But Brittany has always been different and unpredictable. I didn't expect that she would take a gulp of water and walk out on me just like that. "Hey, Wait"
I was too slow because she closed the elevator before I could get in.
No point in chasing her because she would be gone by the time I got to the ground floor. I tried though. I took the stairs and ran after her like I should have done that last time but it was useless because she was gone. Again.
It was not until I got home that night that I realised that for the first time since I was rescued, I willingly walked in a dim, tight place. The stairs of the restaurant were not as bright and definitely tighter than I would have liked. Also, I didn't finish the table water at a go.
My therapist had said that everything would be better with time and that the habits that I formed as a result of the incident would slowly break. She was wrong. The habits were slowly breaking because of Brittany and not time.
Throughout our stay in the restaurant, she got my full concentration. My thoughts did not have time to shift to my time in confinement, it was busy with Brittany. And so for once in seven months, several drops of medications later, I got a kick at PTSD.
The reason for my little victory was gone but it was still a win regardless. The thing was that I didn't know what I did wrong exactly; yeah, I know involving her mum was a stupid move but that was not the problem. The problem was that I think she expected me to give a reason for leaving.
I concluded that from our last two disastrous meetings and it made sense according to her actions. A bigger problem was that I had no idea about why or when she left. One time we were ticking off tasks from her to-do lists and the next, her family was gone.
Her phone numbers-and that of her brother's no longer existed and the house was put up for sale. From my side of the story, did it sound like I had any better idea about what happened? No, I fucking didn't.
My unfiltered question pushed her away and I didn't know what to do. I made a resolve then, if she ever gave me an audience, I would not ask about her leaving. Patience was the needed tool to get her and I was ready to wield it.
Instead of going back to my apartment, I headed back to the office. It was yet another unusual activity as I preferred to work from my apartment at night time. Working was impossible because you know, someone was occupying my thoughts.
And so, I called her to apologize again, this time, I knew what I was apologizing for. Funny of me to think she would answer my calls. I called and called but she didn't pick up.
I knew she was already in her apartment because the driver followed her even though she refused a ride from my driver. Eight years were enough to turn her into an unforgiving person, I wanted her to talk to me. Tactics were needed so I texted her.
And she did not reply. I left her a voice message. "I am sorry, Brittany. I am sorry for ruining dinner and for mentioning your mother. You know that I respect her, I always have. It's just… I was hurt that you left that year and I guess I just wanted an explanation. If you don't want to talk, I promise that I won't ask you again. Just please. Please, call me."
She didn't call me, I sent another voice note but there was no reply. That night, I had another episode even though all the lights in my room were turned on. Instead of seeing the dead bodies of Mark or Tom or any of the soldiers in my platoon, I saw Brittany. For the first time since I was rescued from Afghanistan, I got scared.
Normally, I feel anger or disgust anytime I get an episode, I silently scold myself to forget the nightmare or flashback. If I reminded myself that I was safe, that the bodies were my imagination and I waited long enough, I would be okay. But that night, time and internal conversation with myself did not erase the image of the dead Brittany from my mind.
Time didn't erase it either.
Things were a bit better when I burnt time in my live-in gym. I kept reminding myself that Brittany was fine while I ran for over an hour on the treadmill. I hit the punching bag until my hands turned to liquid, only then did I try to call her back again.
"What?" She answered.
I visibly relaxed at the sound of her voice, thank God she was fine!
"Hey, why are you breathing like that? Are you okay?" She asked with concern dripping from her voice.
It felt nice to know that she cared about me despite how our last meeting ended.
"I am fine, I was boxing"
"Oh, I didn't know you still box"
My next response was to tell her that she didn't know a lot of things about me. Like, how hurt I was after she left, how I looked for her and how I wanted to try the friendship with her again.
"I still box," I replied.
"I still eat chocolate for breakfast" We laughed at that and then felt silent. Like old times, we listened to each other's breath.
She broke the silence "I am sorry for–"
"No, no. You don't need to apologise. I am the one in the wrong here."
"We were both wrong. I shouldn't have left like that. You treated me to a nice dinner and I ruined it. I am sorry" In her defence, she sounded really genuine.
"It's fine," I replied.
We agreed to talk later in the morning and said our goodbyes. When the feeling of loss started to overwhelm me, I went back to the boxing ring. I have done my best by inviting Brittany out for dinner, if she didn't make the next move, I would leave her alone.
Even though I wanted friendship with her, there was nothing more that I could do. And I might want to resume the make-out session from the other day but she clearly wasn't interested and the list of my regular girls was still available. I didn't need friends and I knew where to get hookers.
I buried myself in work throughout the weekend, the team was slowly gathering evidence as to mismanagement by my father. If everything was in place, he would be on early retirement before the end of the year. I've also heard rumours that Magaret left my father in Greece and she was back in town.
Guess there was fire in paradise. I was talking to a potential investor outside my office on Tuesday morning when I noticed that my assistant was talking to someone on the phone. I wouldn't have intervened if not for phrases like "bitch" "he's busy" and "call his goddamn phone"
Were assistants allowed to say that to callers? I doubt it, but I couldn't fire her because she was acting on my instruction not to direct any call from Endless Glamor to me. That was before I met Brittany. According to my assistant, Brittany had called a few times after our first meeting.
A simple call confirmed that she wanted to talk about something important. I wondered if 'something important' was along the lines of how her whole family disappeared but I didn't hold my breath. We ended up settling for lunch that same day.
Left to me, I would prefer dinner but if I wanted to play it safe with her then lunch was better. She was wearing a suit that afternoon, all business. At that point, I was convinced that she would look good in everything, even a sack.
We had just settled down after greeting each other when Magrete sashayed to our table. There was no mistake that she was waiting for us. The first mistake was to have a panic attack in that meeting room, the second was to let Magaret have something over me.