Page 92 of Spoilsport
I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s one of those things that feel true, either way. So, I make my notes and, more importantly, I force myself to read them.
At the start, I had a few lines. The friends I count as my family. The joy I find sometimes reading a good book or watching a good show.
Single lines that now, a year later, have turned into pages and pages and pages.
And in another notebook, I jot my memories of people I wish I’d never met. Of things I wish I’d never agreed to do.
So, yes, these meetings drain me. It takes ages for me to talk and often I run out of things far earlier than I expected because I just can’t say another thing, can’t face dredging another tentacle out of my crate and exposing it to the light.
Once I’m done, when my memory banks run dry, there’ll still be work to do. There are a million facts to check, witnesses to locate.
But one day, maybe not as far off as it sometimes seems, there will be a public reckoning. A chance to find out if a pen really is mightier than a sword.
“You’re doing so well,” Danielle says when my faltering words come to a complete halt. “I know this process is frustratingly slow but every piece of information you give us is important.”
When we’re finished, when my words have truly dried up, I sit back and order another drink, this time a hot chocolate so I’m not overloaded with caffeine. Rory and Danielle take their cue to exit soon after, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the toe tapping rhythm of the live band.
I let the warmth of the surroundings sink into my bones.
Not just the physical warmth but the being out among other people, hearing them talk and play music and serve drinks and do all the things that remind me of how incredible we all are. I soak it in for the times when I genuinely can’t face going out in public. The days when I struggle just to be present with Seb.
And once I’m full to the brim, I go back to my car and drive home. The lights are on and the moment I walk through the door, Seb is there, with his warm arms, his comforting words, the kiss that always sets me alight.
“You have fun at the press conference?” I ask, finding it hard to meet his eyes, letting him cup my head against his chest and hold it steady with his large hands.
“All sorts of fun. You should’ve seen it. They asked me questions. I struggled to answer them. It was a whole bit.”
“Hm. You need to hire a media liaison to coach you. Then you can shine brighter than all the other players.”
He chuckles as holds me closer. “I don’t need to hog the limelight.”
“But you enjoy it so much.”
Seb holds me close, knowing without me needing to tell him I’m on edge, that I feel unloved and unwanted and all the things that patently aren’t true.
“You know what I miss?”
I close my eyes, smiling already because I love this game. “What do you miss?”
“Paper-thin walls and the girl I’ve had a crush on for a decade reading literature in the next room.”
“Literature, you say?”
“Mm-hm. And do you want to know how I know that?”
“You can hear me turning the pages through the paper-thin walls?”
I lean over and knock on the far solider wall of our flat. Much as we both love to complain about our landlord, we have far more wall per rental than a certain private boarding school we could name.
“It’s not the paper I hear.”
“Oh?” I bite my lower lip, staring into his beautiful eyes and feeling their warmth as he stares straight back into mine. “What is it then?”
Seb leans down until his lips are right against my ear and in the quietest way possible, he makes his lips buzz.
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