What A Lie Looks Like | ✓

2.05: sephine

I hadn't seen Hayes in almost a week since the coffeeshop in Austin, and I'd started to forget that it happened. I wasn't forgetting. I just don't want to admit to myself that I'm thinking about him more than I should be. I haven't heard from him other than a few text messages, and a phone call that was a butt dial considering he never said anything.

Interestingly enough, Ezra called me two days ago while I was in a show, and I haven't called him back yet. It's not because I don't want to, but because I'm afraid. Nothing's changed with my job in the company, and that was the entire reason we broke up. I was gone too much.

Now it leads me to the current moment when I'm standing stunned with a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream and free utensils looking at a magazine stand that has a picture of Hayes and me on the front cover.

Technically I'm not in it because my name isn't printed anywhere in it. It's a photograph of Hayes and I walking into the pizza parlor almost two weeks ago, but only his face is identifiable in the grainy picture.

Is Benson Pharmaceutical heir finally playing the field?

I almost snort as I read the headline because if they did any fact-checking, they would know that he's running the company now instead of just being the heir to a fortune.

If I hadn't been there that night, I would think this is someone else in the photograph.

I know I shouldn't, but I grab a copy and hand it to the bored teenager who got stuck working the graveyard cashier shift. "Is this all?" She asks, not bothering to look up from her phone.

"Yes."

Huffing impatiently, she sets her phone down and rings me up quickly. "God, she's so lucky," She mutters, pausing to look at the cover of the magazine before handing it to me with my ice cream.

I stifle my laugh because I'm starting to think I have no luck at all. This gas station is a block away from the hotel we're staying at this week in a city that is almost the exact opposite of Austin. It's cold and dreary here, much like the winters were in Seattle, but it's not even in the United States. We're making a special appearance at the Toronto International Dance Festival. Ollie and I have spent the last week perfecting a contemporary routine we never thought we would end up performing because of the level of difficulty.

It's not like we haven't performed equally as hard performances. This one just has a lot of risks involved hence why we are only performing it for the festival, but I'd prefer not to perform it at all. Sascha is insisting on it, so we've been getting extra rehearsals after performances when I'd typically be icing my feet, and when we usually have time off to rest before a show.

However, tonight I needed a night off, and I think Sascha realized how hard he was pushing us after I snapped at him this morning. I'm pretty sure he's been pulling out his hair in his sleep because he's so nervous about this variation, but maybe that's a sign that we shouldn't be performing it.

Walking down the sidewalk, I pull out my phone and dial Hayes's number without hesitation. If I hesitate, then I know I won't call. It only rings for a few moments before he picks up, "Hello?" His voice is hesitant, and the unmistakable sound of a yawn has me feeling guilty for calling.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No, I was just taking a break and closing my eyes instead of looking over this paperwork."

I chuckle lightly, "So I did wake you up."

"Well, I mean yes, but I should have been up anyways," Hayes admits, but it doesn't make me feel any better. "I do think the real question is, why are you still up?"