Taste (H.S. / A.U.)

Chapter 69

ELOISE DUPONT

I woke curled into the corner of the couch, neck stiff and aching. The fabric beneath my cheek was damp, a remanence of sweat or tears, unsure which. It took a moment to remember where I was. No longer a hotel room, not a plane. Oddly, I was home.

The idea of home still felt foreign. My neck ached in that way that reminded her she wasn't just physically sore. I felt heavy, weighed down. It was as if coming home had pressed some invisible weight down on my shoulders, and it continued to sink in.

The tour wasn't real life. It was a dream in motion. But now, being back, this was the beginning of waking up. Despite the fact I wanted to stay in my small fantasy of a world.

The soft hum of the fridge in the kitchen is the only real sound filling the quiet apartment. Half-closed curtains didn't shield me from the morning sun pouring into the space, illuminating dust spores that floated through the air. The apartment felt quieter. It was the sort of stillness that didn't feel peaceful, more like abandoned. Something about it was off. Or maybe she was the one who had shifted. Either way, I didn't feel like she fit anymore.

I sat up slowly, absently rubbing the side of my neck, massaging slow, gentle circles. The throw blanket she had tugged around herself in the middle of the night had tangled around her legs. A dull ache settled behind my eyes and my chest felt tight, like emotion had cemented itself between my ribs, hardening while I slept. There was no singular reason I could point to, just an accumulation of it all.

No, I am not worried that Harry hasn't texted or called again.

Yes, I am actually.

But, I'm busy. I am too busy to focus on that. If I start to do that, then I might spiral, wondering if he is ghosting me. Even though I didn't call him back. Am I ghosting? Turns out a long distance relationship is really hard when you are an over thinker and a massive worrier.

And then came the thought she'd been avoiding since the moment she stepped off the plane: I had to meet with Mia today.

Mia, who was planning things with Chase. Chase, who had somehow slithered his way back into my life with that polished charm that masked every shitty intention he'd ever had. I hadn't seen him since the meeting with the lawyers, and I hoped that was the last time. The idea of being in the same room again made my stomach twist.

Staring at the cluttered coffee table I searched for my phone, two half-burnt candles, an empty tea mug from the night before, some magazines. No where was my phone, which led me to digging into the cushions hoping I lost it somewhere in my restless sleep.

I was right, after looking behind the space where my body folded into the couch, my phone was nearly dead with a few missed notifications. My thumb hovered over the notifications, then retracted.

He hadn't called since the last time, but I refused to clear the notifications of it. The banner on my phone reminded me that he at least made an attempt. I was the problem here. I was the one avoiding whatever confrontation that needed to happen.

Did I fear Harry would end things if we talked? Was that the devilish though that was ping-ponging around the back of my head and making me avoid Harry?

Instead of calling back, I opened my texts and began typing. Then erased the message. Then typed another one. Deleted. Rewrote.

I hovered over the send button until the message box blinked empty again.

I couldn't send something that didn't feel real and I didn't know what to say.

Instead, I put the phone down.