For CC
CLYVE
“WHAT THE BLOODY fuck?” I closed the book. It was so funny when I might be the first one to buy Sindy Kate. I ordered online, then I realized it would take a day before it could be delivered to my office. Then I had to walk to the bookstore and fill in line because apparently, it was a best-seller.
I couldn’t be prouder for her that for a rookie author, she made it to the best-selling list.
Austen ignored me. I threw a pen at him just to catch his attention.
“Fuck off, Linton. I am reading.” He didn’t even look at me.
“You are a horrible company.”
“You are a distraction.” He paused, then he roared, “What the fuck?”
I rose from my chair and sat beside him on the couch. “Which page are you on?”
He raised his hand to warn me. “Don’t. You, Collin the asshole forced her for a deal?”
“What? That’s fiction. First and foremost, Collin is a rubbish name. Second, I am not that shy. I’m just choosy over women I slept with.”
Austen laughed. Finally, I got his attention. “When was the last time you get laid?”
“Seriously, do you want me to shag another woman while I’m still with your sister? What kind of brother are you?”
His brow arched, amused. “You must have hit your head too hard. The last time I checked, you two broke up. Like a very nasty breakup.”
“We only had a little misunderstanding, idiot.”
“Then what are you still doing here? Do you need my help, Linton? Did you lose your touch?” He chuckled and shook his head while I was glaring at him.
“You’re no help.” I opened the book again and searched for the page where I left unfinished reading.
I was just in chapter ten, but I could say it was full of emotion. The character of Sindy Kate was complex. She had full of flaws, yet she was also strong and driven. She was completely the Harry Bloom I knew, and she did a good job of making Sindy a heroine in the story.
Westley was a good writer and an inspiration to all the women out there. Even men could relate to the story of Sindy Kate. When I watched her interview, it was too late that it wasn’t actually a secret of her writing a story about her other character. Now, I couldn’t do anything other than read and dwell my life in sorrow.
She met Arella weeks ago. I knew it because I wanted to know how was she doing, but she seemed okay and even faced her monsters of a step-mom and step-sister with courage.
“Okay, this is the best part.”
My head snapped to Austen. I snatched the book from his hands. “That’s awkward, mate. You shouldn’t be reading a sex scene, especially when you know it’s your sister’s story.”
“And other men can? You are overreacting, man. Give my book back. This is fiction, remember?” He stood up, trying to snatch his book from me.
“Let’s go and get drunk. My treat.”
He rolled his eyes. “More likely, let’s go and get you drunk, asshole. Give me my book, or I will go and buy and read in my apartment.”
Austen rented a new apartment just across from my building. I stayed most of the night with him when I couldn’t sleep thinking about Westley. He once lied to me that Westley went out on dinner with her agent. I couldn’t even begin to imagine them enjoying a night together while I was staying awake at night, missing her like crazy.
Who would want to be with me anyway? I was no one when I met her, and I was still no one up to this very moment. She was right about one thing though-I should be the one who should be ashamed-I was just a puppet who had not proven anything.
That night, the thought of her alone with her agent, kissing or moaning beneath that arsehole made me angrier and sad at the same time. Thankfully, before I could do something stupid, Austen took back what he said and that he was only messing with me.
There was a part of me that wanted to knock on her door, but I had to keep myself apart to rethink what I did for her, and what I sacrificed still mattered for both of us. In my heart, I knew I still loved Westley. I never doubted that. My heart always ached when I thought how good we were together, then in an instant, I let my anger and rage consume me, and I ended up screwing things up between us.
I hadn’t realized how much I loved her until she was no longer with me. I could still remember the hatred look on her face before she bolted out of this office. It was still fresh to me, and I wished I let her explain, and I wished I knew how to control my rage, but I let that anger control me instead.
I sighed again, wishing she was thinking of me, but that was impossible. She didn’t like an idiot like me anymore.
All these past few weeks, I wondered if she ever missed me after she bolted out without a proper goodbye.
“Just say it out loud. You’re giving me a headache.”
“I love her.”
“Why am I not so surprised?” Austen rolled his eyes. “Did you tell her that?”
“She stopped me.”His expression turned sympathetic before he focused back on the book. “Oh, that’s terrible. Your fault. So, what’s your plan?”
“Apologize?”
“When your plan won’t work? Do you have plan B?”
“I’ll make sure plan A will work. That’s plan B.”
“Great. Sign me up.”
My gaze flew to Austen. “Really?”
He sighed and finally closed the damn book. “Yes. Because look at you, man. You look like shit. Harry is just right next door, but you didn’t have the guts to knock and apologize because you are damn guilty. A woman has a soft heart. If sorry won’t be effective, there isn’t a little persuasion and determination won’t do the trick. You only have to make them feel and prove to them how sorry you are and how sincere you are in winning them back.”
“Westley is different.”
“That’s where you are wrong, man. Men are mostly stupid, thinking relationships and women are complicated.”
“Let us say you’re right. How should I apologize to Westley? I sent her flowers, only to find out she gave it to the homeless old man.”
“Seriously, dude? Did you write a message?” He stared at me, transfixed for a few seconds. “You actually don’t have a plan?”
“Not at this moment.” I shrugged.
“Jesus, do you really love my sister?” His voice was deadly serious.
“You just told me I looked like shit. Would I look like this if Westley meant nothing to me? I made mistakes for not giving her a chance to explain, for saying words that I couldn’t take it back.” My heart crashed because I hurt her when I should be the last person to judge her.
“Enough of your melodrama, Linton. Read the book from start to end.”
“Why?”
“Did you even read the dedication?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“You are full of shit!”
“You are a horrible friend.”
“Man up, man. You can’t let your sorrow drown you. Trust me, there’s nothing more painful than watching your girlfriend for the last time being rolled down six feet below the ground, but what I thought of was if she would be happy to see me drowning in alcohol or dwelling in sorrow. Of course, I knew her well, and she would be cussing me from wherever she was if I did that to myself. Moving on doesn’t mean I have to forget her, or she thinks that I replace her. It’s part of growing up, and that there’s always a life out there waiting for me.”
“I am not moving on. I can’t give up on us. I don’t think I can, Austen. I made mistakes, and I am a horrible person, I know that, but she changed me. My life used to be black and white and messy until I met your sister.”
“Sometimes we hurt the one we loved because of the choice we made. For CC. That’s her dedication.”