other things he could do, but he doesn’t even bother.”
“I can understand. Maybe he needs a chance to heal internally before he can go back to the things he loves. It’s not like a switch he can just turn on and off.” I bit my lip. I was talking too much, and I sounded like I was lecturing Alexander, which is the last thing I wanted to do.
I continued, “But a film seems like a good idea to me. It’s escapism. He can put on a movie and imagine he is somewhere else for those two hours.”
Alexander nodded and looked thoughtful. At least he didn’t look angry. It’s not as if I had any real qualifications, and I shouldn’t launch into some psychological study as if I knew what I was talking about. It wasn’t really something I would normally do. But with Jack I felt as if I understood how he was feeling. He was broken and it would take him time to stick the pieces back together again. I knew how that felt. At times I thought my spirit was so shattered I would never be able to find all the pieces let alone stick them back together again.
After dinner, Alex gave me the iPad and told me there was wireless internet throughout the house.
I took the iPad up to my room and noticed that Lauren lingered behind to talk to Alex, rather than come with me. I sighed. That was not a good sign. Things were definitely going to get complicated around here. I just hoped she didn’t get hurt.
On my way to my bedroom, I debated whether to go and see if Jack was okay. I ended up standing beside the internal door that led to his part of the house with my hand on the door handle, but I hesitated.
I was only planning to pop in to see if he was okay. But what if he was in bed? He did say he wanted an early night.
I let my hand drop from the handle, tucked the iPad under my arm and made my way to the stairs. I was sure he’d be okay. I’d talk to him tomorrow.
When I got to my room, I curled up on the bed and turned on the iPad. Before I opened up the film app, another use for the iPad struck me. I opened up the web browser and typed the name Jack Harding into the internet search bar. There were hundreds of hits. I clicked on the link at the top of the screen to go to images, and I saw a devastatingly gorgeous picture of Jack dressed in black tie. I stared at it, wanting to take in every pixel. The caption below the image identified it as the night he went to the Monte Carlo Ball last year.
Next to him, I recognized Joanna. Her lips looked huge in the photo. I guessed she must have gotten collagen injections. I didn’t think it looked good. The dress she was wearing in the photo barely contained her breasts. But they looked too round and too hard. There was definitely nothing natural about those, I thought.
I knew I was being a bitch. What could I say? Joanna obviously had me riled, and I was not sure why. For some reason, I felt hugely overprotective of Jack, despite only knowing him for such a short time.
I spent the next hour flipping through gossip columns and pictures of Jack, and I built up his background in my head. I hadn’t been far off the mark when I’d figured he was a womanizer. There were photos of him with famous actresses and even one with a Ukrainian pop star I’d never heard of.
A couple of paparazzi shots showed him staggering out of nightclubs, clearly drunk. I tutted disapprovingly as if I were a model citizen myself and flicked to the next images.
It felt strange when I looked at his pictures. This didn’t seem like the real Jack to me.
I rested the iPad on my knees and gazed up at the ceiling. The real Jack Harding? Who was I kidding? I’d only known the guy for five minutes! What the hell did I know?
Why did I feel like I knew him? My therapist would warn me against forming attachments so quickly. He’d probably tell me it was a natural response during my recovery.
I tried to psychoanalyze myself. I obviously saw something broken in Jack, almost a reflection
“I can understand. Maybe he needs a chance to heal internally before he can go back to the things he loves. It’s not like a switch he can just turn on and off.” I bit my lip. I was talking too much, and I sounded like I was lecturing Alexander, which is the last thing I wanted to do.
I continued, “But a film seems like a good idea to me. It’s escapism. He can put on a movie and imagine he is somewhere else for those two hours.”
Alexander nodded and looked thoughtful. At least he didn’t look angry. It’s not as if I had any real qualifications, and I shouldn’t launch into some psychological study as if I knew what I was talking about. It wasn’t really something I would normally do. But with Jack I felt as if I understood how he was feeling. He was broken and it would take him time to stick the pieces back together again. I knew how that felt. At times I thought my spirit was so shattered I would never be able to find all the pieces let alone stick them back together again.
After dinner, Alex gave me the iPad and told me there was wireless internet throughout the house.
I took the iPad up to my room and noticed that Lauren lingered behind to talk to Alex, rather than come with me. I sighed. That was not a good sign. Things were definitely going to get complicated around here. I just hoped she didn’t get hurt.
On my way to my bedroom, I debated whether to go and see if Jack was okay. I ended up standing beside the internal door that led to his part of the house with my hand on the door handle, but I hesitated.
I was only planning to pop in to see if he was okay. But what if he was in bed? He did say he wanted an early night.
I let my hand drop from the handle, tucked the iPad under my arm and made my way to the stairs. I was sure he’d be okay. I’d talk to him tomorrow.
When I got to my room, I curled up on the bed and turned on the iPad. Before I opened up the film app, another use for the iPad struck me. I opened up the web browser and typed the name Jack Harding into the internet search bar. There were hundreds of hits. I clicked on the link at the top of the screen to go to images, and I saw a devastatingly gorgeous picture of Jack dressed in black tie. I stared at it, wanting to take in every pixel. The caption below the image identified it as the night he went to the Monte Carlo Ball last year.
Next to him, I recognized Joanna. Her lips looked huge in the photo. I guessed she must have gotten collagen injections. I didn’t think it looked good. The dress she was wearing in the photo barely contained her breasts. But they looked too round and too hard. There was definitely nothing natural about those, I thought.
I knew I was being a bitch. What could I say? Joanna obviously had me riled, and I was not sure why. For some reason, I felt hugely overprotective of Jack, despite only knowing him for such a short time.
I spent the next hour flipping through gossip columns and pictures of Jack, and I built up his background in my head. I hadn’t been far off the mark when I’d figured he was a womanizer. There were photos of him with famous actresses and even one with a Ukrainian pop star I’d never heard of.
A couple of paparazzi shots showed him staggering out of nightclubs, clearly drunk. I tutted disapprovingly as if I were a model citizen myself and flicked to the next images.
It felt strange when I looked at his pictures. This didn’t seem like the real Jack to me.
I rested the iPad on my knees and gazed up at the ceiling. The real Jack Harding? Who was I kidding? I’d only known the guy for five minutes! What the hell did I know?
Why did I feel like I knew him? My therapist would warn me against forming attachments so quickly. He’d probably tell me it was a natural response during my recovery.
I tried to psychoanalyze myself. I obviously saw something broken in Jack, almost a reflection
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