2016

I decided to hide out in the office for the rest of my shift, determined to avoid any more interactions with Martin if I possibly could. It was the safest place to retreat to.

At least hiding from Martin was temporarily distracting me from my Iona-related strife, I thought bleakly.

Suddenly, not long before I was due to finish, I heard the front door of the hotel slam and footsteps flying towards the bar area. I was already on my way to investigate when I heard a female voice in the bar, clear as a bell, asking where I was.

I'd recognise that voice anywhere. I quickened my pace, wondering why Iona was looking for me. I paused in the doorway of the bar.

"I'm right here," I said, as calmly as I could. I felt anything but calm though as she turned to face me. I had no idea what she wanted.

"Can we talk?" She asked, much to my surprise.

"Is there anything really left to say?" That line came out before I could stop it, and I watched her wince at the sharpness of my tone. But I was at a loss for what to do or say anymore. Every time I tried to let her in, she ended up hurting me.

"Ryan?" A whispered plea. Her eyes looked damp. Had she been crying?

I gave in. Was there ever really a question that I wouldn't? "Come on," I nodded, leading her to the office. I propped myself against the wall, near the door. That way I could escape if she was about to tell me something I didn't want to hear.

"So what do you want to talk about?" I asked cautiously.

She swallowed. "Us. You. Prom."

I stayed quiet. Let her fill the silence.

"You said the other night you wanted to forget prom and move on from it. But I think we actually do need to discuss it because I've realised I got you all wrong, and I'm so incredibly sorry about that," she blurted out in a rush.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.

And then it all came pouring out.

Iona had also been wanting to tell me how she felt on prom might. We had pretty much made the same vow to come clean. But then Christine had told Iona she liked me, and girl code (and various other insecurities) had meant Iona felt she had no choice to let Christine cut in. And then Martin had told her I wasn't interested in her, that I preferred Christine, and essentially made out that I had been body-shaming her.

"I didn't want to believe it," she said softly. "But I was so self-conscious about how I looked then. And Christine was just like this beautiful supermodel. So when I came to find you, and you were kissing her, it seemed to confirm everything Martin had said. I thought I was just some sort of joke to you and your friends."

The idea that she'd thought I'd betrayed her like that killed me. She had always been perfect in my eyes. Even when she had walked away.

"Wow," I said eventually. "What a dick."

She flinched.

Oops. "Not you, Iona. I meant Martin. Always knew he was a total arsehole." I shook my head. "I'm a bit gutted you thought I would say those things about you though. You were the only girl I wanted to take to prom. I didn't like Christine in that way."

"But you kissed her. Twice." She protested.

"And that makes me a bit of a dick, because both times were because I couldn't have you," I countered. "When she was dancing with me that night, she said she'd thought you and me might be a couple, but that you'd told her we were just friends. I pretty much abandoned her on the dancefloor to come and find you, and that's when I heard you tell Martin you weren't bothered about me."

"Oh," Iona said softly, realisation dawning further as I explained my side of things.

"Terrible timing all around," she said sadly.

"So you believe now that I didn't say those things about you, right?" I asked her, pushing myself off the wall.

"Yeah. I just let all my insecurities get the best of me at the time." She shook her head, as I stepped closer to her, and I decided I might as well go all in with the honesty.

"And if you ever thought you might be a joke, well, you actually kind of were," I told her. "But only because it was a running gag amongst my friends that I was crazy in love with you, and that you were the only one who couldn't see it.

"Oh, and Martin was absolutely aware of that too, so I guess he decided he'd cause as much chaos as possible just because he could."

"Prick," she mumbled.

Desperate to be closer to her, to not miss this opportunity, I crowded into her space,  and tucked a ringlet behind her ear. "I've allowed you to just walk away from me twice now. I'm not going to let you do that again, okay?" I told her. My heart was racing.

"Okay," she agreed. The smile on her face was devastating, in so many amazing ways. I had no choice but to kiss her.

I think we had about a minute of bliss before the knock at the door interrupted us. Rory.

"Some guy called Martin is at the bar asking for you, Ryan," he said nervously. "I said you were busy but he was pretty insistent."

"Fucking Martin," we both said at the same time, laughing at the look of confusion on Rory's face.

I quickly weighed up my options. I hadn't particularly wanted to speak to Martin. But now, after these new revelations, I actually wanted some answers. Fuck it.

"I'll be right there," I sighed. Iona and I agreed to pick up where we left off once my shift was over, and I headed towards the bar.

"My man!" Martin exclaimed when he saw me approaching. He was sitting alone on one of the bar stools, scrolling through his phone.

"Where's your other half?" I asked coolly, commandeering the neighbouring stool.

"Monica? Having a bath, I think." He shrugged carelessly. "Let me get you a drink."

I shook my head. "I'm on duty."

"Come on, you own the place! Don't be a Debbie Downer," he scoffed.

So many trips around the sun since we last saw each other, and yet somehow this guy had remained an absolute arsehole. It beggared belief. They could have used him as a case study in a Psychology lecture.

"Thanks. But I don't want one."

"Suit yourself." He raised his own glass to his lips. "So you and Iona eh? How long have you two been a thing?"

"It's . . . Relatively new," I said slowly. I guess that was actually true now. He didn't need to know how new though.

He smirked and I swear to god I wanted to smack that smug smile right off his face. "Can't believe you got together after all this time."

"Well, we'd have been together years ago if it hadn't been for you interfering," I snapped, unable to hold it in anymore. His face froze.

"Wh-what do you mean?' He stammered.

"You know exactly what I mean," I said quietly. "Did you think me and Iona wouldn't eventually talk about prom night, and the nasty lies you fed her about me?"

He took a couple of moments to recover himself . . . But he was Martin and he was never on the backfoot for long. Like your regular friendly neighbourhood sociopath, he was happy to cover up lies with more falsehoods, plastering over any cracks remaining with further untruths.

First he tried to convince me that I had said those things about Iona. Now, I knew I hadn't, and I had witnesses who could also have confirmed if it ever came to that. But god, was he good; he almost did have me doubting myself for a minute. And, when that failed,  he tried to discredit Iona, saying she'd misinterpreted what he'd said. He basically just talked himself further into the lie, painted himself into a corner. And I just let him do it until he had nowhere else to go.

"Why did you make up all this shit?" I asked finally. "What did you possibly hope to achieve?"

He picked up his glass again, suddenly refusing to look me in the eye. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. A muscle twitched in his cheek.

Suddenly it hit me. "You liked her too," I realised. His face flamed red and I knew I'd hit my target head-on.

"Well, I didn't see why you should get to have her," he shrugged, angry now. "It was like you'd staked some claim on her, and none of the rest of us were allowed to have her. How come you got first dibs?"

His sense of self-entitlement actually was blowing my mind. "Are you fucking kidding me with this?" I asked. "Did it ever occur to you that Iona wasn't some sort of . . . object for any of us to claim?" I shook my head. "Of course not, because you're so far up your own arse!"

"Wait a minute . . ." He started to say, but I held my hand up, sliding off the bar stool. I don't think I'd ever been so angry in my life.

"Don't even start me, Martin! You're a fucking disgrace. Stay here tonight, by all means, but I want you out of here in the morning, and I never want to see you here again. I'll even refund you the cost of the room. That's how much I don't want you here."

Before he could say anything else, I marched from the room.

I took refuge in the office again, throwing myself into my chair, and scrubbing my hands down my face as I tried to calm down.

Because of Martin's barefaced lies, Iona hadn't spoke to me in 17 years. Thanks to his manipulation of the whole situation, I'd believed she didn't care about me for 17 years. And it turned out he'd been doing it all because he somehow felt he deserved her more than anyone else?

The joke, I supposed, was actually on Martin though. Because Iona had always hated him, so he'd not actually gotten what he wanted anyway.

But the joke was on me and Iona too . . . If we'd just communicated at the time, maybe Martin wouldn't have been able to play us like puppets in his sick twisted little mind game. But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and we couldn't turn back the clock.

Anyway . . . That thought reminded me to actually check the clock. My shift had actually finished five minutes ago, and I wasn't going to waste any more of my time.

I was off to find Iona.

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