Maybe it’s worth it

I opened my eyes, daring to look at my savior. There was no way it would be Christian, but for some silly reason I hoped it was him. Even though I knew it was impossible. He was all the way in Greece, doing only God knows what.

The face of the man that towered over me and held me from falling was vaguely familiar. My brain probably still fuzzy from all the lights, couldn't quite place where I knew him from.

The bright lights only seemed to highlight his features, making his tan look even more pronounced. His ponytail hung loosely at the back of his head, and his thick beard circled around his lips, giving him a rugged, handsome look. Despite the fear I felt, I couldn't help but notice how attractive he was.

As I stared up at him, he looked forward, his eyes meeting the cameras of the relentless paparazzi, a polite smile playing on his lips. His calm demeanor, amidst the chaos, struck me as strange, yet comforting.

The questions of the paparazzi shifted from asking why I was here while Christian was in Greece to asking if I had come with the gentleman who was holding me

"What's your relationship with him?"

I heard someone shout. Immediately, I felt a different type of fear rising from the pit of my stomach. If this made the news, it would be a disaster, I had no doubt.

Without a word to the swarm of people, the man started to move us, shielding me with his large frame. I was only just realizing how tall and imposing he was. His steps were fast and purposeful, but I had no problem keeping up with him. The flock of paparazzi followed after us, their persistence infuriating. Mystery man released my shoulders, and his hand flew to my wrist. The next thing I knew, he began to run, pulling me along. I stumbled slightly, but I didn't mind. My feet ached, but it was a small price to pay to escape the suffocating swarm chasing after us.

We reached the car park, and with one swift motion, he practically pushed me into the front seat of a sleek white BMW. He jumped in and quickly started the engine, pulling away from the scene.

He was going the opposite direction from my house, but I was still shaken from what I'd experienced earlier to say anything. My mind was numb from the overwhelming experience, and the words I wanted to say refused to come out of my mouth. I just bowed my head, feeling the adrenaline from the past few moments still running through my veins.

Eventually, he pulled over outside a small, cottage-like restaurant. I could see the warm lights glowing from the inside, a contrast to the cold, harsh atmosphere I had just left behind.

"I know the owner. You should be safe from them here."

He finally spoke, and I dragged my eyes to him. He was standing outside, his hand holding open my side of the door.

"You're shaking."

My hands still trembled. I hadn't noticed until he said something. 

"I'd rather you take me home, please." I whispered, my voice weak.

His eyes lingered on me. I didn't see him, but I could feel them on me. 

Maybe he was curious. Or maybe he was regretting helping me. 

Without a word, he closed the door gently, then took his seat in front of the wheel.

He asked for my address and I found myself thinking for a few seconds before it came to me. When I said it out loud, he looked at me like he had some question. 

"Oh," his brows knitted together, his eyes bulged, but very briefly. He had a different look now. Like the events of this evening was finally making sense.

"You're the new Mrs Gulf?… No wonder."

I looked away, not sure of what to make of his statement. He hadn't said it rudely, but there was a hint of something in his voice. 

Was it judgement? I wouldn't be surprised to find him judging me. The whole town was. In fact, it would be strange if he didn't. After all, I was the girl who stole someone else's man. 

My thoughts left me feeling ashamed. I always believed my dark thoughts were the side effect of living in that house. Realizing that no matter where I went, or what I did I would never be able to forget the guilt, and rid myself of the shame made me feel sorry for myself.

When I looked back at him, something in my brain flashed. And just like that, I remembered who he was.

"You tripped me." The words slipped out. 

He laughed. He had no idea how thankful I was for that smile on his face. Even though I had a reason to feel ashamed, at least I didn't have to cower like a sinner on trial right now.

"Is that how you remember it? What I remember is it was dark and you lost your balance after stumbling on my leg."

"You're still holding on to that story." 

"Like my life depends on it. Because that's what happened."

The sound of my laughter, albeit small, was a surprise to me. Talking to him was calming. 

My savior stopped right outside the Gulf mansion. 

"Thank you," I murmured as I unbuckled my seatbelt, "for saving me back there. I just… I froze."

He didn't respond with words, but his silence was comforting. It told me everything I needed to know. He didn't expect anything from me, and he didn't want anything in return. 

I hopped out of the car. He did the same, then walked to where I was standing. He handed me a small paper, I took it, my finger brushing against his for the briefest moment. 

"My number. If you ever need to talk."

I smiled at him, grateful, though confused.

He got into his car and drove off before I could get another word out. As I walked into the gate of my house, I found myself staring at the piece of paper. It wasn't a regular business card. There was no name on it. Just a number.

My heart sank slightly. I couldn't help but wonder if that had been the last time I would ever see him. I didn't even know his name. 

As soon as I stepped into my room, my phone rang. I dreaded taking it, knowing it would be Christian. Still, I knew I couldn't avoid it forever.

The moment I picked up, his voice came through sharp and angry.

"You went out? Fuck, Alora. I gave you one simple fucking task. Stay the fuck inside." The anger in his voice sent a cold chill down my spine.

The hairs on my arm bristled. His tone was harsher than I'd expected. 

"I only went to see a movie. You have no idea how suffocating it's been staying indoors all day, every day." My eyes stung, the tears that had threatened to fall before, looming.

"So you went alone? Do you have any idea how badly things could have been? You are my wife now. You have any idea the eyes on you? How can you be so fucking careless."

I was quiet, not for any other reason except the fog in my throat. The words failed to come out.

"Now I have to clean this mess." As usual, he ended the call as soon as he was done talking.

I hated how unfair the whole thing was. The more I thought about it, anger took the place of sadness. 

I took my phone and called Christian back. He picked up and I spoke before he had the chance to shout at me some more.

"You left me here alone in an unfamiliar place. I've had to put up with your mother and the uncomfortable breakfast the past one week. I even had to put up with your—" I paused. I never had any intention of talking about his relationship with Clara. Still didn't. "I, I, I had to put up with the loneliness, and the boredom. Do you have any idea how that feels? I was freaking losing my mind. You didn't call or text for days. I would have gone with Clara like you wanted, but something came up, so she cancelled on me. I couldn't stay in this house another minute. I just couldn't. I needed a break. So I went out to the cinema closest to the house. I never expected the flood of paparazzi. I was careful, Christian. I hid my face, I made sure I didn't call any attention to myself. But they still found me. How is that my fault?" I said in one breath. 

There was a pause on the other end, a long silence.

"Clara was supposed to go with you?" When he spoke again, his voice still held that anger, but it sounded like he was trying to reel it in. 

"Yes. She and I were supposed to go to the movies together. But then she had to run an errand for your parents. I'm not saying it's her fault. I begged her to let me go alone."

I don't know why I was defending Clara right now. 

"Clara knows better than to go out with you. She would never do that. I gave her strict instructions not to let you out of the house."

His last sentence felt like a blow. He'd made Clara my warden. But that didn't matter right now.

"Didn't you tell Clara to take me to the mo—" 

It was like a lightbulb went off in my mind. The pieces fell into place, and suddenly everything made sense.

"You didn't tell Clara to take me anywhere, did you?"

His silence was deafening, and then, with a sharp edge to his voice, he responded.

"Are you trying to push blame here? You did this. Stop talking about her and take responsibility for what you did." 

The sting of his words hit me hard. His tone was dismissive, and it hurt more than anything. Why was he defending her when he didn't know anything? How could he just conclude that it was all my fault without hearing what I had to say.

He wouldn't believe you even if you told him.

The pain I felt spread from my chest to every part of my body. Every fiber shook with anger and hurt. 

"You don't believe me? You think I'm lying about Clara?"

There was another pause, and I prayed desperately that his next words were that he believed me.

"We'll talk later. Right now I have to clean up your mess."

Clean up my mess. He didn't believe me. He chose to trust his dear Clara over me. This time when my tears threatened to fall out, I didn't fight them. I let them out, hating Christian for not believing me, but hating myself more for wanting him to.