Page 6 of The Last Kind of Kiss
Thankfully, before I poke the bear more than I already have, the whole team takes their respective seats at the table, coming to a noiseless standstill. All five members’ expressions are deadpan, drawing out their conclusion with some awkward and very unnecessary silence, and then, after what feels like an eternity, Rebecca finally speaks.
“We’re thrilled to have you both on board. Our first shoot will be next Wednesday. I’ll have someone reach out to you with the details,” she informs us, clicking her pen with finality and scribbling nonsense onto the white paper in front of her.
Lila and I both stand there, unsure whether we should say something or evacuate the room immediately, and our next course of action is decided for us when Rebecca dismisses us with a wave of her hand. That’s all. Nobody says anything. Nobody bothers with a goodbye.
Lila and I walk out of the building in shared mortification, nothing but mocking silence to accompany our rather pathetic departure. I trail behind her, in a hurry to leave but alsonotin a hurry to be riding her heels. And the minute we exit those swinging doors, she turns around and lets me have it.
“You humiliated me back there!” she shouts, thrusting anaccusatory finger in my direction, making every passerby in a ten-foot radius privy to our altercation.
“I saved your ass back there!” I growl, liberating the stupid nice-guy guise I don’t know why I was trying to uphold.
Her voice somehow rises an octave higher, dripping with a dosage of venom—one that seeps through my bloodstream and surges right into my heart. “My ass wouldn’tneedsaving if you hadn’t booked this job at all!”
“What do you want me to say, Lila? I’m sorry, okay? Do you want me to apologize for what happened between us? Because I apologized after I ended things, and I’m apologizing now, but you obviously don’t want to hear me out.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t want some half-assed apology. Nothing you could say wouldevermake me forgive you, Bristol. Do you understand? Or have you taken too many hits to that big head of yours?”
She’s keeping me at an arm’s distance, but I wish I could twist that fucking arm and pull her straight into me, show her that I made a mistake, let my lips talk instead of my words because they’ve clearly been ineffective. But I ruined my chances of ever kissing her again. I let fear destroy the only good thing I still had in my life.
As much as I want to argue with her and prove her wrong, I finally confront the rational part of my brain that’s been MIA this entire time. And I let it go.
“I…”
Lila holds her purse against her stomach, and under the blanket of rolling storm clouds, her eyes are overcast with shiny tears. The anger she’s been tight fisting this entire time dissipates within a single second, giving leeway to an immeasurable amount of devastation sharpening the contours of her face. She’s small out here in the bustle of the city. She’s quiet. There’s no sign of the girl that commanded that entire boardroom.
She inhales a choppy breath, hesitant to blow it out like it’ll rattle her lungs. “You don’t need this job, okay? Please don’t make this harder than it already is,” she whispers.
There may be a ravine-wide distance established between us, but I can hear every bruising word of her plea as clear as day. I didn’t think anything could be worse than her screaming her head off at me, but I was wrong. This…heartache…lining her tone—it’s a thousand times worse.
I feel hot tears pulse behind my eyes, and I’m not strong enough to give her some peace of mind. No response forms on my tongue; it dies somewhere in the never-ending tornado of thoughts whirling in my head. My breath hitches in my throat, and anxiety rumbles through my stomach with the force of a goddamn thunderstorm. All I do is stand and soak in the first droplets of rain, watching helplessly as the girl I care about most in this world walks away from me and doesn’t turn back.
Fuck. It feels like she’s just spat shrapnel against my heart, and I don’t have the energy to pick out every bloody piece with my bare hands.
I don’t know how long I stand in the rain, but it’s long enough for my shirt and pants to get thoroughly drenched. I’m too paralyzed to seek refuge under an awning. Everything happened so fast. From the moment I stepped into that boardroom, I was hit with a flash of light, and now I’m paying for my mistakes by waterboarding myself on the corner of Sansa and Eighth Street.
A slate-colored Bentley comes careening in my direction, splashing through puddles of mud and narrowly missing me, and Hayes, my best friend, pops the door open to yell at me. “Bristol, get the fuck in the car!”
I slowly slog over to him, plop my dripping body into his high-quality seats, and practically bring three inches of rainfall into the car with me.
Hayes glances sideways at me, forfeiting any possibility of approaching this conversation with compassion or consideration. Not his strong suit, especially not with me. “What were you doing just standing out there? Can’t you see it’s pouring?”
I stare blankly at the flooded road ahead of us, only mustering the strength to nod. How badly does itreallyhurt to be run over? Because anything’s better than living with this tear in my heart.
Moisture slicks my hair to my forehead and sluices down my cheeks. Although my breath unfurls in uneven strokes, my blood’s still pumping, so I’m unfortunately still alive. I’m chilled all the way down to the bone, partly from the torrential downpour I subjected myself to and wholly from the unfamiliarity of Lila’s tone—an aloofness I never would’ve imagined she’d ever use with me. We’re strangers. Probably not even that if I’m being realistic. We’re enemies. Or I’m her enemy, and she’s my…I don’t know what she is to me.
Hayes’ voice cuts through the static wailing of my thoughts. “Bristol? What’s going on, dude?”
I speak for the first time in a few minutes, wincing when the words scratch against my throat, forgetting to soothe the ache with a swallow. “She was there.”
“Who?”
“Lila was there.”
“Oh,” Hayes murmurs, rolling his shoulders back and straightening his posture. He keeps his eyes glued to the road. Out of obligation? Out of pity? Definitely the latter, seeing as our lane is seemingly empty for a good few feet.
Hayes scratches the nape of his neck awkwardly. “Did she, uh, say anything to you?”
Whatdidn’tshe say?
