Page 75 of Actually Yours

Other bits and pieces have imprinted on my brain, against my better judgement. Like how she mixes soft girly clothes with something edgy; dresses with combat boots or sweet floral tops with tight leather pants. She’s always on time, obsessively so. She has a sweet tooth and will happily eat packets of Tiny Teddies all day long. She kills all her plants by over-watering them (I think she loves them to death). And she has the worst taste in men.

I’ve learnt these things just by being in her presence and paying attention, and I adore every single thing I know. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like if she were actually mine and I could learn everything there is to know about her.

“It shouldn’t be this hard.”

My words echo off my walls in my empty house and I hazard a glance at my phone where it’s taunting me from the shelf I’d left it on. I should just text her back and have the conversation, rip the Band-Aid off, so to speak, but I find this place of not knowing a bit more tolerable. If I don’t call her, our relationship is like Schrodinger’s cat—neither alive nor dead. The preferable place to be, it would seem.

And to be honest, if only with myself, I’m a little pissed off. Frustrated with how it all played out, how after being patient and earning her trust over so many months, she still ran away from me. She still doesn’t feel safe enough with me to give me her heart.

My wretched phone beeps at me again, and I send it an annoyed glance this time.Is it Amelia wanting to force the issue? Wanting to get this part over and done with so she can go back to her dating plan? Man, I hate that plan.

“Fine.” I stomp over to my phone, well aware that I’m acting like a child and forever grateful that there’s no one around to witness my behaviour. Gritting my teeth, I check my messages, letting out a relieved breath when I see the latest one is from Steven.

STEVEN: What happened to you last night? You disappeared.

What happened to me last night? Not much, except for the life-altering kiss followed by the swift kick of rejection.

She said she wanted that kiss,my inner voice reminds me, trying to lift my spirits and dampen my temper. And while she was in my arms, whileshewas kissingme, it had certainly felt that way. But then why did she pull away so suddenly? Is it because of Robby? Because if so, well, that problem isn’t going away. I’m always going to be his older brother.

JAKE: Amelia happened.

STEVEN: Oh, do tell.

He really is like a teenage girl sometimes, loving to get in on the juicy gossip.

JAKE: There’s nothing to tell. We kissed…

STEVEN: Congrats, man! That’s awesome news.

JAKE: …and now she wants ‘to talk’.

STEVEN: Yikes.

JAKE: Exactly.

STEVEN: Want to go out for a beer?

I take a sip of my now lukewarm tea and think about it. Maybe a night out will help get me out of my head. Get me out of these four walls which feel like they’re closing in on me. Or maybe a night at home to think about what’s next, what do I want, is a better way to go.

JAKE: Nah, I’m good. I’ll call you soon.

STEVEN: Call me anytime. And if I don’t hear from you in the next 48 hours, I’m coming over…

JAKE: Is that a threat?

STEVEN: It’s a promise.

A laugh escapes me. Although he’s annoying and a busy-body who’s all up in my business, I’m grateful to have him. Otherwise, I’d do nothing other than work. I’d never see the inside of a bar or a restaurant or a ballroom. I wouldn’t have met Amelia that first night, before she met my brother.

Damn Robby for matching with her first!

It’s not the first or even the tenth time I’ve railed against that stupid app for linking the two of them together. Though, in reality, Amelia was the one who made the choice that night. And even after she explained it, the wanting to trust the algorithm and being triggered by my description as a ‘workaholic’, it’s a bitter pill to swallow. She will always be Robby’s girlfriend first, and even though I’m completely crazy about her, it’s a hard thing to come to terms with.

I put my phone on silent and back up on the top shelf—attempting to put it out of sight and therefore out of mind—and sit down to finish my episode of television. Then bed. I’ll deal with Amelia tomorrow, when hopefully all my wayward thoughts have settled down.

I’m deep in the Tasmanian forest with Tommy, one of only two remaining contestants, as he sets yet another rabbit trap which will not be successful—he’s going to starve at this rate—when the sound of keys in the door has me bolting upright.

“Robby?”

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