A Rhapsody Of Sorts

28- Pride and Prejudice and Television

November 30, 2012.

When Belinda collapsed in my arms last Saturday — mere minutes after I called her, biting my nails as I asked if she had time to stop by my flat — my wobbly knees nearly gave out beneath me. I was already exhausted from my own bout of crying in Harry's arms but listening to Belinda sob out unnecessary apologies against my neck and feeling the wetness her tears left on my skin had made me even weaker. Harry had stood by the stove, his back turned to us as he watched the kettle boil, but I knew that he heard every muffled word we exchanged.

Belinda's tiny fists had wrapped around the lapels of my mum's powder blue coat and her eyes had filled with water as she blubbered on about suing the videographer that released the footage of me punching Franklin — until I shushed her, shaking my head hard enough to make my hair fall out of its bun. "No, I'm so sorry, B," I'd mouthed, holding her elbows tightly, "I'm sorry I shut you out. None of this is your fault." When she continued to cry, I'd shared a deer-in-the-headlights look with Harry over my shoulder before I steered her into my bedroom, where we ended up talking — on Belinda's part, whimpering — for the better part of an hour. Watching her cry because of me had been one of the most harrowing experiences of my life, and now I was more determined than ever before to be a good friend to her.

"Er—are you sure spin class is a good idea?" I asked, scratching the back of my neck. Belinda bumped into my back when I stopped outside the glass doors leading into the room full of stationary bikes. I was only just getting used to Pilates but Belinda was very into trying new things. By extension, I had to be into trying new things, too.

"Yes." She skirted around me, tossing a grin over her shoulder as she dragged me through the doors, releasing her hold on my hand when she got to the bike positioned in the center of the front row. "Come on, Oliver. You'll be fine," she said, cheer oozing out of each word. She tugged on the band of her baby pink sports bra and waved at the women two rows behind us. Forced smiles adorned their faces as they exchanged skeptical looks, but I was sure Belinda didn't know any better. She'd probably never faked a smile in her life. "You're in great shape!" she said, turning back to me as I dutifully took my place on the bike to her right.

I snorted into my fist, and swallowed down a comment about the entire box of Frosties that Liam and I ate for dinner the night before while Harry sat between us on the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pursed in disapproval. Liam and I hadn't had a heart-to-heart like the one I shared with Belinda. He'd stumbled into my flat last week only moments after Harry and Belinda had finally left me to sleep. Walking in my room to find me facedown on my bed, he'd leaned back against my headboard, squeezed my shoulder, and said in a quiet hush, "I know everything's gone to shit, but you can talk to me, Rosie. I'm right here." I wondered if Harry had told him to be gentle with me before I nodded and affectionately nudged him in the shoulder. Now Liam and I were pretending that the entire week I went into hiding hadn't happened at all, falling back into our routine of brunch, pizza, films, and a heavy dosage of teasing each other as if my life wasn't in shambles.

"What do you want to read next?" Belinda asked me out of the corner of her mouth. In front of us, the instructor had set a slow pace to start but I could already feel the sweat building on my forehead. "I was thinking something...lighter. Something happy. Let's not do Palahniuk again for a while," she added. "Fight Club drained me."

"What were you thinking, then?"

She hummed, ignoring the groan I let out when we cranked up the speed on our bikes, and took one hand off her handlebars to tap her chin, deep in thought. "We could read something," she looked around, a nervous smile on her face, "...smutty. There's that bondage book that everyone's reading — what's it called?"