One of the main reasons that switching companies in the middle of the season was discouraged was because of the onslaught of events brought on by the annual fashion calendar.
I'd been a model long enough to learn how to survive the tumultuous lifestyle, but moving back to California after four years in London definitely had me hitting the ground running upon return.
This time of year was the peak sales period for the Spring/Summer collection. Between my contracted obligations as an Armani spokesperson and Brand Ambassador, I was right in the throes of a heated social season at the company.
Claire called me into her office on a brisk Tuesday morning nearly four weeks after my return. With a number of appointments booked in for the afternoon, it was the only time I could spare coming into the office.
Morning traffic in Los Angeles put me fifteen minutes behind schedule, even after I'd left home twenty minutes earlier than usual. Today the sky was overcast, and I was met with a cold blast of wind as soon as I stepped out of the car. My scarf was nearly swept away in the breeze and I hurried to fix it around my neck while jogging up the steps of the building and into the lobby.
The elevator ride up to Claire's office was quick. I brushed a stray hair out of my eyes as I came to a stop before the beige set of doors. Knocking, a soft "Come in" answered from the other side. I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Claire was sat at her desk. Light droplets of rain began to beat against the window pane behind her. The TV mounted on her wall was quietly broadcasting the morning news. She looked up from her tablet at my entry.
"Troye," my Director greeted. She stood. "I appreciate you coming in."
"Sorry, I'm late." I apologised. "Traffic is getting worse by the day in this city."
"Don't I know it." Claire agreed. "It was total gridlock on the 110 this morning. Took me nearly an hour to get to work. Take a seat."
"I'm not in trouble, am I?" I teased, sitting down in the leather armchair before her desk.
She laughed. "Not yet. I called you here on official work business. The Annual Company Gala."
"Oh no."
"Oh, yes." Claire grinned with a hint of wickedness. "You've missed out on four consecutive events with your time in London. Now that you're back in the LA offices, people are expecting you to attend."
"People meaning you?"
"Correct."
I let out a soft laugh. "Where is it being held this year?"
The Annual Company Gala - though it's official title was actually The Fashion Coordination Society Gala - was an event hosted every year by Atwood & Ford Model Management. Objectively, it was a formal dinner hosted as an opportunity for models and designers to socialise during the season for the upcoming year. In reality, the event was a prime opportunity for the fashion industry's elite to get together to spill tea and partake in hot gossip about the season.
Charles' company never hosted anything so elaborate in my time at their London office. The reason being they were barely passed the start-up milestone and their investors saw more use in directing their money toward internal business rather than social gatherings. Charles had plenty of contacts in the business world. He wasn't missing anything by not hosting a Gala each year for models to congregate.
Claire flicked a glance down at her tablet. "The Rosalind," she replied, referring to the notorious manor hall in West Hollywood that catered to large functions such as this.
"And the theme?"
Another glance at the pearl-white tablet. "European Fashion: Rise of the Dynasty."
I let out a low whistle.
"Tell me about it."
"If they're getting this eccentric, I can't feel sorry I missed the last four."
"Lock it in, kid." Claire finally looked up again. "Your attendance has already been confirmed on the guest list. Your agent was emailed a list of partaking designers two weeks ago."
"So, I'm really not getting out of this?"
"You're really not getting out of this."
I sighed and rose to my feet. "Okay, I'll get onto it tomorrow morning."
Claire held up one finger in signal to wait while the other tapped her screen. "Hold up. You have a meeting with your publicist this afternoon to discuss potential suitors for the evening."
I groaned. This was the worst part of attending the Gala - the substantial pressure to find a date that one, fit into the high society scene and two, actually wanted to attend.
"Do I really have to do this? There's nothing wrong with flying solo."
The corner of Claire's mouth quirked upward. Abandoning her tablet, she clasped her hands together, elbows resting on the desk. "You know, there is someone on that list you already know. And their name has been in the press cycle for three weeks."
I sighed. "It's Kendall, isn't it?"
"You two seem like you're getting along just fine."
"We are," I nodded, "as friends. And no, we're not getting married or buying a villa in the southern region of France or anything else the tabloids are writing."
"Well, then as friends," Claire said with emphasis, "wouldn't you rather go to the Gala with someone who you'll actually have a nice time with?"
She'd backed me into a corner and she knew it, but I couldn't even find it in myself to be mad about it. I pointed a finger in her direction, "I will go with Kendall, but only because I want to and not because you suggested it."
She laughed as I left her office. "Whatever you say, Troye."
***
As it turned out, I never got the chance to ask Kendall to the Gala.
After having back-to-back meetings all afternoon, I finally escaped around four o'clock for a quick late lunch. The last designer my agent and I had met with worked out of a building only a few blocks from this little sandwich bar I loved. Flipping my shades down, I booked it down the street with a growling stomach.
I'd picked up my lunch and was just sitting down at a table in the corner of the cafe when my phone rang. "Hello?" I answered, trying to make it sound like I wasn't speaking around a mouthful of sandwich.
"Troye, hello."
There was no need to check the Called ID. I smiled, "Hi Kendall. I was just about to call you but I guess you beat me to it."
"How fortunate for me." He said, and I could hear the smile in his tone. "Do you have a moment?"
"I've just sat down for a late lunch so I'm all yours. What's up?"
"I presume you know about the The High Society Fashionista Gala, yes?"
I laughed. "We just call it The Annual Company Gala. A little less elitist, you know? But yes, I've heard of it. Why do you ask?"
"My agent has just informed me that my attendance at this gathering is a requirement for being signed to your company. She also said I wouldn't be going alone."
"Oh?" I asked. "Who are you going with?"
"You."
I had to physically stop myself from laughing. It wasn't yet clear whether full honesty was a French thing or just a Kendall thing but it still amused me how forward he was. "Is that so?"
"Only if you'd like to accompany me." He said. "I've been made aware that attending these events alone is - how do you Americans put it - lame?"
That time I did burst out laughing. Thank God the cafe was busy otherwise I would've been receiving plenty of strange looks.
"Is something funny?" Kendall asked.
"No, sorry." I chuckled. "It's just the way you said it."
His frown was palpable through the phone. "Is that not the term? Is there another way to say it?"
"No, that's right. You just made me laugh is all."
"Oh," and that smug tone was back, "then I suppose something good did come out of this phone call after all."
I tucked the last of my sandwich away and took a sip of water before answering. "Kendall, I would love to go to the Gala with you."
"Really?" He sounded surprised.
"Yes, of course, but, uh, just as friends, right?" I felt the blush creeping onto my cheeks. "Not that there's anything wrong with couples going together or anything! I just-"
"Troye," he cut me off gently. "Breathe."
The heat rose in my cheeks. Oh God, why couldn't I just shut up sometimes?
"Yes," Kendall said. "We shall go as friends. I'd like to have you on my arm more than anyone else."
This time it was my turn to sound surprised. "Really?"
"Of course." He said. "Did you not consider that I was an option?"
"It's not so much that I didn't consider it. I just wasn't sure if you'd want that. There are plenty of people who'd love to go with you."
"And yet, there is only one person I'd like to go with."
My eyes fell shut as my hand tensed around the phone. If I wasn't committed to the promise I'd myself, my heart would be tripping all over itself right now.
So, in typical Troye fashion, I let out an awkward laugh. "Okay, well, great. I'll see you in a few weeks then."
"Or sooner." Kendall said easily before the line went dead.
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the flashing digits on screen. "Or sooner," I echoed.
The rest of the day passed easily and by six o'clock, I was sitting in my psychiatrist's office.
"How have you been since our last session, Troye?" Isla asked, crossing her legs as she sat down opposite me, legal pad balanced in her lap and pen at the ready. "Any concerns you'd like to share before we begin?"
"Nothing bad to note." I answered, then at the look on her face, asked, "What?"
Isla chuckled a little. "We have a saying in our office. When someone says bad, it means they've been had."
"What does that mean?"
"We use the term loosely but generally it means that if a patient uses 'good' and 'bad' as explicit and distinctive terms, it's often an indication that their perception has been influenced to see in only black and white."
Oh, man. The session had barely started and I'd already failed.
"Can you elaborate, please?" I asked.
Isla nodded. "Of course. So, what we mean when we say 'been had' is that your brain has learnt to trick you into believing that only purely good things can happen and purely bad things can happen. Your perception begins to lose sight of middle ground between the two and often what happens in this case is that something negative may happen in your day - even if the day is not over - but it influences the outcome for the rest of that time frame. Your brain begins to frame the entire day as 'bad' because you're no longer able to clearly identify the things in the middle. Unless something truly and dramatically positive happens to swing the pendulum back in the other direction, you will subconsciously file that day away as 'bad' in your brain.'
She must've read the amusement on my face because she chuckled lightly. "Like I said, we use the term very loosely and it doesn't always apply in every case. We still have a few sessions to go before I can accurately make that judgement."
"Well, in that case," I said, "nothing concerning has happened since my last session, no."
She nodded, clearly amused. "I'm glad to hear that. So, today we're beginning with your childhood. I know we briefly touched on the topic last session but given how that was an introductory session, I'd like to go into some deeper analysis as long as you're comfortable with it. This will help me build a visual of not only how Dr Caulkin diagnosed you, but also what I can do to help you. With me so far?"
"I think so."
"Wonderful." She said, clicking her pen. "Alright. Can you tell me a bit about your childhood?"
I didn't tell her anything I'd revealed in the last session, only briefly touching on the bullying I'd received in school before making any real friends. Aria had always received the brunt of that abuse and while I hated that I couldn't protect my sister back then, it also meant I'd been sheltered from most of it.
"And how old would you say you were when you made any, to use your term, real friends?" Isla asked, looking up from her pad.
"Fifteen to seventeen?"
She nodded. "More than one?"
"I had my boyfriend," I swallowed, "and my best friend. There were others I got along with but we weren't as close."
"I saw in Dr Caulkin's notes that you previously described a boyfriend who passed away. Was this the same person?"
"Yeah, uh," I nodded quickly before looking away, "that's correct."
"And would you be comfortable telling me about him?"
I hadn't spoken about Cam in a long time, not to anyone, but I still thought about him everyday. I suspected I always would.
I shrugged. "There's not a lot to tell really. We didn't get to date for very long."
"How long roughly?"
"About a year."
Isla scribbled something down on her pad. "And this was when you were seventeen, correct?"
"Sixteen to seventeen. My birthday was halfway through our relationship."
She looked up. "Are you comfortable telling me how you passed? Were you still in a relationship at the time?"
I turned my head to the side and inhaled a sharp breath. It wasn't that I had trouble talking about Cam - I made sure to intentionally keep him in active conversation to preserve his memory - but it had been a long time. No one in London knew my story and there was no reason to bring it up without cause. Until now.
"No," I cleared my throat, "it's fine. It's just been a while."
"Take your time." Isla said. "Don't rush yourself."
Tucking my hands beneath my legs to stop them from trembling, I said, "Cam was a year above me in school. He asked me out the summer before his senior year and I accepted. Our relationship was really easy; I'd had a crush on him for a while but never knew he felt the same."
"When did you clue in? Was it when he asked you out?"
I shook my head. "My best friend at the time was the one who made me realise. He was always better at figuring out that stuff before me. It wasn't until Cam was literally standing on a lunch table in the cafeteria that I clued in."
Isla's eyebrows shot up. "A lunch table, huh? That's quite a declaration."
I smiled. "Yeah, it was."
"And so you were together for his entire senior year? That would make you a junior, correct?"
"Yes." I nodded. "Sophomore to junior."
"And afterwards?"
She asked it gently but there was no beating around the bush. "Cam didn't live with his parents. They lived further up north while he came south for school and stayed with his grandparents during the school term. He'd driven up one weekend to visit them not long after graduation."
"There was a storm the night he was driving back. It was meant to steer north and pass over California but the wind changed and brought it south. Mountain roads are notorious for being poorly lit and Cam was driving back alone at night."
I sucked in a deep breath. "Long story short is that the weather picked up and he was driving through torrential rain. Another oncoming driver lost control of their car and collided with Cam's on a bend. His car fishtailed off the road and collided with a tree. It took another twenty minutes for any car to come past and report the accident. Paramedics arrived on the scene but Cam was already gone. The autopsy report claimed he was alive for roughly an hour after the accident but it was too late by the time help arrived. He died at the scene."
Isla had said nothing for the duration of my story. Her hand worked fast to jot down notes but stopped after my last sentence. She looked up at me. "When did you find out? Did the paramedics call you?"
I shook my head. "He did?"
Isla's eyes widened. "He did?"
"He was conscious for long enough to call me from his cell. He hadn't spoken for twenty minutes before I heard sirens on the other end of the line."
"So, you were with him?"
"Over the phone, yes."
Isla exhaled. "Troye, I'd like to ask you a personal question."
All of her questions were personal but I gestured for her to continue. "Okay."
"Did you ever receive any counselling after Cam's death?"
I shrugged. "My parents tried to get me to see a psychologist. I went a few times before giving up. It wasn't what I needed at the time."
"And what did you need?"
Another shrug. "To be alone, I guess. I know it doesn't sound healthy but everybody kept checking in and asking how I was doing and by the third week I just wanted to scream."
"Did you?"
"Did I what?"
"Did you scream?"
I managed a small chuckle. "My best friend took care of that for me."
"How do you mean?"
"He was there in the weeks after. Never left my side. Silent support was more his thing which I was grateful for. He'd been the only person at the time to not force me to talk before I was ready, but he did take a different approach. One day he just wrestled me into the car, drove me to a cliffside, and told me to scream."
"Did you then?"
"Yeah."
"How did it feel?"
"It wasn't a magic fix." I said. "But it did feel like it lifted some of the weight from my shoulders."
Isla nodded, going back to jotting notes. "Scream therapy - better known as primal therapy - can be a very effective tool if used appropriately. Did your friend study psychology?"
I shook my head. "Not that I'm aware of. He just...knew."
She asked me a few more follow-up questions before checking her watch. "Well, Troye, that's all the time we have for today. I want to end the session by thanking you for your candour. I know answering these types of questions isn't always easy but it helps me build an idea of what you need to formulate a treatment plan."
"Treatment," I said, rising to my feet, "so as in trauma?"
She nodded. "It will still take me a few more sessions to make a concrete diagnosis but at this time, yes, I think there is some underlying trauma we need to address that will help you feel more like yourself again."
Isla walked over and opened her office door, briefly poking her head out into the hall to check each way before looking back at me. "Therapy isn't just for those afflicted with mental strain, Troye." She said gently. "In my professional opinion, every single person on this Earth should partake in counselling multiple times over the course of their life. Consider it maintenance. We don't always feel we need it, but sometimes we carry things around for so long that we just get used to weight of it bringing us down. That's not how life should feel, and therapy can help alleviate that."
She opened the door wider and gestured for me to pass through. "Dedra at the front desk has already booked in your next session. Does the same time next week still work for you?"
I flashed her a thumbs-up. "Sounds good. Thank you."
"Take care of yourself, Troye. And remember, I'm only a phone call away if you need me."
I left her office and cut through the waiting room to the outside. The night air was warm and I smiled as I made my way across the parking lot toward my car.
Once upon a time, the idea of just talking about Cam hurt too much. Then some time passed and the jagged pieces of my grief lost their sharp edge, though they could still cut me to ribbons if I wasn't careful.
Isla was right. Life shouldn't feel like that. And maybe I wasn't just in therapy because of Cam, maybe there were other reasons too, but for the first time in a long time, tonight left me feeling as though maybe I could take those shattered pieces and rearrange them to create a new picture.
One that didn't reflect the grief in my heart or loss on my face, but rather the reflective light of who I was meant to become.
***
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A/N: Okay so I actually wasn't ready to start writing this book again for a while but a lot of you expressed how much you loved the first one and gosh dammit my heart was inspired. Thank you for all your beautiful messages and support. They truly go a long way.
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