25. Montréal

Thank you, your comments mean so much to me and spur me on to write the next instaalment. So here goes... only a short one, sorry!

Song: Imogen Heap - Speeding Cars


ELLA'S POV


The tears ran down my face, blurring my vision. I blinked hard, trying to force the tears to stop. I turned to my best friend; I’d mucked up her evening. “Gina, what do I do?” I asked, lying on my bed, clutching my pillow. I felt like my whole world was crashing down around me. My natural instinct was to run. Run far away.

“You should stay and talk it out, you can’t bury your head in the sand,” Gina said, stroking my hair and giving me a hug. “Get some sleep and we’ll figure it out in the morning,” she said as she made me get into bed.
“I’m sorry for wrecking your date with Max,” as she went out of the room. God, I’m so selfish sometimes. Gina’s always there for me, and she finally goes on a date and I fuck it up for her. I laid in bed staring up at the darkened ceiling, piecing together tonight’s events. Maybe I should have stayed and danced with another guy, or one of Jordan’s teammates to make him jealous? That’s being immature, I told myself. That never works – and who knows if it would have worked? I don’t even know if he knew I saw him with that, that girl.

The last thing I wanted to do was sleep, my bed smelled of Jordan. He always smelt good. Too many memories. I got out of bed and pulled out a suitcase from under my bed packing the essentials. I took my favourite clothes, my make up bag, pyjamas, enough clothes for a week. After giving Gina twenty minutes to fall asleep I crept into the bathroom, grabbing my toothbrush and moisturisers. Most of the other things should be back in the house.

I quickly scribbled Gina a note,

G, Couldn’t stand to be in Pitt any longer, have gone to Montréal for few days to figure this out. Sorry I ran off without saying bye. Love you and will call you soon Ella xxx

I hurried out into the lift, still wearing the clothes I’d worn to Diesel, not caring if I looked like a Bulgarian hooker. The street was dark, illuminated by the haze of streetlights in the eerie early morning mist. I hailed a cab as soon as I hit the street, glad that it wasn’t raining.

“Airport please.”

I didn’t care that I looked a mess, I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I had been crying in the taxi all the way to the airport. The driver asked if there was anything he could do to help me, handing me a large box of tissues to stem the flow. I shook my head, it was kind of him to offer. But right now the only person I wanted to see was Felix. Going back to Montreal meant I’d have to see my mother, but it was worth it just to see Felix. He always knows how to cheer me up.

“One way ticket to Montreal, next flight,” I said, taking out the black credit card Dad had given me for emergencies. I guessed this counted as one, emotional emergency.

“Would you like first class Miss Parise?” the lady behind the desk said. Oh why the hell not.
“Yes,” I said not even caring how much this was going to cost.

I took a seat in the deserted lounge, using the bathroom to clear my face up, my eyes red from crying. I looked a mess. I turned on my phone again, yet another two missed calls from Jordan. It was going to take more than a phone conversation, I thought bitterly, to explain that. I texted Felix telling him to pick me up from the airport knowing he’d be there if I asked him to be.

“No questions”

I sent in another message to him before switching my phone off. I didn’t want to be in contact with anyone for a few days. Mother would be surprised that I’d be home, no doubt predicting I was having a mini breakdown pre-finals and trying to get me to sit on her couch and talk about my ‘issues’. She’s been trying to find ‘issues’ with me and my brother since we were about seven much to Dad’s annoyance. Her personal pet ‘projects’. Despite taking an over interest in our lives, our mother had never actually ‘been there’. She was more interested in our psychological well being than what we were up to. Thankfully Dad had cared, even if he was never there, through various nannies and his visits on the weekend. If he’d had his way, we’d have been schooled in New York, not Montréal.

I only plan on spending a week at the very most in Montréal, enough to clear my head before getting back to Pittsburgh. Technically, even if I don’t show up to my finals, I’ve still got enough credits to get me a good enough grade. OK, it wouldn’t be what I’m hoping to get, but I still couldn’t fail. I had worked too hard this year to fail, and the last thing I was going to do was not show up to my exams. And I wanted to graduate top of my class – I’d pushed myself this hard to achieve this much, screwing up now was not an option.



Fortunately there was no one else in first class and I was glad of the solitude. The last thing I needed was an over attentive air hostess or nosey passengers wondering why I was still dressed in last night’s clothes. I clutched my coffee to me; it tasted bittersweet, the clash of the sugar I’d added to keep my drowsy self awake and the black coffee. I flicked through one of the in flight magazines not seeing anything that caught my interest. I ordered another coffee knowing I’d need to deal with Felix when I arrived in Montréal. He’s not the type to accept and believe any line I feed him. He’ll know something’s up. He wasn’t born yesterday.

As I relaxed back in my seat my thoughts drifted to why I was running away. I’m not good at dealing with problems - Felix has always been the confrontational one. He always won my arguments for me. I’d make a terrible lawyer. Seeing Jordan ‘dancing’ with that girl had stirred up feelings inside of me. Anger, yes. Jealousy, of course, and betrayal. But there was something else that I couldn’t put my finger on which was why I was going to Montreal – to figure it out. Hopefully a change of scenery and Felix would recharge my batteries. I didn’t want to completely take my mind off things, but I didn’t know what I wanted right now, and that's what I needed to figure out - my plan of action.