Her face falls. “Look . . . I didn’t mean to offend. That came out wrong.”
“No, please . . . ,” I reassure her. “Explain it to me. How can I get better if I don’t know what’s wrong with me?”
“You don’t need to get better. You just need to . . .” She pauses as if choosing her words wisely. “You have no substance.”
“What?” I put my hand on my chest. “Me? No substance?” I gasp, shocked. “I am high-quality fucking substance!”
She laughs. “That’s the problem. You will never understand what I mean, Christopher, and it’s okay-you don’t need to. It’s not relevant to your life.”
I frown as I stare at her. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Your life has been so perfect that you’ve never had to dig deep to find out who you really are.”
I put my weight onto my back foot, affronted that this is the second time today I am hearing this. “I disagree. Why do people think that only hardship builds character? Why would I have to dig deep to find out who I am when I already know?”
She goes up onto her toes and kisses my cheek. “Because diamonds are made under pressure.” She turns and begins to casually walk up the street.
“What does that mean?” I put my hands onto my hips in disgust. “I am a fucking diamond, Carly.” I hold my arms out wide. “Do you know how many women would love to have a diamond like me?”
She laughs out loud and turns back toward me. “The women that you spend time with just want rich coal. They don’t even know what a diamond is. It’s coal meet coal.”
My mouth falls open in horror.
She blows me a kiss and turns and walks off into the night. I run my hand over my stubble as I stare after her.
That was weird.
Hmm, and . . . I hate to admit it . . . interesting.
I walk down the street and into a bar and take a seat at the bench by the window.
“What will it be?” a waiter asks me.
“Scotch,” I reply, distracted.
It starts to rain, and I watch it fall through the window. “Here you go,” the waiter says as he places my drink down in front of me.
“Thanks.” I sit and drink alone.
I’ve had a shitty day, and I hate to admit it, but it seems there’s a part of my personality that others can see that I can’t.
The women that you spend time with just want rich coal.
I drag my hand down my face in disgust. Is that true? I tip my head back and drain my glass.
You are broken.
It’s been a weird day full of revelations. Are they right?
How will I ever find my diamond if I’m only rich coal?
I hear a voice. “It can’t be that bad.” I glance up to see a waitress wiping down the table beside me.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you’ve been sitting there for three hours looking completely miserable.”
“What?” I glance at my watch. One thirty a. m. . . . shit. “Sorry,” I splutter as I stand and dig out my wallet.
She rings up my tab. “Did you get dumped?” she asks.
I frown, confused at the concept. “No, nothing like that.”
“Did you dump someone?”
“No.”
Mind your business.
“Fired?”
I’m not in the mood for talking, and I just want her to shut up. “Yes. Fired,” I lie.
“Well, that’s great.” She smiles. “I love crossroads.”
This woman’s a bona fide idiot.
“How is being fired great?”
“Because you get to start again. You can design who you want to be.”
I frown as I stare at her.
Design who you want to be.
“Like a do-over . . . ,” I whisper to myself.
“Yeah.” She begins to wipe the counter down again.
“What would you do?” I ask her. “How would you start again?”
She smiles dreamily. “I’d disappear and travel the world. See it through new, untainted eyes.”
I stare at her as my mind begins to run a million miles per minute. Not the first time I’ve heard this. I thought of this concept years ago myself.
“I mean, not that anyone can realistically afford to do it.” She shrugs. “But wouldn’t that be something?”
“It would . . .” I pay her, and deep in thought, I walk around the corner to the taxi stand. There’s one waiting, and I get into the back seat.
“Where to?” the driver happily asks.
I smile. See . . . I can catch a cab by myself. In fact, I’m sure I could do anything that I set my mind to. I’d show those fuckers what I’m really made of.
But no money?
Ugh . . . that’s tough.
I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling of my darkened bedroom.
I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that won’t leave me alone.
Ever since the idea of a do-over came to me, I can’t stop thinking about it.
But do I really need to become invisible so that I can be seen?
Am I overreacting?
I don’t want to fall into the trap of money dictating my life, if I haven’t already.
I hate how my brothers see me. I hate how Carly thinks I’m coal. The worst thing is, I know that she’s right. As I am right now, I’m 100 percent coal.
I don’t even know how to find substance, and I hate the thought of it.
I’m better than this. I know I am.
There is more to me than my surname . . . but how do I find what it is?
If I lived a year without money, how would it feel?
I imagine the possibilities and the risks and the feeling of pride I would have at the end, knowing I’d done it.
I haven’t been out this week; for the first time ever the thought of socializing isn’t something I can stomach.
I don’t want to be out there . . . I want to disappear.
Monday morning
After the longest sexless week in history, I’ve come to a decision. I step out of the elevator with purpose. “Good morning, girls.” I walk past them.
“Good morning, Christopher.”
I walk down the corridor and into Elliot’s office. Jameson and Tristan are leaving for New York tonight, and I know that I need to do this now, while we are all together.
“Can I speak to you for a minute in my office?” I ask.
Elliot looks up from his computer and frowns. “What about?”
“Just get Jay and Tris and come down and see me.”
“Okay.”
I walk down to my office and turn my computer on. I have a lot to do.
“What’s up?” Jameson asks. He walks into my office and flops onto the couch.
Elliot and Tristan follow. “What’s going on?”
“I’m taking a year off Miles Media,” I announce.
“What?” Jameson frowns. “What for?”
“I’m going off the grid.”
“How?”
“I’m going backpacking.”