Call Me Lover - LN4 / GR63

16/ I know the truth

"Have you been drinking? How did you even get here?" The concerned questions fly out of me as I watch him with worried eyes. It's a good distraction from thoughts of that night. The night that should never have happened.

"I drove so...Not a drop - until now." George answers pouring a generous helping of the brown liquor into his glass. I wish I knew for certain he hadn't drank, his behaviour is making me think he has. George lifts the glass to his lips and takes a long drink spluttering a string of curses as he swallows the amber liquid. He still hates whisky. I'm watching the whole thing with a confused frown. Then he splutters a choked laugh, it almost leaves him as a huff. "Imagine if I did drink and drive...that'd be a headline."

I find myself laughing into a scoff, of course he'd be thinking about that - George is always thinking about that since jumping into the Mercedes car. I can't blame him for it, they want their image to be so clean that it whistles. When they do win again, and they will, Toto is making a point that it will be done 'clean', as if to prove a point to Christian. The polished ethos extends to all areas of business and George has been tying himself in knots making sure he sticks to it. The whole thing is some sort of comical billionaire-funded pissing match that the rest of us are all doing our best to stay out of.

"George?" His name leaves me in a quiet unsure question. He only pushes a glass filled with whisky towards me. I don't pick it up.

At least not yet.

"Can you believe it?" George asks me, his strong gaze meeting mine and almost bowling me from my feet. "After everything I've given her?" I get the feeling his disbelieving question is more of a musing. It's not something he wants a response on.

But I can't help myself.

"What? Who?" Her name swims in my mind but I can't bring myself to say it outloud. It takes a slow inhale as I assess the slump of George's shoulders and the cloud to his eyes. The liquid in the glass infront of me suddenly looks more inviting. If he's came here to vent about Carla and how she's done something wrong I'll need the alcohol to dim the sting. "Carla?" I ask hesitantly, I can't remember the last time I said her name out loud. George nods in confirmation. I raise the glass of whisky to my lips and take a firm sip. It's room temperature, bitter and as bad as I remembered it being. "What have you given her?" I don't mean for the question to sound as confrontational as it is, my words are met with a scoff. I'm genuinely interested to know what his answer is, over the last few months he's given her nothing but tears which forced her here and...to me.

I can't help but be glad she came to me - and I hate that. I hate all of this.

"A home! A life! Her fucking brand." His voice increases in volume and frustration with every word until anger is fizzing on my skin. Is he serious? Carla had a home before him and the clothing brand is built from her hard work and talent. For him to just dismiss it all with a roll of his eyes and swig if alcohol makes me feel sick. How can he reduce her like that? "Love." He mumbles weakly, the sudden loss of anger throwing me. How can I be angry at George after what I've done to him. "I love her and she just..." George loses his words again, he winces until his eyes are pressed closed and his fingers are pressing into his temples as a quiet dread winds up in me.

He knows. He has to know. Only he can't know because he's here, and I haven't been murdered with his glare or physically hurt from his hands.

He doesn't know.

"George mate, I've got no idea what you're talking about." His confused and dazed mumbles are beginning to get frustrating. There's a tense edge to my words which holds all the patience I have left for the man infront of me after the last few months.