Poles Apart
Page 11
“Well, he either just said hi to you on TV, or the guy’s hungry,” Rory teased, shaking his head.
I didn’t say anything, just watched the TV as Carson climbed the stairs, heading to the number one podium, standing there smiling proudly while they played the English national anthem. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face because of just how adorable he looked standing there. I was so proud of him that happy tears prickled in my eyes.
After, Carson shook up a big bottle of champagne, spraying it over the two guys who had come second and third. In return, they both seemed to dump the entire contents of theirs right in his face. When the spray died down, Carson took a big swig out of his bottle. Champagne dribbled down his chin, dripping from his clothes and the brim of the team hat he was wearing.
I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding and felt myself relax. Another race over and he was fine. I didn’t need to worry about him again for at least another week.
Suddenly, Sasha threw her juice cup into my lap, making me jump because I was in my own little Carson-land. “Drink!” she demanded. Her big blue eyes were so like her father’s that seeing them made my heart stutter.
“Drink, please,” I corrected, smiling as I pushed myself off the sofa and practically skipped to get her another drink.
MY HAPPY MOOD LASTED all through the rest of the day; I couldn’t keep the smile at bay even when I was at work that night. My feet were hurting, my eyes were stinging with tiredness, my whole body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, but I still smiled happily. All because the adorable boy had given me a little attention on TV in front of millions of people. Sure, no one knew he was talking to me, but he did and so did I.
In fact, my happy mood lasted well into the next day, too, right up until the point when Rory came back from the shop and tossed the newspaper down onto the table in front of me. That was when the happy smile finally slid from my face as my heart sank.
On the front of the paper was a picture of Carson, obviously out celebrating his win from the night before. The big picture on the front was him with an extremely pretty, exotic-looking, olive-skinned goddess in his arms. Literally. He was carrying her bridal-style out of a club. She had one shoe on, her arms tight around his neck, her other shoe hung from one of her fingers, resting against his chest with the heel broken. He was looking down at her with a sexy little smirk, which promised she was in for a good night. There were a couple of smaller pictures from earlier in the night, too, taken inside the club. The two of them dancing, her hand on his arm as he laughed with a guy standing next to him.
I couldn’t bring myself to read the article. When my eyes started to prickle with tears, I knew I needed to go before I broke down in front of Rory and Sasha. “Rory, can you watch Sash while I go for a shower?” My voice broke as I spoke but, thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.
“Sure, no worries.” He sat himself on the floor next to her, picking up the coloured shape sorter toy Sasha liked, gaining her attention immediately.
I gulped and headed to the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the bath as I turned on the shower, I let the water heat because it always took a few minutes for the hot water to come through. As I sat there, I looked down at the beautiful girl in the picture on the paper. She was wearing a gorgeous yellow dress, which looked extremely expensive. My eyes flicked up from the paper to the mirror on the wall. I stared at myself in my cheap, supermarket-brand tracksuit bottoms and vest top. I looked an absolute mess compared to the girl in Carson’s arms in the paper.
As I looked at myself in the mirror, a wave of hatred washed over me. I hated everything about myself in that moment because I would never be that girl in Carson’s arms he smiled down at so unashamedly. I would always be a lap dancer. That stigma would follow me around long after I graduated university and finally had enough money to leave there. I would always be that dirty little girl who danced for money in a seedy club. I would never, ever be good enough. That knowledge made my hand tighten on the newspaper, screwing it up into a ball before tossing it across the room and into the bin, which stood in the corner. I barely had enough time to strip out of my clothes and step into the shower before the tears hit me. I cried in the spray until I felt sick.
Times like this just forced me to face the fact that Carson wasn’t mine. He never had been.
ON TOP OF THE SADNESS which was eating me up because of the newspaper article and the stunner in the yellow dress, on Tuesday I started getting ill. My throat was killing me and I could barely swallow. After a couple of days of suffering in silence, I finally gave in and went to the doctor. I hated to make a fuss out of things about myself or admit I was sick. I was the person who took care of others, not the other way around.
As it turned out, I had tonsillitis. I was given a course of antibiotics and sat munching on throat lozenges like they were going out of fashion, but my life couldn’t stop just because I was feeling poorly. The flat didn’t clean itself, Sasha didn’t magically raise herself, and my university classes didn’t suddenly disappear. So I struggled on, the same as normal. Except, instead of my life just feeling like hard work, everything felt almost impossible at the moment.
By the time Saturday came around, I was feeling a little better, but everything was taking its toll on me. I looked a mess. I was extremely tired because my sore throat stopped me from sleeping very well for the last few days, and I was just generally more exhausted than normal.
Once Sasha had settled to sleep, I grabbed my uniform for work and went for a quick shower. When I was dry, I pulled on warmer clothes over the top of my uniform. I was going to be freezing at work tonight. I’d been so cold for the last couple of days that I’d had to sleep in tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie.
I didn’t say anything, just watched the TV as Carson climbed the stairs, heading to the number one podium, standing there smiling proudly while they played the English national anthem. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face because of just how adorable he looked standing there. I was so proud of him that happy tears prickled in my eyes.
After, Carson shook up a big bottle of champagne, spraying it over the two guys who had come second and third. In return, they both seemed to dump the entire contents of theirs right in his face. When the spray died down, Carson took a big swig out of his bottle. Champagne dribbled down his chin, dripping from his clothes and the brim of the team hat he was wearing.
I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding and felt myself relax. Another race over and he was fine. I didn’t need to worry about him again for at least another week.
Suddenly, Sasha threw her juice cup into my lap, making me jump because I was in my own little Carson-land. “Drink!” she demanded. Her big blue eyes were so like her father’s that seeing them made my heart stutter.
“Drink, please,” I corrected, smiling as I pushed myself off the sofa and practically skipped to get her another drink.
MY HAPPY MOOD LASTED all through the rest of the day; I couldn’t keep the smile at bay even when I was at work that night. My feet were hurting, my eyes were stinging with tiredness, my whole body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, but I still smiled happily. All because the adorable boy had given me a little attention on TV in front of millions of people. Sure, no one knew he was talking to me, but he did and so did I.
In fact, my happy mood lasted well into the next day, too, right up until the point when Rory came back from the shop and tossed the newspaper down onto the table in front of me. That was when the happy smile finally slid from my face as my heart sank.
On the front of the paper was a picture of Carson, obviously out celebrating his win from the night before. The big picture on the front was him with an extremely pretty, exotic-looking, olive-skinned goddess in his arms. Literally. He was carrying her bridal-style out of a club. She had one shoe on, her arms tight around his neck, her other shoe hung from one of her fingers, resting against his chest with the heel broken. He was looking down at her with a sexy little smirk, which promised she was in for a good night. There were a couple of smaller pictures from earlier in the night, too, taken inside the club. The two of them dancing, her hand on his arm as he laughed with a guy standing next to him.
I couldn’t bring myself to read the article. When my eyes started to prickle with tears, I knew I needed to go before I broke down in front of Rory and Sasha. “Rory, can you watch Sash while I go for a shower?” My voice broke as I spoke but, thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.
“Sure, no worries.” He sat himself on the floor next to her, picking up the coloured shape sorter toy Sasha liked, gaining her attention immediately.
I gulped and headed to the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the bath as I turned on the shower, I let the water heat because it always took a few minutes for the hot water to come through. As I sat there, I looked down at the beautiful girl in the picture on the paper. She was wearing a gorgeous yellow dress, which looked extremely expensive. My eyes flicked up from the paper to the mirror on the wall. I stared at myself in my cheap, supermarket-brand tracksuit bottoms and vest top. I looked an absolute mess compared to the girl in Carson’s arms in the paper.
As I looked at myself in the mirror, a wave of hatred washed over me. I hated everything about myself in that moment because I would never be that girl in Carson’s arms he smiled down at so unashamedly. I would always be a lap dancer. That stigma would follow me around long after I graduated university and finally had enough money to leave there. I would always be that dirty little girl who danced for money in a seedy club. I would never, ever be good enough. That knowledge made my hand tighten on the newspaper, screwing it up into a ball before tossing it across the room and into the bin, which stood in the corner. I barely had enough time to strip out of my clothes and step into the shower before the tears hit me. I cried in the spray until I felt sick.
Times like this just forced me to face the fact that Carson wasn’t mine. He never had been.
ON TOP OF THE SADNESS which was eating me up because of the newspaper article and the stunner in the yellow dress, on Tuesday I started getting ill. My throat was killing me and I could barely swallow. After a couple of days of suffering in silence, I finally gave in and went to the doctor. I hated to make a fuss out of things about myself or admit I was sick. I was the person who took care of others, not the other way around.
As it turned out, I had tonsillitis. I was given a course of antibiotics and sat munching on throat lozenges like they were going out of fashion, but my life couldn’t stop just because I was feeling poorly. The flat didn’t clean itself, Sasha didn’t magically raise herself, and my university classes didn’t suddenly disappear. So I struggled on, the same as normal. Except, instead of my life just feeling like hard work, everything felt almost impossible at the moment.
By the time Saturday came around, I was feeling a little better, but everything was taking its toll on me. I looked a mess. I was extremely tired because my sore throat stopped me from sleeping very well for the last few days, and I was just generally more exhausted than normal.
Once Sasha had settled to sleep, I grabbed my uniform for work and went for a quick shower. When I was dry, I pulled on warmer clothes over the top of my uniform. I was going to be freezing at work tonight. I’d been so cold for the last couple of days that I’d had to sleep in tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie.
