Many Miles Apart

30. Alfie

I hadn't left the hotel room for days. I stank, my hair was matted and my clothes were wrinkled. Covering every inch of the the desk were dirty room service plates piled high, and scattered around the place were random items that I'd dumped because I wasn't in the mood for tidying.
"Alfie, what have you done", I muttered to myself, whilst scrolling through pictures of me and Zoe. My laptop was playing a slideshow of photos and videos, some of us together, some of just her. It hurt so much, but I couldn't bring myself to turn it off. Every time she smiled it sent arrows through my heart, but watching her so happy meant I could pretend that everything was alright. And if I turned it off, it would mean I would have to face they fact that she wasn't there, and I couldn't bare to do that.
My finger came to pause a photo that I had never seen before, yet the moment that it had captured was so vivid in my memory that I felt tears well up in my eyes.
Poppy and Sean had been round, and I guess it must have been poppy taking the picture. I had been lying on the sofa, on my phone, when Zoe had jumped on my lap and kissed me. The photo was of the two of us, caught in that moment, so unaware that we were on camera, and so, completely happy.
I could see that she was smiling through the embrace, and that sent pangs of pain through my heart. But what really got to me, what really made my heart ache, was how obviously, painstakingly in love we were. How we really did seem like like we were completely ready to spend the rest of our lives together.
And I guess, until now, that was what we'd intended to do.
Everything was so perfect up until that one trip to London. That one meeting was enough to change everything, and now look at me. Moping around in a hotel room in New York, ignoring my friends, neglecting my job with nothing but my duvet for company.
Tears rolled down my face, hot and salty, running onto my lips and reminding me for the thousandth time of what I'd done.
The number of times I'd tried to contact Zoe over the last few days was almost ridiculous. I'd rang and texted her (although she'd blocked my number so they never got through), I'd called home, I'd skyped her, I'd called every one of my friends and family that could possibly get hold of her, not even giving them an explanation, just begging that they'd talk to her for me. I'd even rang the next door neighbours to see if they would try and help, but every person I tried either outright refused or couldn't get hold of her.
It was stupid to even try, but I wanted nothing more than to talk to her, to know that she was still there. Sometimes I would be desperate to explain, sometimes I would want to shout at her for not listening, sometimes I just wanted to hear her voice, and tell her I missed her, but it was no use.
I love you I typed and pressed send, the message coming up with the same old 'message not sent' notification. I sighed and scrolled back up through the unsent texts.

Zoe
Zoe are you there?
Please talk to me
I'm so sorry, I honestly don't know what happened
You don't know the whole story I swear
It's not what you think it is
Zoe?
Please just let me explain
Zoe just answer me!
I'm so sorry
I miss you so much, more than you could ever know
Zoe please
I love you so much and I'm an idiot
I'm a dickhead
I'm the biggest prick on the planet
I miss you so much Zoe
Zoe?
I love you

Every time I hoped that the message would send. Every time I hoped it'd be different. And every time I was wrong.
I sighed and dropped my phone onto the sheets beside me. I felt so defeated, so worthless.
I needed to get home. More than anything, I wanted to be back in England with my family, and the few friends that I'd actually have left after this.
The more I thought about it, the more I realised it would be the only way I could fix this. I could find Zoe and she'd have to talk to me. She'd have to listen. She'd have to understand.
Hope filled my body, a warm, tingly, nervous yet excited emotion, filling every pore and waking me up.
I climbed out of bed, closing my laptop screen and picked up a pile of clothes on the floor, tipping them into the wardrobe. I wandered round the room, gathering items and putting them in places that seemed to make sense. Within minutes the place looked a lot tidier, and once I'd piled up all of the plates and left them outside my door, things started to feel a bit better.
I turned on the shower and climbed in, letting the water drown out my sorrows and make me feel slightly more human again. The liquid felt so good after the confinement of the bed, and I almost didn't want to get out.
After spending way too long under the hot water, I got changed and walked back into the room and began to pack my cases, a plan forming in my mind.
We were supposed to be getting a flight back to Florida in a couple of days time, where all of my things were still in the apartment. If I could wait it out until then, I would fly back to where this trip had started, and I could persuade Nick to let me go home. I'd stay with my parents until I sorted it with Zoe, and I couldn't even bring myself to think about what I'd do if she turned me away.
The thought of not living with her anymore made me feel sick, but I was so desperate to have her back that I ignored the nagging feeling telling me that it wouldn't be that easy. That she wouldn't want me. I just had to try.
I froze as I heard a knock on the door. I didn't move, didn't blink, didn't breathe for fear that it would be Rebecca. I couldn't bare to speak to her, not after last time.
"Alfie?", a deep called, quiet but just audible due to its deep tone. "Alfie it's Eric", the voice said.
I relaxed a fraction and walked over to the bed, before realising that by making noise, I had made it obvious that I was awake.
"I know you're in there", he said, as if reading my mind. I sighed and unlocked the door, and waited for Eric's large burley frame to enter the room.
He carefully closed the door behind him, and then turned to face me, a concerned look reflecting in his features.
"You gonna tell me what happened?", he asked, his questioning tone full of sympathy. Clearly he hadn't seen the photo.
"Don't feel that it's your duty to check on my like a baby", I said, snapping a bit more than intended.
He didn't seem to react to my harsh tone, not even flinching.
"As your security guard for your stay, my duty is to make sure you're safe and happy until you leave", he said. It was almost as if he was reciting from a book. "I also have to escort you to every meeting, conference and event, making sure that you're treated with respect and kindness until you go home. And in case you haven't noticed, you're clearly not happy, haven't been to any any meetings and obviously someone hasn't treated you with respect or we wouldn't be having this conversation. " He put his hands behind his back and stood as if he was on call, the concern in his eyes being the only giveaway in his act.
"Fine you win", I mumbled, sinking down onto the bed, the thought of having to explain weighing down on my chest like a rock.
"You know I see you as a friend more than a colleague, and you can talk to me", he said, taking a seat next to me, relaxing. His suit rustled as he sat down.
"Yeah", I put bluntly, not sure where to begin.
After a moments silence, Eric started me off, much to my relief.
"Does this have anything to do with Rebecca?", he asked, a questioning look on his face. "And anything to do with that photo that you ended up taking in Brooklyn?"
"You saw?", I asked, blushing.
He nodded.
"Yeah", I repeated. "It has everything to do with that." I sighed, knowing that it would be best just to spit it all out.
"I have, or had a girlfriend back at home, and because of that picture I now don't", I said, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill onto my cheeks.
"I'm sorry", he replied gently. He didn't urge me to say any more, and I think that was why I suddenly felt the need to tell him.
Once I'd composed myself, I started at the beginning, right back from where this mess began in London, from the plane and the phone call to the tweets. The words seemed to flow out of me, and it felt so good to let it go. Eric just sat there patiently and listened, ignoring the occasional flow of water that silently ran down my face.
"I just miss her so much", I chocked, everything hurting like I'd been smacked by a thousand different hammers.
"Hey, I get it", he finally said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Honestly I do"
And somehow, I didn't doubt that. He just seemed to understand.
After a moments silence, I spoke out again.
"I'm surprised you didn't find out. It's all over the Internet", I sniffed, wiping my eyes on the back of my hand.
Eric paused, making me wonder what I'd said wrong.
"I don't go on the web much. Not if I don't have to. I didn't know who you were until you arrived. Everyone else did, they thought I was mad", he said, staring at his fingers which were playing with his sleeve. He seemed almost scared, like a child who couldn't find his mum. "But I don't wanna talk about it. Let's just say me and it, we don't get on."
And just like that, I felt like I knew Eric so much better.
I didn't press for anything else. I was just grateful for his company. I was going to miss him when I left.
"So what's the plan?", he said eventually, sounding back to his usual self.
"I have to go home"