35 | 1,108

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Insure: Provide insurance for
Ensure: Make sure
Assure: Cause someone to be sure

Insure your valuables.
Ensure that your seatbelt is buckled, your mirrors are adjusted, and you're following my Wattpad accounts.
Assure your friend that you love her.

Ow. Owwwww. Whyyyyyyyyyyy? Mmmph. Monday. Alarm. Hangover. Ouuuuch. Why did Scott let me drink so much? Because he wasn't there. Whatever. I'm still mad at him. I'm mad at Scott, I'm mad at Baz, and I'm mad at the noisy little birds outside my window. I chug the water on my bedside table and swallow the maximum dose of ibuprofen. My dreams seep out from among my memories, and reality sinks into painfully sharp focus. Alex was here.

I think my alcohol tolerance has fallen since my party girl days. That's a good sign. It means progress. Well done, me. Sadly, I'm not as responsible as I thought I'd become. What was I thinking? I finally understand the true meaning of, "If your friends all jump off a cliff..." Just because Baz got wasted doesn't mean I had to, but I jumped headfirst, and now I'm stuck with a splitting headache and a stomach full of regret.

I order an Uber because I am not dealing with traffic this morning. I wish I could call in sick, but we're down to the wire, filming all day even on Saturdays. Ruth wants to wrap up by the end of next week. I'm actually dreading it. Once it's over, everyone from Val to the friendly caterers will be gone.

Alex will be gone too. He isn't coming to Venice. He's staying put in L.A. while I go to Italy because, "You're not my boyfriend," and "I'm not your boyfriend," and, "Don't say that, Mitch," and, "I need you to move on," and, "No, I can't stay," and, "That's enough," and, "You're killing me, Mitch," and, "Don't," and "Please stop touching me," and, "Stop it," and, "Don't do this to me," and, "You know that's not fair," and, "No," and, "No," and, "No," and, "I have to go," and, "Goodbye," and, "I'm happy for you."

I'll be gone before the end of my three months. It was just an arbitrary number anyway. Two months to finish filming, plus a little time to get my act together and get Alex back. Wishful thinking.

My hangover is mostly gone by lunch, enough for me to call my agent and tell her to make Baz pay through the nose. He made it abundantly clear that he wants me, and that's perfect, because I want him to pay for letting me get drunk on a Sunday night. I'll read the script tonight, and if it looks good, Patricia will let him sweat a bit and call him next week. I like him. I really do. I'm not above squeezing every last penny out of him, though. Maybe part of me is hoping he'll change his mind. I'm just picturing some gondolier looking down on me in pity as I float through the city alone.

The next fortnight happens all at once. Work, practice, sleep, work, practice, work, practice, work, work, work, cast party, done, sleeeeeeeeeeeep, pack. Alex accepted my humble apologies graciously. I hope he's okay. If I put all my hair products in little bottles, can I take them on the flight? I don't think the limit applies to checked baggage. How am I going to move three suitcases and a carry-on? Who's at the door, and would it be weird to ask them to sit on my suitcase while I try to zip it shut?

I peer through the peephole. How did he even get this address? I'm tempted to pretend I'm not home. I open the door and stand in Scott's way. "I'm back," he says.

"So I see."

"You've been ignoring me."

"Very perceptive. How's it feel? Don't answer that. I'm sorry. I'm not ignoring you because you ignored me. I'm just done. It took me a while, but I'm done."

"Oh."

"I'm leaving."

"Leaving."

"Italy. Two or three months. He always goes over schedule."

"You're leaving."

"Yes."

"Again."

I rummage through the old receipts and dried up plastic pens in my desk drawer until I find his key. He follows me right into my apartment. "Yours."

"I just wanted—"

"I love him." I love Alex. I hold the key out, but Scott makes no move to accept it. "What are you doing here? Do you think I finally saw the error of my ways and left him, so now we can just pretend it never happened? Is that all I had to do all this time? Leave Alex?" I step forward and drop the key into Scott's breast pocket. "Get out."

"What happened to us?"

"You're asking me three years too late."

"One thousand, one hundred eight days," he says sadly. Did he add it up, or does he keep track?

"That's messed up."

"It's been 1,108 days since you left."

"Well, that's 1,108 days you didn't reach out."

"I called."

"Right. This past month or so. Let's make it 1,078 days, then, give or take. No, let's be generous. Let's count when you gave me that key. Let's just round down to an even 1,000. Wow, what a difference that makes." Gauge 2, complete with eye roll. Any more sarcasm would just be comical. "Why are you here?"

He shakes his head. "Never mind."

"Right. Go away."

"Eighteen years, Mitch." We were best friends for eighteen years. It wasn't enough for him to return my calls, though. It wasn't enough for him to trust me.

"You don't have to remind me. Maybe I'll meet some nice Italian boy and we'll spend eighteen years together, and then we'll spend another eighteen years together because maybe he won't shut me out when he has problems. Maybe he'll understand that I couldn't betray him to save my own life. Maybe he'll want my patience and forgiveness when I offer them, and not years later. Maybe he won't withhold his friendship based on who I'm dating."

"It's not about that. I wanted you back before. I gave you this when you were still with him." He's holding his hand over the key. Over his heart.

"You gave me that when I left Alex crying at home alone to stay the night with you, when you thought we were breaking up. I won't tolerate that. Not from you." I can't. It would tear me apart. I'm not sure he even sees how controlling and manipulative it is. Alex was honest. He asked me to stop talking to Scott, and I refused, and that was that. He accepted it, and if he couldn't have, he would have told me. Scott, though, is offering me the one thing I wanted most, just as long as Alex is gone.

Alex is gone. He's gone either way. Maybe I should just... No. Scott can't come back and pull me away from an incredible opportunity just by showing up at my door. "I'm going to Italy."

"I'll come with you."

I smother the warmth that blossoms in my heart at his words. I wanted Alex to say that. "You're not my boyfriend. I'm not your boyfriend. You should move on."

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