Title from: Cry Baby by Demi Lovato
Lando
The text from Carla has me sat staring at the phone screen with furrowed eyebrows from the second of it's arrival. The blunt 'it's not' in response to my question on how date night was going.
What does she mean 'it's not'? Is it code for something I don't want to know about? An error at the restaurant she's been so excited to go to? Maybe that George brought along someone from work in a (what was likely an innocent) mess up?
I'm about to type out my response when Carla's name appears in big white letters over the screen. The sight making my eyes widen as I shift in my spot trying not to make my surprise too clear to the others in the multicoloured lit room. Carla is calling me.
Now?
Before anyone can object I'm rising from my seat in the corner and slipping from the room completely. The ten of them too occupied by the ongoing game of 'ring of fire' to care about my disappearance as I skirt down the hall and slip out onto the small balcony of the place. It's tiny, only enough for two people to stand, but hidden and perfect to escape the noise from the inside with boisterous shouts and pounding House music. Most importantly, it's somewhere I knew nobody would be hiding, at least not yet when. Everyone was only lightly buzzed from the alcohol being passed around, having too much fun to escape into the fresh evening air.
The call connects and the first thing I hear is a quiet sniffle and immediately my eyes are widening. "Hi?" The word leaves me unsure, almost questioning, only because I'm wondering if I've made up the sniffle on the other end of the line. I have two sisters, and still, after all of their tears and sniffles over the last 23 years I'm never quite sure how to make any of the emotions disappear. Or how to make things better. Amber and Flo always argue that I just manage to say the right thing, but it never feels like that at the time.
"Hey, I..." Carla's voice is wobbly, and filled with a crackle which doesn't come from the background of the phone. "I'm sorry for calling." Carla's voice is cutting through the speaker. There's a manic edge to her words that I haven't heard before which tells me she regrets pressing the dial. "I'm sorry. I-I should go, you're out, sorry I don't know why I-"
"Don't go." I urge her, concerned about the panicked height to her voice.
"I should go." The panicked edge is still there but her words aren't as distant, it's like she's come back to earth with the firm words from me. If she ended the call I'd only worry about her.
"What...are you okay?" I settle on first, thousands of questions swarming through my mind. The one I most want to ask being: what the hell has happened?
"I'm fine." Carla responds quickly before clearing her throat. "I'll be fine." She corrects, sniffling again, quieter this time. The certainty in her voice let's me know that she will infact be fine, it doesn't make me worry any less though. "I'm sorry." She chokes out for the third time in the first minute of our call.
"Carla stop apologising and just..." my words get lost as I force an inhale and over the end of the line I hear the same thing. Carla taking a deep soothing inhale and a faster exhale.
"You're...you're the only one who knows, what he's like." Her slow paused words are nervous and pull at my heart. "You're the only one who can possibly get it because you guys literally have the same job and you've grown up together and," the manic ranting is back. It's unnerving. Carla is usually so composed and balanced. This is the complete opposite of the calm balanced woman who gave a rousing speech to a room of eighty people only a few hours ago. "All my friends hate him." Carla quietly admits almost silently. I'm scared to admit that lately, I'm beginning to hate George a lot too. I don't want to give her any more information which could upset her right now.
"What the hell happened?" I all I find myself asking. The words sounding so pathetic it forces me to take a long swig from the bottle of liquid in my hands. I'd been nursing it over the last half hour, the liquid having turned warm in my hold and the warm interior of Martin's flat. The downing of the remaining feels like a brace for the information I'm about to receive.
"He..." Carla sighs heavily, another quite sniffle cutting through the static of the line as I wince in preparation of the explanation. It's the first time she's snuggled in a good two minutes so I take that as a weak win. "He got stuck at Mercedes, only left twenty minutes ago." My eyes widen with Carla's explanation. "He forgot about me for the second time today!" Carla stresses and my mouth falls open wishing that I could take the pained edge to her voice away. I set the empty bottle of beer down on the wall of the balcony, as I process her words.
He just...forgot?
Or he let time pass so casually that he's beyond late? I can't decide which is worse. I had almost counted down the hours until the event earlier as to not be a minute late, and that wasn't even a one on one thing. Truthfully I just didn't want Carla, or anyone else, to poke fun at me for being late as usual. More importantly, I didn't want to make a scene entering late that would bring any more attention to me than needed with heads turning my way. So how the hell George can just 'forget' to leave on time is beyond me.
"Why does George forget about me? Would you forget about anyone like this? My friends have all told me to leave him at least twice, Do you think I should leave him?" My answers are: I don't know, no never and maybe. I don't get a chance to hand my answers over, Carla is too busy continuing her ranted questions. They're firing at me so fast that my blurry alcohol infused brain can't quite keep up. "Do you think I should hate him too?" Is the final question that I hear from her.
"Carla" Her name leaves me almost like a command, my brain still trying to catch up with everything that's happened over the last few minutes. Discussing my friends potential break up with her boyfriend who also happens to be one of my best mates wasn't on my bingo card for today.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry aren't you at a party?" She asks, before I can even respond her voice is bouncing around my phone speaker once more. "I should go." She insists for the fourth time. She never follows through with the wistful sentence. Maybe she 'should' but I don't want her to, and I certainly don't think she should be alone with her thoughts right now.
"Carls, " I repeat her name, this time it makes her stop her apologetic rambles. I can hear her gasp a breath on the other end of the line. "Where are you?" I ask pressing a finger to my free ear in order to hear her better over the suddenly louder music of the flat. It's a wonder we haven't been told to keep it down yet. There's been no neighbours at the door so far. Although it's only eight thirty so I give it another hour.
"At the studio." She mumbles back, she sounds defeated. I'm pretty sure I catch another sniffle in the middle of it all and have to ignore the stir of emotion that stirs up with the sound. It's not my place to feel like that. But George didn't even show, Carla's night that she was so excited for (the consolation night in apology for George missing today), was over before it even began. "This bullshit isn't...it's not fair on me." Carla mutters. I nod on agreement even if she can't see me. "Were you like this with Lu?" I cringe at the mention of Luisa. Then cringe further at the thought of my next words. Then admit a quiet 'no'.
The huff on the other end of the phone tells me it's not exactly the response Carla was wanting. At least it's honest. I don't know what else to say to her, I know everything she's saying is true. It is bullshit, it's not what she deserves but I don't know how to make any of it any better. The uncomfortable hand running circles on my left temple shows as much.
"You should come here." I find myself blurting out the suggestion before I can think it over too much. Or before I've thought it over at all. Carla inhales sharply with the suggestion, I hear the slight surprised gasp at the suggestion and then the quiet mulling over of the thought.
"I dunno, I think I'm just gonna go to the flat." She chokes out, but the words are shaky and unsure. As if that's not really where she wants to be. I don't blame her, who would want to be sat alone after a day like this? She should be celebrating, for once not celebrating George but herself.
I hate that he's ruined this day for her. She was so happy earlier, so proud.
"Why?" I question, and I can't help but frown as I ask. "You're like...a fifteen minute drive from here. I bet you're sad, probably need a drink." I list. Carla mutters something under her breath that I don't catch. It only makes me pause for a second before continuing. "And you should celebrate today, not sit in that flat all alone." I point out, running out of words.
"I should..." Carla huffs. She should probably go home, we both know it. But the Jäegermeister swirling in my head from the earlier game of piccolo won't let me say as much. It's pushed all sense of logic from my brain. I enjoy Carla's company too much to encourage her to not be here. Really, why should she go home? To mope? To give a George more of her time when he gives her so little of his?
That flat is tiny, and hot - especially in summer as it is now - she should come here, or at least meet us somewhere. She can't just...sit at home because George decided to be George. Or at least this new ignorant version of George.
"Come here." I urge once more, fighting the smile from my face when she hums once more in thought. It's lighter this time. Her words are no longer paired with sniffles and wobbled words.
"I need to fix my make up." Carla grumbled then she take a small slurp of liquid on the other line. My eyes widen in surprise, I didn't realise she was drinking? "But I'll be half an hour." I find myself grinning in victory with Carla's words.
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I'm seeing Beyoncé on Tuesday and I truly don't know about the person I'm about to be after hearing Heated live!
I think I might die...
Not that I'm being dramatic or anything 🫠
Are any of you guys seeing my queen also?
Hope you enjoyed!
🥰❤️