Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
The blood drains out my face and my limbs feel numb. I can’t move.
“Did you just call me fat?” I whisper.
“Oh, come on, Fiona,” Ricky says, picking up his phone and avoiding my eyes. “It’s not like you’ve never looked in the mirror before. You know what you look like,” he adds cruelly. I’m dumbstruck. In the month we’ve been dating, he’s been a bit of a prick at times: uninterested at best, kind of rude and non-caring at worst - but never downright cruel like this.
But I swallow the words on my tongue, and they go down like bitter poison. Because who am I kidding? Of course I know what I look like. That’s why I’m putting up with this kind of behavior. I’ve always wanted to date a guy who’s as hot as Ricky, and now that I finally am, I’m not about to blow it. Taking my lumps seems to be part of the equation. But then Ricky speaks.
“Look, I don’t think this is working,” he sighs, not even looking up from his phone as he says it. “I mean, you’re fun and all, Fiona, but ….”
“Are - are you breaking up with me?” I gasp. Oh my god, I can’t believe it. I’ve literally just decided to let his asshole comments go and to give him another chance, and yet he’s breaking up with me? “Why?” I whisper, trying to hold back the tears.
Ricky sits up again, gesturing nonchalantly to himself, then at me, pretending to search for words he can’t find.
“We’re not physically compatible? Is that what you’re trying to say?” I ask, my voice thick with tears.
Ricky sighs as if he’s already tired.
“Yeah. I mean don’t get me wrong. It’s been fun, and the sex was pretty good. But I don’t really see this going anywhere,” he adds.
I get up, the chair scraping over the floor. I can feel myself starting to cry and I refuse to give Ricky the satisfaction of seeing it.
“Oh, don’t be like that, baby,” he says in the most insincere voice I’ve ever heard. But I’ve had it.
“No, you're right, Ricky. I don’t see this going anywhere either,” I say as I hook my handbag over my shoulder, the world blurry before my eyes. Forcing my back straight, I walk away from our table and out of the cafe. He doesn’t follow me. He doesn’t try to apologize for upsetting me. As I walk past the window, from the corner of my eye I can see him just sitting back in his chair, continuing to play on his phone without a care in the world.
Tears stream down my face as the humiliation catches up with me. The humiliation of being broken up with. The humiliation of his careless words, each one like a painful poison dart. God, it sucks. Plus, I’m back to being single, and who knows if there will ever be a guy interested in me again? I’ll probably die alone in my apartment with wolves eating my carcass. God. I hurry home to the comfort of bed, and the prospect of curling up on the sofa with an old romantic film and a generous helping of ice cream.
2
Fiona
I pull the rearview mirror of my car towards myself, craning my neck so I can see the reflection of my face. A little swollen, but not too bad. Nothing that make-up can’t fix.
Because last night I allowed myself to cry and let the disappointment of my breakup with Ricky wash over me, with the resolution of getting up today and getting over it. My face was drawn and pale when I woke up, but with some carefully applied foundation and blush, I looked human and no longer like a corpse.
I’d had my coffee, listened to a cool new album, and dressed myself in my favorite dress and boots - and by now I was feeling pretty fabulous. A new beginning! Having slept on it, I feel like a bit of a fool letting a prick like Ricky upset me like that. Why should I cry over a rude asshole like that? Because he was hot?!
No, Fiona. No more, the voice in my head spoke. Ricky was your first hot guy, and if that's how hot guys are, he’ll be the last.
With an air of determination, I open the car door and walk towards the studio. Morning sunshine beats down on my hair, and I take a deep breath because today’s an important day: the president of Karmax Construction will be filming a TV spot at the studio, and it’s my job to do his make-up. It’s not like I’ve never had an assignment for a corporate advertising campaign before, but never one this important. After all, Karmax is huge, and its CEO is supposedly an incredibly charismatic billionaire. If I do a good job today, who knows what could happen afterwards? Maybe we’ll get more jobs. Maybe we’ll get word-of-mouth referrals.