The Pull

Chapter 19

We spent the afternoon walking the streets, looking at street art and eating everything unhealthy we came across. Ben took me to this place where they had bubble waffles and I ate mine and half of his with no shame. We stopped for a pint at this amazing roof top bar. And for a while, I felt completely at ease. No worries, no anxiety. No holding back, trying to be someone I'm not. I let my mind run free and probably said more than one amazingly stupid thing because of it but it didn't matter.

When we approached the hotel later that afternoon I hesitated. As I slowed my steps, Ben stopped and looked at me with a puzzled face.

"We probably shouldn't go in together. If some of the guys sees us, they might get the wrong idea." Ben narrowed his eyes.

"And what exactly would that idea be?" I met his gaze and almost flinched at the sight of how stern it was.

"Come on, Ben. You're the boss. I'm the new girl. It's classic. No one would take me seriously if they thought I was doing the boss." There was a plead for understanding in my voice. And anyway, it was in his best interest too, right? He had, after all, been the one suggesting the terms in the first place. All work no play. So why was he looking at me with such held back anger lingering in his eyes?

"You're right. We can't have that." He said it like he agreed but it was dripping of resentment none the less.

"Ben, I just -"

"Don't worry, Puck. I would never tell and risk people feeling poorly about you on my account. The secret is safe. You go first and I'll wait here for a few minutes before heading in." It was almost as if I heard hurt in his voice. It didn't make any sense to me. This was literally what he had asked me for, staying professional and nothing more? I sighed but turned and walked towards the entrance. As I turned to look back Ben was gone.

Back at my hotel room I took quick shower. As I dried my hair, anger came bubbling up. What was his deal? I glanced at the watch and decided Emma would't hate me even if I called her at... ten pm on her day off.

"Chip chip tally-ho, my dear. How's rule, Britannia?" Emma was apparently awake and in a splendid mood.

"Britannia is very well-mannered, not as smelly as one would think and has a Banksy. And she's got nice bubble waffles too. It's her fellow countryman I'm concerned with."

"Oh. So smouldering eyes got issues? Do tell, my dear. I feel like I need to drink tea for this but I hate tea so we'll just have to do with the double shot of espresso I'm currently holding in my hand. By the way, your 'bubble waffles' aren't so bad either." Her impossibly bad British accent was killing me.

"Well. The man in question acted like he really wanted a taste of my bubble waffles all afternoon, to then, all of a sudden, act as if I had a booger on my face."

"Well, are you sure you didn't, in fact, have a booger on your face?"

"Fairly sure. Emma, he is really messing me up here. I feel like I want him to hate me, fuck me, hold me, scold me and love me all at the same time and I can't even decide in what order."

Emma's silence baffled me. The woman was never ever silent.

"Pucksy. I've known you for the better half of your life. You may have moved away time and time again, but I know you better than anyone. Better than Ezra. You have never, and I mean never, used the word love when talking about a person of interest. If I recall it correctly you said you 'had feels' for Mark. I remember it because I wanted to smack you in the face for using the word 'feels' like you're Katy Perry. Are you in love with Ben?"

I felt my stomach plummet. Jesus, she was right. I had just said I wanted Ben to love me. Did I? Did I want love from Ben? Or just sex? I valued our delicate friendship, too. What would happen to that if I started craving more? And he wanted the same? Or didn't want the same? I wasn't relationship material, I knew that, but did my heart know that?

Oh no. This was not good. Not at all.

"NO, Tamara Puck Bower. Do you hear me? You are NOT going there in your head." Emma's firm voice brought me back. "If you 'have feels' for Ben-with-the-sexy-eyes, roll with it. He could be someone for you, and you have the right to find out. It is not a bad thing. You are not the bad thing you need to keep the world safe from. I know Mark pushed you years back with his shit, but you need to snap out of the notion that you don't deserve to feel stuff." My eyes hurt from her honest words.

"Eminem, I know. I know this. But take a swift look at my track record. Mark is hardly my only bad life choice. I either go for people that will seriously hurt me, or I go for people I will seriously hurt."

"Because of something you could not have prevented in any possible way, Puck! You were thirteen years old!" Emma raised her voice. She never did that. Not with me. It made me feel horrible. She sighed.

"Honey, I know what you've been through. It sucks. No child should have to go through that. No child should ever have to witness their mother die. And what that psycho did is nothing other than torture. You were tortured, Puck. Someday you are going to have to take that in. It had nothing to do with you, or because of you making any wrong choices. Nothing you could ever have done would have saved her. Why can you just not stop punishing yourself for something you had no power over?" It's not like she hadn't said this before. Still, it hurt so bad hearing this. I was at fault. My mother died because of me. I had several opportunities to save us, save her, and I did't take them. As I stood there, hair dryer in hand, I once again realised that no one truly knew the complete darkness inside of me. Not even Emma. She kept on saying I was good and right but I wasn't. I killed my mother and put Ezra in the system where he was abused, where I got abused. I took a happy life from him – and myself – because I couldn't control my emotions. And I couldn't control them now either. I dragged those who loved me into my anxiety, my depressions, my impulsiveness. I made them go through horrible things because of me. Me, I had done all of this and so much more.

"My love, stop it. Ok? I need you to go to the mini bar, Puck. Can you do that?" Emma's voice had softened again. I did as she asked. "Is there any liquor in there? Ok. Take it out. Two of those cute little bottles. Drink one. Do it now, sweetheart."  I did what she told me, like a robot. I knew I had shut down again and without Emma I wasn't getting out of it. I dragged them in.

"Good girl. Now, go to the sink in the bathroom. Put the phone down with speakers on and put both your wrists under cold water. You know the drill. Do it and hold them there until you hear me say otherwise."

After more than five minutes under ice cold water, it finally started to hurt. Or to be precise: I finally started to feel that it hurt. It had been for a while. I stopped the water torture and drank the other bottle, all on Emma's instructions. I was myself again. We talked a bit more and I promised to call again tomorrow, and then I had to hurry getting dressed and slab on some makeup. I still had this odd sensation of being aloof, numb even, but it was slowly diminishing. I wasn't going down the rabbit hole this time either. To counter the feeling of utter failure I decided on a dress that would probably make me oh, so very overdressed for tonight, but I didn't care. I was still in charge. I had control. I wasn't losing it. The black dress had a low cut back and it had a bit of savage to offer me, so I took it. I was ready to go. Well, actually, I was starting to run late so I needed to go, but semantics.