Page 40 of Off Script
My phone rings and when I spy the name flashing across my screen, I slide right to answer it without hesitation. “I was just thinking about you.” But when I greet him, my voice sounds thick and scratchy from crying.
Hearing myself, I regret my impulsive decision to answer the phone. I should’ve waited until I had my emotions fully under control. We’re still in the getting-to-know-you phase, and I don’t want him to think I’m a dramatic, emotional mess of a woman.
“That’s what I like to hear. Tell me more.”
Since I’ve already answered his call, I figure the best option I have is to keep the conversation about him, limiting how much I talk. Which will be difficult given our history. “Shut it. How was your mysteriouswork trip?” I aim for a light-hearted, playful tone, but I’m not sure I manage to achieve it.
“So far, I’m hearing that we had a good response. My team is happy and so I am.”
"Your team? Are you on a professional sports team?" I guess. It would explain his frequent traveling and weird schedule.
Ben laughs. "No. I haven't played a sport seriously since high school. But let’s talk about you. Are you okay? You sound different. Are you coming down with a cold? Don’t be getting sick for our date, Carlisle.”
“No, I’m fine. Just tired and worn down,” I offer lamely. I sniff quietly and wipe my nose on the collar of the old t-shirt I’m wearing. Gulping in a few deep breaths, I try in vain to blink back the next wave of tears that are threatening to fall.
“Carlisle, are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound like yourself. You can always talk to me.” His tone is so sweet and gentle and it’s my undoing.
As I open my mouth to allay his concerns, I crumble under the weight of my emotions and an audible sob slips out. Quickly followed by another one.
“Whoa, Carlisle. Are you okay? What happened? Where are you? Are you safe?”
Before I can manage a single response to any of his questions, Harper bursts into my room to check on me after hearing my sobs. “Carlisle! Oh, sweetie.” She gathers me into her arms and pulls me in tightly, as more tears roll down my cheeks in thick lines. “It’s okay, Carlisle. I got you, girl.”
Ben, hearing Harper speak to me, asks me to hand the phone to her. Which I do before flinging myself down on my bed. Harper hugs me again before leaving the room to speak to Ben.
After a few minutes, my crying slows, and I draw in a few shaky breaths.
I hate feeling this vulnerable.
I hate feeling like a victim.
I hate not having my life together.
Sitting up in bed, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall opposite me.Goodness gracious, I look like a crackhead fresh off a three-day bender.My hair is sticking up all over the place. My face is blotchy and red. My mascara has migrated under my swollen eyes making me resemble a crazed raccoon. And my t-shirt is covered in a mixture of snot, tears, and make-up.
It’s official—I look as bad as I feel.
Oddly enough, concentrating on my appearance calms me down. Gently, I wipe my eyes on the hem of my t-shirt and pat my puffy eyelids. Grabbing for a tissue from my bedside table, I blow my nose and toss the tissue into my wastebasket, which I miss.
Lebron James, I am not.
I drag myself off my bed to grab the stupid tissue from the floor when Harper runs back into my room looking panicky.
“Good news, bad news, Carlisle. Which do you want first?”
“I’m not in the mood for games, Harper. Just tell me.” I grab another tissue and blow my nose again.
“The good news is that you don’t have to wait until next Sunday to meet Ben because—bad news—he’s coming over now. Right now!” Harper’s eyes are the size of saucers, and her mouth is stretched into a Joker-like smile. Grabbing my arm, she propels me toward the bathroom and pushes me into it. “Shower. Now. Wash your face. I’ll bring you clothes.” She leans into the tub and turns on the shower before she leaves me alone in our bathroom, stunned.
What exactly did she tell Ben?
“Harper, what the hell?”
Springing to action, I strip off my ratty t-shirt and jump into the still cold shower. Taking advantage of the frigid water, I stick my face under the spray hoping it will alleviate the inflammation around my eyes. Furiously, I speedily scrub every square inch of my body with Harper's expensive body wash. I may look like shit, but I’ll smell nice.
As I'm toweling off, Harper returns with clothing in hand.“Here,” she says, thrusting them at me.
On her way out, she averts her eyes from mine. Erroneously, I assume she refuses to make eye contact with me because she is overwrought with guilt that whatever she said to Ben caused him to feel like he had to come over tonight to console me.
