Chapter 30

Fame was not all they cracked it up to be. It was a lesson I quickly caught onto within the first three days of the commencement of my indefinite suspension.

Waking up to find pictures of you splashed all over gossip blogs around the country did not mix well with an anxiety disorder, and combined with the thousands of comments tearing apart my physical appearance as they called me names of all kinds and making collages of some of my old Facebook posts next to stunning pictures of Isla (polls to see who was prettier—spoiler alert: She always won), I was a train wreck waiting to happen.

On the bright side I hadn’t gotten fired and was still on half pay until I found something else to do, but even that hardly counted for anything since any credibility I seemed to have garnered before the Paris trip at Wilkinson, every last drop of professionalism, disappeared as soon as the clip of Elijah and I leaked.

I wasn’t getting any callbacks on the interviews I’d put in for, because everyone and their mother knew now that I, Aurora Rose Martin, had slept with my boss, and somehow I doubted that that made for a great selling point.

Meanwhile, and official Wilkinson press release had come out in the wake of the incident, announcing that Elijah would be stepping down temporarily until the matter was resolved, which was bullshit if you asked me.

The Wilders did own half of Wall Street, as well as the Upper East Side and most of Manhattan if we were being really honest.

In my first week of being cooped up with Paula without hearing from Elijah, I tried to remain positive.

There wasn’t much to be positive about, and so I ran out of things pretty quickly, but still I persevered, hoping against hope that I would get a call from Elijah, or at least a text.

But my former boss remained uncharacteristically silent even by his own standards, and when pictures of him with Isla on a business trip in Rome surfaced, a side shot of him dutifully helping her into a limo as if nothing had happened, like I wasn’t currently Public Enemy #1 for sleeping with him (fielding in grammatically incorrect emails from strangers every day that usually went something like: You’re going to be judged for your sins) I broke, crying in my bedroom as bloody wars raged on in my head, a cocktail of self-depreciation and dread.

I felt used, because even if on one hand I felt I should’ve known better, it was easy to see in retrospect that I never really stood a chance against the hot and cold of Elijah Wilder, his many faces, and it pained me to think back on the memories of all our time together, all those times he spooned me into the tender cocoon of his arms after several passionate sessions of love making.

Entreaties from Paula asking me to come sit down and watch Gossip Girl with her went unheard, as well as a general, and as my depressive episode progressed I switched off my phone and let all the check-ins from my parents come in through my best friend.

Barely holding onto my sanity was proving to be more than enough work as things stood—nursing the feelings of others was unthinkable, and it was because of this that I realized only after a few days had passed that I’d missed my period.

I was in bed munching on a bag of Cheetos, hair stringy and oily from a week’s worth of neglect when it crossed my mind, and as soon as it did I froze, considering the implications of what this could mean even as I denied it, flittering through my memories of Elijah and I until I recalled that we hadn’t used a condom once.

It was a blip, one I’d forgotten until that very moment, us laid out on his bed talking after we got back from a conference meeting when he leaned over suddenly and kissed me out of the blue, eyes liquid fire. His desire was contagious, and when he rolled off me to rummage through his drawers for a condom only to come up empty I’d fucked him anyway, anxious but feeling slightly giddy for it as I rode him, moaning as my fingers dug trenches into the smooth expanse of his broad shoulders.

But I’d taken the pill after.

I wracked my brains for a recollection, rationalizing that I’d been under a lot of stress lately which would neatly explain why I’d missed a period, but when none came up I gave a disbelieving shake of my head, letting out a shuddery sigh as I got up dazedly, opening my door and padding out to the living room, where Paula was reclined on the sofa.

As soon as I walked in she perked up, smiling brightly at me until she saw the funny expression I had on my face. Her brows furrowed slightly in concern, and she sat up, opening her mouth to ask what’d happened. But I beat her to it.

“I think I’m pregnant,” I said, swaying slightly before my legs gave out under me.

•

Later, the pregnancy test kit confirmed it—a clearly distinguishable positive line which set things in stone. In other words: I was royally fucked over.

I’d spoken to my body as I waited for results, willing it to not be pregnant, but when my hopes came dashed out I walked out of the bathroom and into Paula’s waiting arms, collapsing into a fresh bout of tears that only let up when I had to rush back in and empty out the meager contents of my stomach.

Children were something I’d always wanted, albeit far, far into the future. But not right now.

My prospects were bleak. I was a virtually jobless twenty-three-year-old (because now with a kid on the way I could no longer afford to kid myself—pun intended), who barely remembered to take my meds when I was supposed to.

I couldn’t take care of a baby.

Hell! I was still a child myself, and just the thought of what the media would spin this into once it became public knowledge that I was pregnant for Elijah ushered in a panic attack that found me squirming alone in the living room when Paula went grocery shopping, panting as I tried to scream, blind to anything but the fact that every single breath I took felt like it’d gotten cut in half.

This went on for some time until vaguely; I registered the sound of the lock turning. A moment of perfect silence followed, but Paula must’ve laid eyes on my writhing form since the sound of groceries crashing all over preceded the thud of feet as they rushed towards me.

I was dry-eyed, jittery, and deaf to all but the sound of my heart as it beat violently in my chest when a pair of arms scooped me up from the floor delicately, and even in my state of hysteria enough of me remained that a sense of marvel stole through me at Paula’s sudden display of strength.

This lasted until I looked over the shoulder of the person carrying me to find my best friend standing with her hands helplessly on both of her sides, mouth ajar as a can of Coke rolling harmlessly away from her feet, where the bag of groceries lay split open.

Awareness made me squirm, at least until the person shushed me, meaningless murmurs following in a voice I would’ve recognized even in my sleep if I was asked to point it out.

Against my better judgment I found myself relaxing as the sense of dread slowly loosened me from its grip, chest unconstricting as they expertly maneuvered their way into the first room they happened upon, which coincidentally happened to be mine.

A few scant seconds passed, and then the first man to ever break my heart lay me gently over my mattress, hands lingering for a moment before he drew away, straightening up to his full height and taking a few steps back.

The curtains in my room had been drawn shut and so everything lay bathed in silhouettes and shadows, but light from the open doorway outlined David as he stuck both hands in his pockets, feet shuffling as his gaze sought mine in the darkness.

His jaw worked, opening and closing as he tried coming up with something to dispel the charged, awkward silence that now hung over the both of us.

“Hey,” I said in a small voice, and he stilled completely, dipping his head in a move completely at odds with the self-assured man I’d left back home.

After a few seconds of silence stretched out before he replied.

“Hey, Rory.”

David’s voice set off a rush of memories that I’d managed to keep suppressed for the better part of five months—the first time we met, by the pavilion right outside the local café a few walks away from our community college.

Blond, with magnificent jade-green eyes and a quick laugh, he’d been everything I was not, and when he asked if we’d met before, and I said no, only to see him walk into my Business Ethics class, I’d been surprised. At first I’d thought his interest in me to be some kind of elaborate scheme. He’d rolled with the popular crowd, had always possessed a charisma that ensured he was never really alone—and the fact that someone like him would want anything to do with a social reject like me, much less have a romantic relationship of any kind, had seemed astounding to me.

So I turned him down, but he’d been persistent, and when after several weeks of complaining to her about it and Paula snapped, telling me to go on one date with him before cutting him loose, I’d taken her up on it and done just that.

One date became two, and two four—until he asked me out and I said yes, and then we moved in together in our final year of college.

Before I found out he was cheating with a colleague at the campaign he’d been working on at the time, I’d thought that we were end game, that this was the man I would be spending the rest of my life with, and this among many others was why I found it hard to swallow the bitter sting of his betrayal.

Seeing him now, thinner and more older-looking than I remembered, David was a shadow of the man I’d left back home. Our stilted conversation smoothened out as we found common ground, catching up with ourselves in fits and starts.

Over the days that followed, I learned that he’d been in New York for the better part of the month, working on his latest and biggest campaign yet. He’d known I and Paula lived together but had respectfully kept his distance until things with Elijah hit the fan and he decided to reach out.

In fact, David had been waiting down in the lobby, steeling his nerves as he convinced himself to come up, when he bumped into Paula on her way back from the store. As you could guess, my best friend hadn’t exactly been thrilled to see him, but somehow he’d managed to managed to convince her into letting him into our apartment, which was why he’d been around to whisk me off into my bed room when Paula opened the door.

It turned out that he’d been the one responsible for sending the flowers at Wilkinson, and that he’d only stopped after he received a call from a blocked number telling him to stay away from me.

I told him of my time at Wilkinson, skirting over the Paris trip even as I sensed in his hesitation to ask the burning questions he had about my affair with Elijah. The one time he asked I shook my head, turned away from him as I bit down on my lower lip to hold back the sudden flood of tears.

I blamed it on the hormones.

For now, my stomach remained the same as usual and no one except Paula knew about my predicament, but if I decided to have this baby I had a couple of months left before I would start to show.

There were two options, and pretty soon I’d have to make up my mind and choose one or the other, then prepare to live with the consequences for the rest of my life. By an unsaid agreement, I decided that I would put it off for as long as could be managed.

Besides Elijah, David and I steered clear of the reason we broke up in the first place. He was a welcome distraction to the monotony of having my thoughts for company, and slowly we formed a routine of his coming over after a day’s work to have dinner (which for the most part involved Paula hovering around us and making pointed remarks at him) before he headed back to the hotel he was lodged at.

Away from him, I’d let my situationship with Elijah and the residual hurt from the breakup completely overshadow the fact that I actually missed him, and now, with every day of witty banter and uncomplicated laughter (because David was an open book), it became easier to forget why we’d broken up in the first place.

I was vulnerable, and as the saying went, you never really forgot your first love.