feel a million times better. And it did. Monday morning came around, Andrew was back to his usual self although still confessing he was never drinking again, and we went our separate ways to work. The days were long and sweaty, the summer heat becoming almost unbearable in the trailers I was stuck in all day with multiple make up lights and no air con, but they were busy and made me forget about what was ahead of me in the middle of week.

That was, of course, until I got the night to myself on Tuesday after Andrew was asked to stay behind in the gym for a few hours, and I was riffling through my wardrobe looking for something to wear. I was still yet to mention it to Andrew, and trust me I had tried a million times over the last few days. He was too hungover on the Sunday and by the Monday I just couldn't fathom the words. Did I tell him the truth? Did I tell him I was just going out with Danielle? Did I lie altogether and tell him I needed to stay late at work and then was going to head for a drink with some work colleagues after? The fact I couldn't decide what to tell the man I loved was probably an indication I probably shouldn't be doing what I was going to do, but it didn't stop me beings stood here now in nothing but my underwear as I tried on every single piece of clothing in my wardrobe. 

I look down at my watch and notice the time is just gone past 7pm. It wouldn't be long before Andrew was due to be home and I still needed to figure out what to tell him, as well as clean up the bedroom so he didn't suspect anything suspicious. Would I really be THIS stressed if it was just drinks with friends? Was I even going to tell him that or was I going to tell him the truth?

I walk over to my bed and pick up my phone, a message from Andrew to tell me he couldn't wait to finish work and come home, and I find Danielles number. My heart beats slightly as I await her answer. I hadn't told her yet, either. 

"Hello" her voice comes over the phone, a little surprised at my call. We speak daily but we never call unless it was something urgent, and at 7pm on a Tuesday night I imagine she was panicking slightly. 

"Has he told you?" I say instantly, picking out a black dress from my wardrobe and holding it up to myself in the mirror, before huffing and shoving it back in the wardrobe, walking over the bed and letting myself fall back onto it. 

"Has who told me what?" she says.

"I'm coming for dinner with you all tomorrow". No point beating around the bush. I hear her stop dead, I hear Brad ask if she's okay and who's calling and I hear her tell him to give her a minute whilst her feet run themselves up her stairs. She doesn't speak until I hear her shut the bedroom door.