As I stepped back onto the set for the first time in what felt like forever, a wave of familiarity washed over me. The bright lights, the bustling crew, and the constant hum of activity—it was like coming home. The week turned out to be a whirlwind of long hours, constant shooting, and too many interactions. Though everything seemed unchanged, I couldn't shake the feeling that nothing was quite the same. My eyes, for instance, had taken on a curious habit of tearing up at the most unexpected moments. Blaming it on the omnipresent dust became my go-to explanation, and luckily no one has pointed out my lie yet.
And then there were the moments when I would find myself completely lost in thought, my mind wandering away from the present moment. While I used laughter to brush off these instances, I knew I would break soon. The dust may have been in the air, but it was also settling in my soul, stirring up emotions and thoughts that I am desperately trying to conceal.
Lorraine has always been one of those friends who just knows when something's not quite right. I mean, there I was, babbling on like a caffeinated parrot, and it was more than enough to alert her. I tried to pretend I was okay, but she wasn't convinced. And then she hit me with it. The question I had been dreading, the one I knew I couldn't avoid forever.
"How come Eugene's not around anymore?"
She asked one day, her voice gentle but laced with concern. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the wave of emotions crashing against the walls of my heart. With a shaky voice, I told her that he wouldn't be coming anymore. I didn't go into the details and she didn't pry any further.
I expected her to scold me or tell me I had made a terrible choice, but instead she didn't judge or criticize; she simply listened, her eyes filled with empathy and understanding. And then, in true Lorraine fashion, she offered her unwavering support.
"I'll book the return tickets soon," she declared, with that determined look in her eyes. "And if you need anything, absolutely anything at all, I'll be there for you."
I couldn't help it. The floodgates burst open, and I found myself drowning in a sea of salty water droplets streaming down my cheeks. But remarkably, Lor didn't mention a word about it. She didn't make me feel embarrassed or self-conscious. Instead, she sat by my side on the couch and hugged me close.
The bed felt too empty. It was like a void that swallowed me whole, reminding me of his absence. It's funny how a simple piece of furniture can hold so much weight, both physically and emotionally. Yet, it's not just the bed that's haunting me; it's every nook and cranny of this cottage. Eugene's presence still lingers in the air, subtly whispering about the things we have done here.
I glance around and catch a glimpse of his old sweater haphazardly draped over the back of a chair. It's as if his scent still clings to the fabric, teasing my senses, and for a moment, I feel as though he's right here beside me. The thought of returning his stuff never even crossed my mind. Not because I don't want to see his face again, but these belongings, these tangible memories—they are all I have left of our time together. It may seem absurd to others that I hold on so tightly to material things, but these objects have become my lifeline, a connection to a past I am not yet ready to let go of. They serve as reminders of the laughter we shared, the tears we shed, and the love we once had. And until my heart is done mourning, until I am ready to face the world again, these traces of Eugene will stay right where they belong—with me.
Eugene and I were playing a little game of hide and seek, except I was the only one seeking and he was the master at hiding. I often found myself planted in front of his accommodations or loitering around the production team base, hoping for a random encounter. I just wanted to see how he was doing. But my efforts were in vain, as his colleagues would inform me that he was always spending an unhealthy amount of time in front of the computer. He was drowning himself in work.
So, I began spreading my workload among the assistants, freeing up my time to either retreat into the solace of my cottage or go for aimless drives around the city. I became a nomad without purpose, wandering the streets without a particular destination in mind. It was a difficult phase, a whirlwind of emotions that swirled within my heart. How could I forget him when he occupied every corner of my mind?
Yet, amidst the struggle, I knew in my heart that this, too, would pass. I was not one to wallow in misery for long. I will overcome it. I will have to suffer only until then.
When Nathaniel announced that it was time to pack up, a mixture of relief and sadness washed over me. Relief because the long and demanding schedule was finally coming to an end, and sadness because it meant saying goodbye to all the excitement and energy that came with it. As the cheers erupted around me, I couldn't help but let out a sob, overwhelmed by emotions.
Amidst the chaos of people hugging and congratulating each other, I felt detached. It was as if I were going through the motions, mechanically reciprocating the well-wishes and congratulations I received. Physically, I was present, but mentally, I was elsewhere. All I wanted was one last glimpse of Eugene, but he seemed to have vanished into thin air.
My heart ached with longing as I scanned the crowd, hoping to catch sight of his familiar face. The thought of parting ways without even saying a proper goodbye left a heavy weight on my chest. Perhaps Eugene had already left, or maybe he was deliberately avoiding me. The uncertainty only intensified my yearning to see him one last time.
"Are we going to the party tonight?"
Lorraine asked, her eyes showing obvious concern.
"We can if you want to."
It seemed as if my heart and mind were locked in a fierce battle, tugging me in opposite directions. The possibility of catching a glimpse of Eugene was simply too tempting to resist. Yet, a nagging skepticism gnawed at the back of my mind. What if I did see him? Would I crumble under the weight of the emotions that had plagued me for so long? The image of me standing before him, vulnerable and desperate, begging for his return, flashed before my eyes. The thought alone left me both uneasy and terrified, like a rollercoaster hurtling towards an uncertain destination.
"I think we should go. This is your first movie as an assistant director. It's your job, River."
As an individual committed to my profession, I firmly understand the importance of keeping my personal issues separate. I put on my best smile for her and nodded in agreement. Similar to Eugene, Lorraine had successfully broken down the emotional barriers between us. While she was already an important person in my life, she was never exposed to my true self. But now she was seeing me for who I really am, not the idol personality that she has created of me in her mind and, contrary to my initial concerns, she handled it well.
Just as I was preparing for the upcoming party, I received a call from April. It was evident that she had been informed by Lorraine, as she purposely avoided mentioning Eugene's name, not even once. Soon, our conversations began to resemble the past, as if the entire phase involving Eugene had never unfolded. It felt as if it were all just a figment of my imagination, a mere dream. Everything was different, yet I was not the same person anymore.
"When is your flight?"
With the phone on speaker, I continued fumbling through my semi-packed suitcase. The cottage now stood empty, echoing the bittersweet traces of our time there. My fingers grazed over Eugene's pullover, remembering the occasion when I accidentally wore it to the set. Carla mentioned seeing similar stuff on someone else, but for the love of God, she couldn't recall who. I remember laughing with Eugene that evening and him telling me what a fool I was. We were lingering on the couch and he had his hands wrapped around me while I hid myself in his neck, inhaling his scent. We were happy. In that moment, I realized just how much I treasured these precious memories.
"At two a.m."
"Will you come home?"
There was a note of hope in her voice, and I sighed again. I took my wrap dress among the clothes and shut down the suitcase.
"I will try."
As I reassured April that I would be heading home after this, a pang of guilt settled in my chest. The truth was, I had no intention of returning anytime soon. No, what I want now is some alone time, a refuge where I can let the tears flow freely and indulge in a necessary breakup ritual. My wooden house nestled in the landscapes of Switzerland seemed like the perfect sanctuary for my wounded soul, and I have already booked my tickets. We talked some more after that and when the clock struck nine, Lorraine came to call me and I ended the call. A chauffeur came along with her and helped us with our things. We were going directly to the airport from the party. I didn't even turn back as I got out of the room and walked straight to the parking area.
Bags were swiftly loaded into the car, and goodbyes were exchanged left, right, and center. I couldn't help but feel a sense of exhaustion from repeating the same words over and over again. It was draining, to say the least. The drive to the hotel was silent as well.
It was as if the weight of the situation had settled upon us, casting a heavy cloud over the atmosphere. And with every passing mile, my heart rate seemed to quicken. The realization struck me like a thunderbolt—he would be at the hotel. I will have to face him. What am I going to do?
Feeling my nerves getting the better of me, Lorraine reached out and held onto me for support. She claimed it was due to the difficulty of walking in her high heels, but I knew better. She could sense my unease and fear.
"It's not the first time you've worn heels, girl."
Nevertheless, I clung onto her arm, grateful for the comfort she provided. Deep down, I knew that facing him was inevitable, and I braced myself for whatever awaited me at the hotel.
As we stepped into the party, the vibrant energy enveloped us like a warm embrace. Laughter filled the air, mingling with the sound of music and clinking glasses. Conversations flowed like a river as people discussed their future plans and stuff.
Nathaniel raised his glass high and called for our attention. We all hushed, eager to hear his words. His heartfelt toast brought tears to my eyes, and his gratitude for my support touched me deeply. Yet, even in that moment of appreciation, my gaze couldn't help but wander. Where was Eugene? His absence was conspicuous amidst the sea of familiar faces. A mix of disappointment and relief washed over me. I had been looking forward to seeing him, but his nonattendance provided a small reprieve from the unresolved tension between us.
By eleven, we decided to take our leave and head to the airport. I swept my eyes around the large party hall one last time before walking away.
..........
We settled down in our seats after ninety minutes, and Lorraine requested two glasses of red wine for us. She mentioned that it would help ease our nerves. I fought back tears and managed a weak smile at the flight attendant, who wished us a pleasant flight. The captain made an announcement for the cabin crew to prepare for takeoff, and shortly afterward, we were airborne. Whether it was the adrenaline rush from the acceleration of the aircraft or something else entirely, I lost all my self-restraint and broke down completely. Lorraine, with her eyes shut and earphones in, reached out and tightly grasped my hand.
As the tears streamed down my face, I wondered if they would ever stop. It felt as if my heart was shattering right there in the cramped airplane cabin. I sniffled and wiped my eyes, grateful for Lorraine's presence beside me. She reached into her bag and handed me a tissue, her face a mask of understanding. Without a word, she retreated back to her seat, slipping on her headphones.
My gratitude for Lorraine overflowed like a cascading waterfall. She was someone who knew when to offer comfort and when to give you space. Lorraine's silent support gave me the strength to release my emotions, like a dam bursting open to let the pent-up feelings flow freely. And as each tear fell, it felt as if a weight was being lifted from my shoulders, lightening the burden that had been weighing me down.
Lost in my thoughts, I absentmindedly stared out the window, watching the clouds dance across the vast expanse of the sky. Everything seemed so surreal, like a dream I couldn't wake up from. But just as I started to drift away into my own world, a faint voice broke through the haze. It called my name, pulling me back to reality. Startled, I turned to see who it was.
"River Alecia Landon?"
I gazed at the young flight attendant, who met my eyes with a warm smile. I mumbled a response, but my voice remained hoarse.
"You have a package. The sender directed us to deliver this to you only once the flight took off."
I can't recall if I thanked her. Lorraine was already asleep, so I didn't want to disturb her. I simply tore open the brown parcel and discovered a binder journal. It bore no name, no signature, no title—just a blank cover. My heart raced when I recognized the familiar handwriting.
'Entry No:- 94'
............…..