2016
I'm going to need to find a new job.
That's my first thought when I open my eyes the next day.
I can't possibly stay here, now. I won't be able to meet Ryan's gaze without remembering the fire in his eyes; look at his lips without recalling how sweet his kisses tasted. My whole body is heating up merely thinking about what happened between us last night.
And yet, I promised I wouldn't leave him in the lurch, didn't I? I actually said "you can rely on me." If I quit now, I will literally have proved he was right not to trust me with this role. I've only been here a month, for Christ's sake. I can't bail already.
How would I explain it to my mum, for a start?
So yeah, it looks like I'm stuck here, for the time being anyway. I'm just going to have to man the fuck up.
The power has already been restored, and sunlight is flooding into my bedroom, hurting my swollen eyes. It feels like the storm never happened. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe all of it was a dream.
But as soon as I come face-to-face with Ryan that afternoon, I know it was all definitely real.
I've went for a walk to clear my head, and when I return I run straight into him outside the hotel. I actually consider just walking past and ignoring him; it's almost too painful to consider talking right now. But he speaks first.
"Hey."
Okay, in terms of effort, it's minimal, but it's a start. Better than how I was planning to act anyway. I force myself to look directly at him. He looks like he hasn't slept well, if at all. His eyes are dull, dark shadows smudged underneath; his handsome face is drawn and pale. His expression . . . Well, it freezes my heart again as it shows he's pretty much defaulted back to guarded, taciturn Ryan 3.0.
I've broken him.
So what? A little voice inside me spitefully chirps. He broke you first.
I recognise that little voice. It's the same one that told me to ghost him all those years ago.
"Hi," I reply, looking away from him again. "Looks like everything's back up and running again, eh?" I try to add a dose of false cheer to my words, but I doubt I'm pulling it off.
"Seems to be," he says tightly. There's a long pause, heavy and strained. I'm about to just turn and walk away when he speaks again. His voice is tense and shaking slightly; I can definitely sense an undercurrent of anger.
"Do you know, I was awake for most of the night, racking my brain, wrecking my head, trying to think what I must have said that hurt you so much? And I'm still drawing a blank." He sighs and when I chance another peek at him, I realise his shield has slipped again; there's no way I can avoid seeing the pain glowing in his eyes.
"I'm sure if you dig a little deeper, you'll figure it out," I mutter, my hands balling into tight fists.
"I really don't think I will." He shrugs, the mask coming back up. He scrubs a hand across his eyes, glancing away from me. "Look, I hope at some point we can talk about this and you'll explain to me what I'm meant to have said that's made you this mad at me. But for now, I guess we'll just pretend last night never happened."
I nod stiffly and walk away. "Deal!" I toss over my shoulder.
In my room I have another cry. I can't help myself. How can Ryan claim to not remember? He has to be lying. Or maybe he simply doesn't know that I was told what he'd been saying. It doesn't make it hurt any less.
It's just so very unfortunate that I have ended up doing the very thing I was terrified of doing - falling for him all over again. And the terrible thing is that I'm almost completely sure now that he feels the same way about me. But my hang-ups and insecurities still can't let me get past prom. A part of my brain is still marinating in that old memory.
Deep down, I know Ryan's right. I should talk to him about that night. Maybe he could clear it all up so easily. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding.
But then my brain keeps saying "what if it wasn't?"
So I choose to mope. I spend the rest of Wednesday and all of Thursday hiding in my room. Sneaking around like a shadow when I need to visit the kitchen. Watching like a creep through my window as Ryan walks down to the loch for yet another swim. I'm guessing he's trying to clear his head of me again.
And I'm not sure I can blame him.
I'm almost relieved when Friday comes and the hotel re-opens for guests; I'll have a distraction, even if it means it'll be more difficult to avoid Ryan when I can't just hole up in my room.
We're going to be at full capacity again this weekend but it'll definitely be more chilled than the previous one. It'll still be a shock to the system after a few days off . . . but I'm glad to be busy.
I find people tend to show up to The Thorne Inn as close as they can to the earliest check-in time. I completely understand; I always do this too when I have an overnight stay booked. I want to wring out every little bit of my money's worth. However it means that 3pm is usually all systems go as nearly all the guests arrive at the same time.
Today is no exception. And the usual daytime receptionist is down with food poisoning. Which we suspect is code for "hangover" but we can't prove for sure as the symptoms can be remarkably similar.
"Iona, are you okay to help me with reception?" Ryan asks me politely, as if I'm a stranger. "If you could check the guests in, I can help them to their rooms."
"That's no problem," I say smoothly, walking past him through to the desk without looking at him. There's already a number of guests waiting of course, so I get to work processing them and issuing them with their keycards and vital hotel information, before passing them over into Ryan's capable (oh so very capable - stop it, Iona!) hands.
The queue moves quickly and I've reached the last couple checking in for now. "Welcome to The Thorne Inn," I say on auto-pilot, swivelling around from the computer to face the guests. My face freezes as I take in the man's face in front of me.
"Iona? Is that you?"
I last saw that face in real life at prom. And I spotted it far more recently just a few weeks ago in my crazy dream.
Ryan's friend Martin.
I recover myself and hastily force a smile onto my face. "Martin?" I ask in as pleasant a tone as I can force. It turns out I'm a better actor than I thought. "Oh my goodness, you haven't changed a bit."
And he hasn't.
He still looks like an arrogant, smug little bollocks. I still don't understand how someone like Ryan could ever be friends with him.
"So what brings you up here?" I ask, bringing up his room details on the computer screen. The beautiful brunette with him - who I'm assuming is his other half - is flipping through Instagram on her phone and not paying the remotest bit of attention to the conversation.
"I've always meant to come and check this place out ever since my good friend Ryan took it over . . . Finally got around to it! Oh, there he is!"
Ryan is walking back down the stairs, and his expression is one of complete shock. I would have thought such a good friend would have been told in advance about a visit. "Martin," he says faintly. "What a surprise."
He doesn't look happy, I notice.
"Alright, mate?" Martin goes for the classic "matey" handshake/backslap combo. Ryan responds with a decided lack of enthusiasm.
It's only then that it seems to sink in for Martin that it's possibly a bit odd that me and Ryan are co-existing in this space together. You can almost see the wheels turn in his brain as he glances between the two of us, his brow crinkling in disbelief. Then he starts to laugh. And it's not a nice laugh.
"Wait . . . So are you two a thing now?" He smirks at Ryan. "You finally got her after moping after her for all those years?"
Ryan flushes and I'm not sure if it's anger or embarrassment, but Martin's mocking tone of voice combined with Ryan's reaction gets my hackles rising. "Yes," I say firmly, stepping forward and sliding my arm around Ryan's waist. I try to ignore his almost imperceptible flinch as I squeeze him towards me.
I also try to ignore the fact my body temperature seems to shoot up the second I touch him.
Oh, and I'm almost immediately regretting this impulsive move of mine.
After a brief hesitation, Ryan's arm encircles my shoulders. "What can I say, she eventually gave in to my charms," he chuckles. His voice probably sounds natural to anyone else but I've been around him long enough now to tell when he's being false.
Martin's eyes narrow. I just know he's the type of guy who feeds off other's misery, an emotional vampire of sorts. For some reason he doesn't like the fact that me and Ryan have found each other again. "Well, I'm so happy for you guys!" he claims but his declaration definitely sounds fake as fuck.
"Thanks." I smile as widely as I can at him. I hand him two keycards. "So you guys are in room 12."
"Upstairs, on the right. Big number 12 on the door. You can't miss it," Ryan says blandly. Martin hesitates for a moment, obviously expecting Ryan to accompany them and help with their bags like he did with everyone else, but he clearly has no intention of doing so. I'm glad.
"Cool, cool," the arsehole says, recovering himself quickly. He grins at Ryan. "Let's catch up for a drink later, eh?"
"We're really busy tonight," Ryan calls with faux-regret, as we watch them walk up the stairs. "But I'll do my best."
I realise we still have our arms around each other but before I can untangle myself from him, he steps away first. "Thanks for that," he says quietly. He's still looking towards the stairs, his eyes practically shooting sparks. "I can't believe that prick has shown up here."
"I thought you were friends," I say lightly, confused.
"Not a chance. I've always fucking hated that guy. I can't believe I'm going to have to play nice with him tonight." Shaking his head, he storms away into the bar.
Something feels off. My brain is working frantically behind the scenes, trying to process a memory, struggling to make sense of it. But I'm not even sure what it's plucking away at just yet. I just know I feel uneasy and unsettled and when it reaches five thirty and I'm off the clock, I sigh with relief and retreat to my room.
I gladly pour myself a wine with none of my usual internal debate and sink onto my bed. What is it that's niggling away at me? I put my glass down, lying back and closing my eyes as I try to remember.
And then it hits me. I sit up so quickly I get a headrush, and fumble for that old diary. My fingers frantically flick through the pages until I find the prom entry. I've avoided that one up until this point - literally never read it again after that night - but I know somehow that I need to read it now.
My handwriting is nowhere near as neat as usual for this particular recollection; it would probably not even be legible to anyone but myself. Probably a good thing. The pages are slightly crumpled and the ink is occasionally smudged, from the tears that fell as I wrote. I stayed up late that night, after closing the door on Ryan and my crush for good, transcribing my own heartbreak like the ultimate teen drama queen.
My eyes merely skim across it at first, as if unwilling to commit myself to the memories, but I eventually force myself to read it properly, concentrate on the words. Take myself back to that night. Immerse myself in it.
It's not an easy thing for me to do.
But after I've read it, relived it, all over again, armed with the new information I have just acquired, I'm starting to realise I might just have got it all wrong.
Looks it might be time for one last flashback . . . The infamous prom night. Da da DUM!
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