This Won't Have A Name For A While

28. Meet El Presidente

Distraught, I fell into the deckchair on the balcony and immediately lapsed into tears, holding my head in my hands like a child. How could I have trusted a pop star like this? How had I been so stupid and naïve? I should’ve known he’d do something like this, he was famous for fuck’s sake.

John was still banging frantically on the door and howling my name, but his desperate cries were muffled by the thick glass dividing us. I pretend not to hear him and refused to look up at him. I was NOT giving him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

The tears still came thick and fast, no matter how hard I attempted to control them, so my hands stayed firmly clamped over my eyes. How could I have mistaken attraction for love? Now I thought about it, his confessions of love to me seemed empty and throw-away; he could’ve given those one liners to any girl. In the interview, he’d basically said himself that the desire would soon fizzle out, leaving us with no reason to be together. The thought of it made me choke up again and let out a particularly loud sob.

I was stupid as hell.

All the while, the thudding on the glass continued, pulsing in time with the raging headache I’d developed. No matter how much he wanted it, I wasn’t talking to him. Then, after one final loud thump, it stopped.

At that, I waited for a few moments just to be sure, then allowed myself to look up. He was gone.

I breathed a sigh of relief, which disintegrated into another bought of tears at the realisation he was no longer pursuing me. He didn’t care anymore.

Eventually, I got a grip over my emotions and slowed the cries to a sniffle. But I still felt awful - my face felt tight, my throat ached, and my head felt heavy and muzzy. With a little sigh, I rested my head on the sun lounger and stared off the balcony at the sea, contemplating. Despite what had happened, the night was beautiful, with the moon staining the sand and the rocks surrounding me a pale silver, and highlighting the white horses topping the waves. Above me, a swirl of stars adorned the velvet of the sky, and I breathed in deeply, smelling the residual heat of the day and the ever-present scent of salt. It all felt such a stark contrast to my pathetic state. How could everything be so calm and peaceful when I felt so awful inside?

Somebody was spiting me.

To my utter surprise, I drifted off into an uneasy sleep, absolutely exhausted from the eventful day, but woke only a few minutes later. Out here, the cold was starting to get to me, and I shivered. I wished I could have John’s arm wrapped around me, pulling me close and keeping me warm, but he’d upset me too much for that. Although, I couldn’t spend all night out here on the balcony in the skimpy dress I was wearing - I’d be freezing by the morning, and I’d made my point already.

Having made the decision to venture back inside, I unlocked the door and slid it back as quietly as I could, then slipped indoors, feeling warmth and relief wash over me. The lights were all off, keeping the room in shadow, and contorting the furniture into odd shapes that messed with my imagination, making everything seem surreal. The coffee table felt very real when I walked right into it, though. I cursed silently. John couldn’t know I’d come back, because he’d want to talk to me.

In a trance, I found my way to a bedroom unoccupied by John, then collapsed onto the soft bed, and tried to let sleep take me. I didn’t care that I was still fully clothed and wearing makeup, that could wait until the morning.

But something was bothering me. I could feel someone else in the room, however couldn’t put my finger on it, and the thick darkness wouldn’t allow me to see.

–“John?”– I whispered, emotions stirring within me again. Who else could it be?

A sniffle was my only reply.

Concerned now, I turned the light on to see John standing in the doorway, looking a right state. His hair was plastered to his forehead and in severe need of a brush, his damp clothes clung shapelessly to his body, and he looked like he’d been crying too - nice to know I wasn’t the only one. There were so many insults that I could hurl at him then, though by some miracle, I managed to speak to him civilly. His dishevelled state almost made me feel sorry for him.

–“What do you want?”– There was a hateful edge to my voice. I pulled the cover over my head and rolled over so I didn’t have to see him. Never had a man pissed me off so much.

–“I’m so, so sorry Irene,”– he began, but his voice broke and he couldn’t get his words out.

Anger flooded me.

–“You’re sorry? Well, I guess that makes everything better, then!”– I shot back sarcastically.

Another sniffle. Was he actually crying?

–“You don’t understand, I had the best possible intentions,”– he choked out, –“upsetting you is the last thing I wanted to do.”–

I bit my lip, trying to control myself, but I couldn’t help it, and flung back the duvet to sit bolt upright. And I saw him.

He WAS crying.

Finally, that broke me and I felt hot tears stream down my cheeks too. Cautiously he made his way over to my bed, and I made no attempt to stop him.

–“Make no mistake, Irene,”– he whispered to me, and slid an arm around me, –“I really do love you, and I have for a while. Who cares what those stupid magazines say about us? What matters is the connection we have, not what a jealous journalist warps my words into. I’m sorry you had to go through this.”–

–“And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you,”– I looked away, sniffling.

“I can make it up to you?”

Now the suggestive tone was back in his voice. Instantly, he was doing things to me again. Before he could do anything about it, I was on his lap and kissing him with a force unlike any before, releasing the frustrations of the day. Clearly feeling the same way, John returned the kiss with even more force and pinned me with his hips straight away.

–“I’m so sorry, John”– I spoke again this lips.

–“It’s ok, love, really,”– he growled back, –“I can make you pay for it a different way.”–