Page 59 of Stolen Hearts
I grab my toothbrush and stop on the two messages from Stephen, sent at 3 a.m. I shake away the instant thought it’s a drunk text from my best friend when I work out it would be 11 a.m. in London when he sent it.
Stephen
Can we talk? I need to get your advice on something.
That won’t be a quick conversation. It never is with Stephen. His voice notes are like mini-podcast episodes, and that’s when they’re played on double speed.
He can wait. He’s already reached his agony aunt quota for the week.
I quickly shower, change, and chuck my swimming trunks, suntan lotion, and towel into my bag. My phone pings with another message from Jason telling me they’re outside. I quickly straighten my duvet, move my laptop to the nightstand, and grab the letter from Alexander to put it to the side, stopping to read the last line one more time:
Tell me you don’t still have feelings for me, and I promise after the Brewed events are done, I’ll never contact you again.
13.Alexander
Tuesday - November 12
They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but if anything, the absence of a response to my letter from Christopher has made my heart grow colder, angrier, and more bitter over the last couple of weeks. The inevitable daily disappointment became resignation on Saturday, when he didn’t show up with Connie and Paul.
Every morning since, when a staff member brings my correspondence to me and there’s no letter from Christopher, I get another kick in the teeth.
I wish I’d never written that goddarn letter now.
Fuck Christopher Foster.
I reach out to increase the speed on the treadmill to ten miles an hour. Mile four is now complete, one more mile to go.
The lack of correspondence from anyone in the first seven weeks has been replaced by a daily deluge of fan letters and packages, which grew exponentially after news of my location broke out. To be honest, I’m surprised it took that long. Though I have a sneaking suspicion that Paul may have leaked it to one of my fan clubs.
There was one letter though that brought me some piece of mind.
Aiden Matthews.
To do what I did on set when we were filming, and then to call him a pedophile when he presented the award to me at the VMAs, was unforgiveable. Apparently, his camp was quick to denounce my accusations, issuing a statement almost immediately. They said whatever was troubling me, Aiden would keep me in his thoughts and prayers.
I wasn’t sure if he’d acknowledge my apology, but he had responded with compassion and understanding when I explained what happened to me as a child and why I kept confusing him with David. It seems he’s even honored my request to keep what I shared to himself until I can make a public statement when I’m discharged.
The only other good news these past couple of weeks was the four Grammy nominations I received on Friday:
Record of the Year
Song of the Year
Best Pop Solo Performanceand
Best Pop Vocal Album
Paul and Connie shared the news when they visited over the weekend.
It’s interesting how you feel when you get something you’ve dreamed of ever since you were a child. I had imagined that, after finally being nominated after ten years of hoping and twenty years of dreaming, I’d be jumping with joy, screaming the news from the rooftops. Instead, I felt like a bottle of Coke that’s had all its fizz removed.
Maybe it’s the meds they’ve got me on. Maybe it’s because the news came from Paul. Maybe it’s because, when he told me, all I could focus on was the empty chair where Christopher wasn’t sitting.
It was weird yet eerily familiar seeing Connie and Paul for thefirst time in almost two months. We slid back into the same familiar roles we’ve always played, like nothing had changed. Paul told me not to worry about Christopher not accepting my invitation to come see me and that I should focus on the positives instead.
That these are my first-ever Grammy nominations.
That I’ll be released from rehab this week.
