Healing Melody (Very Slow Updates)

19. Beautiful Mess

The moment Galan and the little girl enter the elevator, I sidestep and flatten my back against the wall beside of the elevator, narrowly avoiding being seen by them.

After the doors shut, I freak and flee wherever my feet take me, ending back up in the restroom.

Illuminated by the soft yellow glow from the lighted mirrors, I watch myself with a sense of detachment heavy in my limbs, my thoughts tripping over each other.

The woman with the platinum blonde hair and legs for days.

The little girl who bears so much resemblance to Galan.

Her calling him d—

What was three separate entities now spread along their respective pathways—like leaked ink on canvas—finally connecting with each other as if their paths were set in stone, depicting an indisputable fact that I'd rather never know.

Upset, frantic and bordering on hysterical, I call Jessica—only because her name comes before Maisie's in my contacts—and blabber barely coherent sentences the moment she picks up.

This incites some shouts from her end, ordering me to speak human.

"Calm down, Gloria. Tell me in a way I can understand."

I continue speaking non-human.

Jessica stops me midway. "Okay you know what? Come over to mine. I'll send you my address."

We end the call after Jessica gets the response she wants.

Green eyes and lips that only ever sprouted lies streak through my mind.

Then, I stare at myself in the mirror with the same eyes I used to stare at her when I saw her true colours.

My yellow sheath dress morphs into a white one—not the one of lace and so beautifully cascaded towards the floor—but the one that was probably bought last minute just for the sake of it hitting home and causing damage.

Homewrecker—the word resonates within me and hatred surges from the pits of my existence.

I jerk into action, dumping the paper bag and coffee resting on the sink top into the waste bin with a heaving chest.

Holding onto the edges of the sink top, my eyes dart back and forth as if they're trying to un-see everything from earlier by taking in anything and everything they can. 

But the black-tiled walls and lighted mirrors in front of each white self-rimming sink—so perfectly spotless—only manage to accentuate how fucked up everything in my life was, and apparently—still is.

Making a mental calculation of the minutes that have ticked by, I deduce that the coast should be clear. They should be off the premises by now.

Taking a deep, long breath, I stare into the mirror one last time and force the edges of my mouth upwards into a distorted smile. With a nod of my head as a silent encouragement to myself, I make my way down.

As I pass the front desk, I quicken my pace when the memory of what I overheard earlier comes back to me.

"Natasha Langley is rumored to be–"

"You know not to gossip, Vanessa!"

Natasha Langley.

No wonder she looked familiar. It's because she's a famous model.

Despite the sinking feeling in me, I don't break stride and lower my head all the way out of the building towards my car, holding my coat tight against my body as though I can somehow ward off the looming anguish.