Mr Masters, page 38
I won’t feel so empty and cold.
Alone.
The Uber pulls up out the front of the house at 6:45 a.m. sharp., I pay the driver and climb out. The front porch light is on, even though the sun is just coming up over the hills.
The air is getting colder, and a small cloud appears in front of me as I exhale.
I wring my hands in front of me, walk up the steps, and I knock on the door.
Julian opens it swiftly. “Hello.” He says on autopilot.
I smile awkwardly. “Hi.”
He steps back to let me in, walking into the kitchen without another word, and I close my eyes.
His force field is back on.
Probably a good thing, to be honest. This is hard enough as it is. Heaven help me if he showed any real emotion now.
"Just take the car through the week," he says matter-of-factly. "I won't be needing it. On Fridays, I can drop you back home for the weekend. I'll have a car pick you up Monday mornings.
I nod and clench my hands by my sides. “Thank you”
He's wearing a navy suit with a crisp white shirt beneath it. Then there's the usual accessories: a grey tie, his black, immaculate shoes, and his expensive watch. His dark hair is shaped to perfection, and that's when I know his controlled persona is fixed firmly back in place. He's freshly showered and his aftershave smells like things dreams are made of. It's the very same aftershave that got me in this trouble in the first place.
Damn it, I should have smashed that damn bottle the minute he caught me snooping in his bathroom cabinet. Perhaps it would have saved me a lot of heartbreak.
I watch him as my heart gets on her knees and begins to beg to be back in his arms.
Cut it out.
He watches his finger as he runs it along the edge of the kitchen counter as if he's contemplating saying something else.
His eyes finally rise up to mine. “I’ll see you later then.”
I nod, unable to speak through the lump in my throat. He picks up his briefcase and he walks out the front door, never looking back or giving me any indication of how he’s feeling.
Sadness rolls over me.
I hope he feels as bad as I do.
Julian
I stare at the television on the wall, my mind a fog.
“Hey, Masters?”
I frown as I’m pulled from my thoughts. “What?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m taking you to the vet. You need to be put down, you’re so fucking miserable.” Spencer tuts.
We’re all in a bar having lunch. My mind is anywhere but here with these two.
I force a smile on my face. “I’m fine.” “So, do you want to do that then?”
“Do what?”
Spencer slaps his forehead and rolls his eyes. “Stay in Sussex for Andrew’s wedding next weekend.”
I frown. “Oh, I’m not going to that.”
“You just said you were coming with us.”
“Did I?” I exhale heavily and sip my beer. “I don’t remember that.”
“Why don’t you want to come? Do you think you’re going to combust into fire when you walk into the church or something?” Seb asks.
“We probably all will,” Spence mutters sarcastically. “Do you reckon there’re hookers in Hell? Like, are we all just going to be naked, getting our rocks off down there or what?”
"Yeah, drag Queens that are going to fuck you up the ass," Seb retorts as he sips his beer.
Spencer winces as he considers the prospect. “That would be Hellish.” He nods to himself. “Guess it makes sense.”
I roll my eyes. Seriously. The conversations we have. “You two insult my intelligence.”
They exchange looks.
“Of course we are going to be naked and fucking down there,” I add, holding my hand up.
Spencer slaps the table. “Jolly good, then I’m down for hell.”
“Are you coming to the wedding then or not?” Seb asks.
“Not,” I reply. “I hate weddings, you know that. I would rather go to a funeral than a wedding.”
They roll their eyes at me.
“You need to go to a quack,” Seb says. “You’ve got some serious fucking issues.”
“Oh, like you don’t,” I hit back.
“No.” He points at me. “I’m no longer married because my wife is a fucking slut who fucked our gardener.”
“Here, here,” Spencer cheers, holding his beer up. “Fucking slut.”
I chuckle. Spencer hates Seb’s ex-wife with a fiery passion.
“But you…” he shakes his head as he talks, “are walking around broken-hearted like a lovesick puppy, pining for a woman who you love, who your children love, and most importantly, who loves you… all because you’re too fucking gutless to marry her.”
“I’m not gutless,” I snap. “I just don’t want to get married.”
"Whatever," he grumbles. "Are you coming to the wedding or not?"
“Not.” I sip my beer. “Stop pissing me off.”
“When can I have my phone back?” Willow asks me.
I stare at her, expressionless. “When you’re thirty.”
She exhales heavily and sips her hot chocolate. We’re sitting at the kitchen counter. It’s late at night and Samuel has already gone to bed. Willow has been hovering around me since Brielle left last week. It’s like she knows I’m a man on the edge.
“Have you spoken to Brell yet?” she asks.
“No.” I sip my hot chocolate.
“It wasn’t her fault, Dad.”
I nod once. I don’t want to get into this with her.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were in love with her?”
I shrug as I stare at the counter.
“You need to fix this. Call her and ask her to come back.”
“Will, it’s not that simple. I wish it was.”
“Is this because she didn’t tell you about me being gay?”
I frown. “You’re not gay. Stop saying that.” I shake my head, exasperated. “Will, if you were caught in a normal nightclub last week with an eighteen-year-old boy and you told me that you thought you were interested in him, I would have had the same reaction.”
She watches me.
"If you come out and said to me, ‘Dad, I'm a Republican now', I would tell you that you're too young to make that decision. If you came home and said, ‘Dad, I'm an atheist now', I would tell you that you are too young to label yourself."
She frowns in confusion.
“Will,” I sigh. “I’m not going to like the first person you date.”
Her shoulders slump.
"I'm probably not going to like the second person you go out with, either or the third. Maybe not even the fourth."
“Dad…”
“You know why?” I ask.
“Why?”
“Because until you find someone who loves you as much as I do, they will never be good enough.”
She smiles softly.
“You’re one in a million, and so, so special—too special for just anybody. And one day you will meet that person and they will love you. That’s when I will finally be able to relax and you will have my blessing.”
She takes my hand in hers and I kiss it.
“I don’t care if that person is a man or woman, Will.” Tears fill her eyes.
“But I care that you’re sixteen, and these are adult labels that you don’t need to put on yourself yet. Why don’t you just see how it turns out? Stop trying to analyse everything.”
She smiles, and her eyes twinkle under the lights because of her tears.
“Okay?” I whisper.
She nods and I put my arm around her and hug her.
“You should go to bed. It’s late.”
She kisses me on the cheek and begins to walk off, suddenly turning back. “Dad?”
I glance up. “Yes?”
“Brell loves you as much as I do, you know.”
I drop my head and exhale heavily.
“She’s special, Dad. Don’t let her walk away.”
I point to the stairs, and she smiles, quickly turning and disappearing out of sight.
Don’t let her walk away.
Too late. I already did.
Brielle
“Dad’s home!” Sammy calls from his place at the window.
I fake a smile and get up to collect my bag. I have to leave as soon as he walks in so that I don’t start blubbering like a baby and drop to my knees.
It’s been two weeks since I left.
Two weeks without him.
I’ve moved into Emerson’s old apartment with Hank and his flatmate. I even went out at the weekend. I had a shitty time and came home early, but hey… at least I tried.
Julian comes through the front door. His eyes find me across the room and I frown and snap mine away. I can’t even make eye contact with him without getting tears in my eyes.
We haven’t said one word to each other since I left. Not one that isn’t about the children, anyway. Looking back I have to wonder if he ever really loved me.
He doesn’t seem affected at all. …I’m over here dying of a broken heart, and gasping for air, and he’s looking like he just stepped out of a Vogue modelling shoot.
He’s unaffected and totally in control.
My mind has started playing fucked-up games on me. Has he gone back to the brothel? The high-class hookers. His therapist—the one who sucks his dick without questions.
I’m going crazy. Today I even counted the condoms in his bathroom cabinet, just so I know if and how often he’s had sex.
Why am I doing this to myself?
I need to leave, but I just can't. As soon as I'm stronger I will. I promise I will.
I hug Willow and kiss her forehead. Then I kiss Sammy before I turn to Julian.
“See you tomorrow.”
He nods and rolls his lips. It’s like we don’t even know each other anymore.
Maybe we never did.
Julian
ALINA MASTERS
1984 – 2013
Wife and beloved mother.
In God's hands, we trust.
The rain pours down around my umbrella as I stare her headstone.
Trapped.
I’m trapped in a sadness so deep, I don’t know how to escape it.
Every morning she comes to my house.
Every night, I die a little when she leaves.
I read the words carved in front of me again.
ALINA MASTERS
1984 – 2013
Wife and beloved mother.
In God's hands, we trust.
I lean down and brush the dust from her name. I rearrange the pink lilies I’ve placed in the vase. I touch her face in the small oval photo, watching as she stares back at me, unblinking.
I step back and put my hands into the pockets of my black overcoat. I come here twice a week to pay my respects to a woman who gave me my children.
My wife.
A woman who was good. A woman who deserved a better man than the one she married.
I always blamed Alina for my sadness, but Brielle has taught me that my problem isn’t Alina. My problem is me.
I don’t know how to love a woman and not cause her pain. I see it every day. The look on Bree’s face nearly breaks me.
As I stand here, I can feel the blood pumping through my veins. My body is working, keeping me alive, but my heart has completely stopped. I exhale heavily. I’ve got to stop this.
I can’t go on feeling like the world is about to end.
I frown as a realisation dawns on me.
I need to do what makes me feel better. The only thing I know that works.
Half an hour later, I arrive at Madison’s, my therapist.
I always leave here relaxed. I don’t have to talk. I don’t have to think. I don’t have to feel. I walk through the front doors on autopilot.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.” Hayley, the receptionist, smiles. “Good to see you back, sir. It’s been a while.”
“It has.”
“Would you like your normal room, sir?”
A frown creases my brow. “Yes.”
“Just go up to the penthouse and someone will be with you in a moment.”
I catch the elevator to the penthouse and pour myself a scotch. I stare out of the smoked-glass windows that overlook London.
I hear the door click behind me, and I close my eyes, already regretting what I’m about to do.
“Hello,” the feminine voice behind me says.
I turn to see Veronica, and my stomach drops. “Hello.”
She’s blonde and wearing a sexy black dress. She has a killer body—a body that has pleasured me many times before.
I sip my scotch with a shaky hand, my eyes holding hers.
She kneels in front of me and begins to unfasten my belt.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
She kisses my thigh. “You like that?” she whispers.
I stay silent.
Her hand reaches for my cock and she strokes it three times, I clench my jaw.
Her lips brush the end of me. My cock jerks in appreciation and I close my eyes in disgust.
I see a vision of Bree. My beautiful Bree.
No.
I step back from her. “Stop.”
She frowns. “I haven’t even started yet.” She crawls closer and I immediately step back again.
“Leave.”
“What?” She frowns.
“I said leave,” I whisper. I turn my back to her and zip my pants back up.
I need to get out of here. I grab my wallet and my keys, and then I rush from the room. I hit the button on the elevator three times to try and make it arrive quicker. My heart is racing and I’m losing control.
I fall into my car and put my head into my hands. Tears fill my eyes and I sob out loud.
I’m in a dark place.
Help me.
Bree
I’m sitting in the café with Frances. We have lunch twice a week.
I still adore her, despite it now being two months since Julian and I broke up.
I miss him every single day.
To the outside world, he seems fine, but I can see in his eyes that he's not.
I can’t help him. He needs to work through this, whatever this is.
His mother told me he’s been seeing a therapist twice a week, and not the kind who gets on her knees. A real one. One who I hope is getting through to him. I want him happy, he deserves to be happy.
My email pings.
Julian Masters
Requests the company of
Bree Johnston
Occasion: Conversation.
Date: 31st September
Time: 7 PM
Place: Room 612: Rosewood London
Dress code: Ears
Dear God, he wants to talk.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I raise my hand to knock on the door, hesitating and closing my eyes.
I’m so nervous, I feel sick. I have no idea what today is about. Because it’s here at our hotel, I’m hoping it may be about us on a personal level, but I’m well aware that he may just want to fire me without the children overhearing.
But it is our Thursday, and it is 7:00 p.m.
I have hope.
I drop my shoulders, exhale, and I knock.
Knock, knock, knock.
The door opens and there he stands, dressed in a navy suit. He towers over me as his big brown eyes hold mine.
“Hello,” he says softly. “Thanks for coming.”
He gestures to the room and I walk past him to step inside.
My heart beats like crazy.
Being this close to him and the smell of his aftershave brings back so many memories. I can already feel the lump in my throat beginning to close over.
Don’t cry.
Don’t beg.
I wring my hands in front of me as his eyes hold mine. “How are you?” he asks.
I nod, unable to speak properly. “I’m okay,” I whisper in a barely there voice.
He runs his hand through his hair, his pause creating tension.
“Thank you for staying for the children.” His eyes drop to the carpet. “It would have been easier for you to leave.”
“I couldn’t leave them.”
His eyes rise to meet mine. “But you left me.” “I had to.”
“It’s been… difficult,” he admits.
“For me, too.” I tear up, unable to hold it in any longer. “I miss you,” I whisper.
He presses his lips together and nods, clearly struggling to speak, but I feel that he has so much to say to me. The room is heavy and silent. I know I’m going to have to lead this conversation. He’s clearly unable to. I take his hand in mine and I lift it closer to my mouth.
He watches me, his eyes become glazed, his pain palpable.
My face falls at his upset. “Baby,” I whisper as I take him in my arms. “Don’t look at me like that.” I hold him tight, and he clings to me as if his life depends on it.
“I can’t fucking stand being without you,” he whispers into my hair.
I smile sadly, and I kiss his lips. His face screws up against mine.
“Oh, Julian,” I whisper as I stare up at him, cupping his face in my hand. He’s so hurt.
“I’ve been working through things and…” His voice trails off. “I’m trying.”
“I know you are.”
Why am I doing to us?
“I don’t care.” I shake my head. “I don’t care if you don’t want to marry me. I don’t care if I don’t have children. I just want you,” I whisper through tears. “I can’t live one more day without you,” I breathe. “I just want you. I don’t care about the other things anymore.” I frown. “I’m sorry for doing this to us.”
He stares at me as his eyes cloud over. “You would give up what you want for me?”
