After Clinton's departure I was emotionally unstable and I was still ashamed for a few days. Biddi took my baby boy with her, they would fly together to Cairns for some time. I had to prepare for the tour with Downside. I did not know much about the band. Only that they make music in an alternative atmosphere, but somehow I have not been attracted to their discography.
I haven't told Clinton yet that I probably won't be able to fly to Brisbane. I waited for the right moment. For now, he didn't even know that I was going on tour.
Today I went shopping with Tash, who managed to come back from her romantic holidays with her lover. She kept following me, telling me between the sips of her coffee, how wonderful she was playing games with a prosperous real estate agent.
"... He bought me flowers and I made a little wrinkle, because I remembered roses and... Mitchel, but then I forgot about it, because the gesture counts more" she said.
"I have a feeling something's wrong. He's not even your type, "I said with a heavy sigh, seeing her eyes roll.
"It's about stability, not type," Tash explained, throwing her long hair back. Her skin was burned from the Hawaiian sun, taking on a shade of coffee and milk.
I still could not get used to the fact that Mitchel and Tash broke up. Everything was on the right track. I had the impression that they started to live happily when suddenly, half a year ago, Tash came to me crying, saying that she had enough of his behavior and distance, and then broke up with him in the coldest way known to humanity - namely, through the message.
I - being with Clinton, being friends with Tash, I was in a terrible position. I did not want to leave my best friend alone, and at the same time I was connected to Mitchel and couldn't hate him.
I did not know exactly what happened, but it doesn't seem to matter now.
After shopping for the tour, I returned home, taking a long bath to relax my muscles. I poured a whole bath of water, pouring a little Clinton's shower gel into it. It smelled of vanilla and sandalwood. I closed my eyes, imagining he was sitting in the bathtub opposite me, touching my foot with his hand, drawing circles on my hip, telling me funny stories from the tour, remembering how much he missed me and how we spend time together.
On the window above me I put a few candles that were lit, brightening the dimness in the bathroom.
I picked up the phone, which I had wrapped in a special waterproof case in case it fell into the water.
I opened Snapchat, looking at my face. Without knowing why, I had tears in my eyes. Colorless cheeks, freckles, discolored pale skin, bags and bruises under the eyes, thin black hair falling over shoulders, bushy eyebrows, green eyes faded like a leaf that lay in the sun for too long, still green, but almost yellow, faded.
I looked at my hands covered with almost all the ink. Scars were still visible in some places.
Battle wounds.
I bit my lip, barely holding back tears at the thought of making these wounds. That Angeline was the past, she was a completely different person than I was now. That girl had nothing, she had no one to fight for. I had, that's why I could not think about going back to being that person.
That Angeline died. I could not let her rise from the dead.
Suddenly my phone vibrated. I got a snap from Clinton. I smiled at the sight. I opened it, seeing his face. He sat on a plane, flying to some place in Europe. He had a hood on his head, his face looked tired, but on his lips I saw a gentle smile.
How was your day? I just got up and I'm flying to Madrid, sick
I smiled, calling him through FaceTime.
He answered almost immediately, staring tiredly in the cam. In the background, Pat and Mitchel were discussing a random topic.
Clinton mumbled to them to shut up and then gave me a fake smile, looking apologetically at me.
"They irritate me," he confessed, his face as if frozen in false expression.
"You irritate us," Jesse retorted. "If it weren't Angeline, I would disturb you even more"
"Thanks Jesse," I said louder, to which he shouted "EYY."
Clinton connected the headphones to the phone to gain privacy.
"Baby, how are you feeling today...?" he asked, noticing my naked collarbones.
"I take a bath," I said in a sensual voice, hovering a little, showing a little more body, leaving less for his imagination.
"You kill me, babe," he masked his low voice with laughter, so that no one would notice that he was aroused.
"I have something to tell you, but promise you won't be angry," I said in a voice that always drove him crazy.
"Speak, I'm calm, baby," he nodded. He was relaxed, it was a good moment.
"I'm going on tour for a month" I confessed to what he said he was proud of me and congratulated me on this success.
"I don't know if I can come to Brisbane..." I added after a moment.
His gaze suddenly became cold, and all his emotions disappeared from his face.
"Of course..." he cleared his throat, fighting himself inside. "I would not have time in Brisbane anyway," he replied dryly.
"Beau will be in Cairns. Biddi will come with him..."
"Great... Amazing deal. You know, I have to go, I have a job, "he replied, without emotion, avoiding looking at me.
He hung up, leaving me alone in the dark bathroom. I did not even realize when I started to sob loudly, rising up. I went to the sink, taking my old friend out of the drawer.
It glowed when I pressed it hardly to my skin.
One cut, then the second and third.
Deeper... Still.
Ache. Beautiful pain. Old friend.
I felt relief, mixed with tears and blood.
Then there was only disappointment.
Did I just wake up the demon?
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