The Thrill Is Gone

She woke with a throbbing headache and little memory of the nights happenings. The last thing that she clearly remembered was running into Callum at the pub. She’d gone to use the restroom and when she walked out to get back to her booth in the back, she ran into him. Well, to be honest, she didn’t really run into him, she was walking back to her seat when he’d called to her, and she remembered being surprise that he was there and then chatting for a bit. What it was they’d spoken of, she couldn’t be sure, but she knew they’d stood there and talked for awhile. She could remember him smiling, his lips moving as he spoke, and she could even remember him shaking his head as he let out a laugh, but that was all she could remember. After that, her mind went black. She didn’t know how it was that she’d gotten from the pub to kneeling in front of her toilet or why she felt like she’d been whacked on the right side of the face with a baseball bat, but one of the few things she did know, was that she was suffering from the most crippling hangover she’d ever had in her life, and that resting her head on the toilet was neither comfortable nor sanitary.

With a low groan, she lifted her head off the seat, eyes struggling to remain open as the blood rushed to her head and a fresh wave of nausea struck her. Her eyes instinctively closed as she fought off the desire to throw up for what would’ve been the second time that morning. It took a few minutes, but her stomach eventually settles, and she was able to grip the sides of the toilet. Ever so slowly, she began to pull herself off the cold tile flooring, careful not to move to quickly out of fear of losing her balance. Her arms trembled from the exertion, weak from the night of heavy drinking, and if the bruises on her arms were to be taken seriously, then her arms were also weak from having gotten roughed up via an unknown reason. She wished she could remember how it was that her arms had gotten bruised. It had obviously been something serious. They were the type of bruises one got from a fight, not from drunkenly falling into the bushes or falling on the sidewalk after losing ones balance, but as she stood up, she couldn’t remember how it was that it’d happened.

The bruises were undoubtedly going to be the product of an incident that she’d never be able to recall, a temporary remember of the stupid decisions her drunken mind had made. She was afraid of what trouble she’d gotten herself mixed up in, and as she thought of all the different scenarios she could’ve taken part in, she hoped that no one she knew had been there to bear witness to her stupidity. She wasn’t the best at thinking sensibly when she was drunk, and when heartache was added to the equation, she became a hotheaded fool that belonged locked up in a room instead of among the general public.

Even then, with the morning sun filtering through the small window in the bathroom, she felt herself unfit to go into public. Her entire body ached, there was a strange taste in her mouth, she had a massive headache that had her glaring at the wall, and she was fairly positive that if she were to come into contact with another human, she’d be an absolute bitch to them. She was just a mess that needed to shower, eat a pot cookie to deal with the throbbing coming from her head, and sleep off the hangover. Hopefully by the time she woke up on Sunday, she’d feel better.

From his place in the tub, Callum watched as Paulina stumbled towards the sink. Her steps were slow, and her body swayed with each move, making it clear to him that there was still alcohol in her system. Not that that surprised him. She’d drank more than he’d ever seen her drink, and he cringed at the thought of all the tequila she’d had before they’d gotten back to her flat. It was a miracle she hadn’t ended up getting her stomach pumped. In fact, Callum had a horrible nights sleep, because he kept waking up to check that she was still breathing. It was paranoid of him, he knew it was, but he had to make sure she was alright. He just had to. If something would’ve happened to her while he was asleep, he wouldn’t have been able to deal with it.

And as he sat there, tired and smelling of the vomit she’d graced his shoes with, he couldn’t help but wonder just how much pain she was in. The fight with the bloke had heavily damaged the right side of her face. Her lip had been busted open, blood had seeped from it, and the area around her eye was swollen and darkening in color. He wished she would’ve listened to him when he tried to stop her from fighting, but she’d been proper drunk by then and the alcohol had made it so the only person’s opinion that mattered was her own. That was why she’d been so eager to get in a brawl with a guy that no person should singlehandedly take on. He was massive, towering over her by nearly a foot, and he was much heavier than her, but the alcohol had given her fools courage, and now that she was awake, standing in front of the sink, she was left with a sober mind that was struggling to remember.

Slowly, she lifted her head, tearing her gaze from the sink as she nervously lifted it to meet the mirror. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the state her face was in. No wonder she felt like someone had beaten her with bat. Her right eye was swollen, which explained why it was she felt as if she were squinting, and her lips were so puffed up that they could’ve passed for Mick Jagger’s.

“What the fuck happened?” she asked herself, wincing from the pain that accompanied talking.

It was then that Callum spoke. “You got yourself in a bit of a nasty fight.”

“Who’s there?!” she bellowed, spinning around on her heels in direction of the voice. “Callum?” she asked, tilting her head to the side when she saw him lying in her tub. “What are you doing here?”

“Ya don’t remember me coming over with you?” he asked, sitting up.

She shook her head. “All I remember is saying you had a date, and then . . . then I woke up here. How’d I get here? Did you bring me home?”

“I did.”

“But you had a date.”

“That didn’t really work out,” he told her. “Not with you starting a fight at the pub.”

“I started the fight?” she asked, cursing inwardly at her stupidity.

He nodded. “Some bloke grabbed your bum. And you weren’t having that so ya started going off on him, slapped him once, then things sort of escalated quickly and you lot walked out to have a proper go at it. Tried to stop you, I did, but you weren’t listening.”

“Did I at least win?” she asked softly, after a few minutes of silent contemplation.

“Are you serious right now? Ya get in a bloody fight outside a pub, get your face done in and you’re asking about whether or not you won. You’re unbelievable!”

“Well I don’t know what to ask!” she shouted. “I can’t remember a fucking thing, and then you told me that I got into a fight and it made sense to ask if I won.”

“Well, ya didn’t.”

“I didn’t?”

“Bloke was massive, much bigger and stronger than you. He would’ve sent you to the hospital if the owner hadn’t stopped the fight.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Just a have a look at your face,” he told her. “Look at how mucked up it is. He was one of those blokes that should never be taken on alone, but ya were so bloody proud, so set on beating him up that you almost got yourself done away with.” His look softened. “He had you on the ground, Paulin. If he would’ve continued, you would’ve been in a hospital. I'm not saying that to scare ya. I'm saying it cuz it’s true. Last night, you . . . well, you went too far.”

“I was an idiot.”

“You were,” he agreed. “And I understand where you were coming from, but –”

“What do you mean you understand?”

“You told me about . . . Henry,” he said his name softly, as if it were cursed.

Her stomach plummeted. She’d run her mouth about Henry and now Callum knew about her affair with the Prince. But what if Callum wasn’t the only one that knew? What if she’d talked about it loudly? So loudly that people at the pub heard?

“What’d I say about him?” Paulina grew paler, she began to tremble.

“You alright?” he asked, concerned. “You look like you need to have a seat.”

“What’d I say about him?” she repeated.

“You said he was back in London, sleeping with other people.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirmed. “What’s goin on with you? Why were you so scared when I told ya that you told me about what happened with Henry?”

“I . . . I don’t like dumping my problems on people,” that wasn’t a complete lie.

“That’s what friends are for.”

“But we’re not that sort of friends,” she told him. “We laugh together, Callum. We drink and we laugh and we do dumb things, we don’t mope. That’s how it is with all the guys.”

“Just because we don’t talk about our feelings doesn’t mean we won’t be there when a mates in trouble.” He left the tub and stepped closer to her. “I'm here for you, no matter what, so is Terry and Lesedi and Graham. And if you need to cry about a bloke that doesn’t deserve you –”

“You don’t think he deserved me?” she whispered, surprised by his words. The entire time she’d been thinking that she was the unworthy one.

He shook his head. “No offense, but he’s a prat.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I was friendly for your sake, but there was always something about him I wasn’t too keen on, but I thought that if you fancied him, then he had to be alright. But he’s not alright. He’s a prat, a stupid prat that went off and shagged someone who’s not as brilliant as you.” He was going to keep on rambling. He was going to say how she deserved to be with someone that would appreciate her and treat her like a queen, he was going to embarrass himself with poorly formed phrases, but then she started crying. “No, no, don’t cry. I mean. Yeah, cry if you have to, but if you don’t then – never mind, cry, it’ll do good . . . I think.”

“Sorry,” she sniffled. “I just . . . I’d been thinking that I didn’t deserve him and hearing you say that it’s him that doesn’t deserve me, it’s just . . . thank you, for that.”

“Why the hell would you think you didn’t deserve him?” he questioned, completely baffled by her words. She was always confident, always carried herself in a manner that made people notice her, but there she was, being vulnerable.

“Because he . . .” she couldn’t tell him the truth, she trusted Callum but she didn’t want anyone knowing the truth about Henry, “He comes from money.” Again, a half truth was spoken.

“His being rich doesn’t mean you don’t deserve him, even if he were a bloody prince or king that wouldn’t mean a damn thing. You’re brilliant, Paulina, absolutely brilliant.” He’d gotten too worked up, to passionate in his delivery. “Any of our mates would say the same,” he added for safe measure. “In fact, tonight, we’re all gonna go out, have a proper nigh out, we’ll show you how we deal with this sort of stuff.”

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t want to go out, that she was going to stay home and mope, but he was looking at her with such hope in his eyes that she couldn’t say no. He’d taken care of her, made sure she’d gotten home safe and he and her friends wanted to be there for her, they were fine with seeing her at her worst, and deep down, she knew it was best if she had company.

“I have to get cleaned up and go to the hospital, so I can get my lip checked out. Don’t want it to get infected.”

“Alright, yeah, of course you have to get it checked out. And you’ll have plenty of time to. We won’t go drinking till late. Maybe nine?” he proposed.

“Nine’s good, yeah.”

“Right, brilliant,” he said. “I’ll let the guys know. They’ll be down for it. I know they will.”

“If they’re not, we can drink another night.”

“What? No. They’re gonna be there tonight.” He smiled, reassuringly.

“Thanks Callum, for this. It means a lot to me.”

“It’s nothing. This is what mates do.” He cleared his throat. “So do you, uh, want me to invite Alfred and Olivia?”

“No!” she shouted, her cheeks growing red when she realized how loud she’d shouted. “The thing is, they don’t know. I don’t want them to know. Not yet.”

“S’alright. We won’t invite them and won’t mention it to them.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled in response.

“So . . . when are ya heading over to the hospital?” he asked.

“As soon as I get cleaned up, I’ll bike over.”

“You’re not gonna bike over there, it’s too far.”

“It’s not that far.”

“Well not when you’re alright, but you’re a mess, ya can’t bike over there.”

“Then I’ll take the bus.”

“Buses take to long.”

“You’re being annoying.”

“I'm just saying I have a perfectly good car parked a few blocks away from here.”

“I can’t ask you to drive me.”

“You’re not asking. I'm volunteering.”

“Callum . . .” she was about to protest.

“Not gonna take no for an answer, so go on, get tidied up and I’ll be outside.”

“But you need to get tidied up to.” She pointed out. “You smell like crap.”

“That’s how people smell when people puke all over them.”

Her face reddened in humiliation. “I puked on you? Oh my God! That’s so disgusting! I'm so sorry Callum! I’ll make it up to you! I’ll make you that cake you love and . . . this is so bad. I'm so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t get all worked up about it. You’ll make me a few cakes and we’ll call it even.”

“I'm so sorry,” she repeated, unable to meet his gaze out of embarrassment.

“Go shower,” he told her.

“If you want, you can shower first and I’ll go wash your clothes and shoes, I am so sorry.”

“I'm fine.”

She completely ignored him. “I’ve got clothes you can wear. Nothing fancy, I have some sweats and shorts that’ll fit you, and some shirts. You can wear those.”

“Fine, I’ll change into those, but you shower first. You smell worse than me.”

It wasn’t long before the pair of them were showered and changed. Callum settled on a pair of black mesh shorts that landed just above the knee and a grey t-shirt with a Led Zeppelin logo on it. He’d originally tried a pair of her sweats on, but he was much taller than her, and as a result, he’d looked like he was wearing Capri pants. For her part, Paulina changed into a simple pair of jeans and a fitted v-neck. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone with her clothes; she just wanted to be comfortable during her wait in the emergency room.

Since they were both dressed, they tried giving a go at having breakfast. They made an attempt at making eggs, but the smell sent their stomachs into a frightful rage, and they both ended up puking. After that failed attempt, waffles were placed in the toaster, but the taste made them sick. It didn’t make them throw up like the smell of the eggs had, but their stomachs had churned and their plates were cleared. Not wanting to risk it with food, they settled for a cup of tea to soothe their raging stomachs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungover in my life,” muttered Paulina as she held her cup in between her hands.

“Not surprising with all you drank last night.” Callum leant back in his chair, his dark blond hair falling messily onto his face. “I tried stopping you at one point, but you smacked my hand and cursed at me in Spanish.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“If I told ya that, I’d be lying, but don’t be embarrassed; now I have funny stories to make fun of you with.”

“That’s not comforting.” She smiled the first genuine smile of the morning.

“Wasn’t meant to be,” he smirked. “But you know what’s good about this?”

“What?”

“Now you’ll know what it’s like when you and Roger have a go at me over that carpet burn.”

“Wanker,” she cursed, as she lifted her cup so that the straw could rest on the unharmed part of her lips.

“Can’t believe you’re drinking tea through a straw,” he commented.

She took a long drink, and then set the cup back down. “It must look fucking ridiculous, but I don’t have a choice. I'm gonna be stuck like this until my lip heals. And I’ll probably have to stop talking, since it hurts like hell.”

“Good to know at least one good things going to come from this.”

“You’re such a dick.” She kicked him on the shin.

Callum hissed in pain. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “What was that for?”

“For being a dick,” she told him.

“Wasn’t being a dick,” he said. “I was just voicing my opinion.”

“And your opinion made you sound like a dick.”

“That’s your interpretation of it, others would beg to differ, but it’s not like that matters. You’re a stubborn ass you are.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just shut up and finish your tea.”

“Already done with mine,” he told her. “You done with yours?” he asked.

“No, but I'm not gonna keep drinking. It’ll be ages before I finish it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting.”

“I'm sure.” She stood up, ready to clear the table. “I’ll just grab a mineral water and take that along, that’ll be better for me than the tea.”

Paulina cleared the table, dumped the cups off in the sink and then went to her sleeping area so she could grab her purse. Her telephone and keys were quickly thrown inside, and after double checking to make sure she had everything she’d need at the hospital, she followed Callum out of the apartment. Her steps were still slow. Her body was still sore from the fight, and would undoubtedly be in recovery for the following few days. She was glad that Callum had volunteered to drive her to the hospital. Biking had seemed like a simple endeavor, a task that would be easily accomplished, but the truth was she wasn’t fit for physical activity. She knew that now that she was walking more than just a few steps around the apartment. She’d barely gotten to the main entrance, and already her knees were threatening to give out.

“Can we take a breather?” asked Paulina as she stopped in the lobby, her right hand resting on her hip as she tried to catch her breath. “That fight really screwed me over. I can’t even walk right.”

“You’ll probably be alright in a bit. I think you’re body’s just getting used to moving around, since ya haven’t done much of it. You were in one position for loads of hours, so it’s just getting used to movement.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Paulina closed her eyes and for a few minutes, took in deep breathes. “Alright, I'm good.”

“Do ya want me to bring the car round front?” Callum opened the main door. “I reckon that’d be best so ya don’t exert yourself too much.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll walk with you. I need the movement.” Paulina followed him out. “Why’s it so bright out? I’ve got my sunglasses on and it still feels like someone’s shining a fucking flashlight in my face.”

“Well if ya hadn’t drunk so much, ya wouldn’t feel like it’s too fucking –” he trailed off, his eyes widening at the individual walking towards them.

She lifted her gaze from the floor, staring over at Callum in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?”

Callum didn’t have a chance to explain what had gotten into him. He was busy trying to figure out how to tell her that Henry was there, just a few short yards away from them. In his mind, simply blurting it out wouldn’t have done well. No. It was the sort of information one had to deliver gently so the receiver wouldn’t have a panic attack, but there was to be no gentleness in the delivery of the news, for it made itself known on its own accord.

“Paulin?” called a painfully familiar deep voice.

Run. She needed to run, to get the hell out of there before she lost her temper and did something she’d regret.

“Paulin?” he repeated, confused as to why she was facing that Callum bloke, instead of turning to see him.

“Go away.” She told him.

Harry was baffled by her cold treatment of him. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Go away,” she repeated, a lump growing in her throat as her chest swelled with emotion.

“I . . . this . . .” he stood dumbfounded, staring at the back of her head as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

He willed her to turn around, to apologize and take the roses he’d brought her but she didn’t turn. She stood there, staring at Callum, and after growing frustrated, he tore his gaze from her and redirected it to the blonde, hoping that he would give him answers, but then he saw that Callum was wearing her shirt. He knew it was Paulina’s, because it had an ink stain on the left shoulder, and when his eyes traveled downwards, he noticed that he was also wearing a pair of her shorts. That bastard was dressed in Paulina’s clothes and his hair was still wet from a shower, which judging by the state of Paulina’s hair, they’d taken together.

“I'm gone for a bleeding month and now you’re shagging him?!” spat Harry.

Paulina remained silent.

“She didn’t shag me,” spoke Callum, his head held high as he stared Harry directly in the eyes.

“You’re wearing her fucking clothes! And don’t say you’re not, cuz I’ve worn those shorts and I’ve seen her prancing around in that shirt!”

Callum looked to Paulina for guidance. It was then that he saw the distraught look that had once again made its home on her face.

“Did ya even wait a week before ya started shagging him? Or was he in your flat as soon as I left?” Harry had never been in that position. He’d heard his mates talk about what it was like when a bird ran off with someone else, but that had never happened to him, that wasn’t sort of thing that happened to a Prince. Offended by her silence and overwhelmed by her betrayal, he mouthed off, saying things that he would’ve never otherwise said. His rage blinded him and his mind thought it reasonable to yell, “Have ya sucked him off? Ya never sucked me off, but I'm sure you’ve been having a go at him.”

That was it. In one swift movement, she was facing him. Her glasses had fallen from the intensity with which she turned and her lips were hitched upwards into a snarl, despite the fact that it physically pained her to do so.

“Oh yeah, I’ve been sucking him off with this fucking busted lip! I’ve been going to town on that dick even though I can’t even drink water normally and it hurts like hell to talk!” she snapped.

“Y-your face . . .” he stuttered, taking in her appearance.

“It’s a fucking mess!” she finished his sentence. “Yeah, I know. I was there when I got my ass kicked last night in a fight that I had no business being in, and my good friend, Callum was there to take care of me. Had you CALLED you would’ve known, had you CALLED you wouldn’t have made an ass of yourself by making me out to seem like some slag, but no, you haven’t called. YOU haven’t called in over a month, so you don’t know a damn thing!”

“Paulina, you should calm down, this can’t be good for you,” whispered Callum, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You need to rest, and we should just go . . .”

His touch calmed her down enough to say, “Please go get the car.”

“But –”

“Please, Callum, please.”

He knew better than to protest. She’d made up her mind.

“Look, Paulina, I'm sorry.” Harry apologized once Callum had left them.

“For what?” she questioned, gruffly.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What are you sorry for?” she clarified.

“For assuming things,” he said.

“So you’re not sorry for ignoring me for a month? You’re not sorry for not keeping your promise? You’re not sorry for running off to Africa to go make out with that Chelsy?”

“You saw the papers,” he whispered.

“I did. I saw the picture of you pressed up against a wall while she was all up on you. I even read the caption. They had a nice little blurb about you two. Apparently, you’re destined for each other.”

“That picture’s not real though. I mean it’s real, but it’s not what it looks like.”

“Don’t insult me by thinking that overused line’s gonna work on me.”

“But it’s the truth! I would never have done that to you.”

“Yeah, because you care about me so much about me, you care so much that you ignored me for an entire month.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to call you. I just didn’t have the time.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to call me every single day. I was expecting you’d call me once every three maybe four days to let me know you were alive and thinking of me! I didn’t even want a long conversation. All I wanted was to hear your voice and be reminded that I meant something to you, but I obviously don’t mean a thing. And I should’ve known better than to think I did.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is!” she cried, her voice cracking. “If you cared about me then you wouldn’t have ignored me for a month. No. You know what, better yet . . . if you cared about me, I’d have your fucking number, but I don’t, because you can’t trust me with that. You don’t respect me enough to think I'm deserving of your number. And I get it, now I get it. I'm just a fuck. That’s why you’re the one that calls, that’s why you’re the one that says when works for you and then I have to accommodate my life so we can spend time together, and that’s why . . . that’s why you showed up without calling, you showed up because you thought that even if I had plans, I’d cancel them to spend time with you. But guess what? I'm not catering to you anymore. You can fuck off.”

“You don’t mean that. You’re just upset. You think you saw me –”

“I don’t fucking think that I saw you kissing her! I know I did.” She paused before adding, “And even if I hadn’t seen that picture, I still wouldn’t want to continue whatever it was we had going on. I'm not the type of person that’ll let someone ignore them for a month and then roll out the welcome wagon when they decide to come back. I deserve better.”

“You do!” he agreed. “And I’ll give you my number, it’s –”

“I don’t want your number!”

“But you were just complaining about not having it.”

“I know I was, but I don’t want you to give me your number because I complained about not having it. I wanted you to give me your number because you wanted to give me your number.”

“Why are you making this so complicated? Just take my number.”

“I don’t want your damn number!”

“Then what do you want?” he yelled, the vein on his neck throbbing. “What the hell do you want? You’re just standing there, going on and on about how I didn’t call. Guess what? I messed up. I messed up big time, and I'm sorry. Alright? I'm so bloody sorry. But you just need to stop being so stubborn and get over it.”

She was so livid that she was rendered mute for a few minutes, and Harry foolishly mistook her silence as a positive.

“I get that you’re royal and that you’re used to having people bend over backwards for you, but you have no right to tell me how to feel.” Her voice was soft, but even though she wasn’t screaming anymore, her words still had the same intensity. “And you know what? You’re gonna miss me. And even though I hate to admit it, I'm gonna miss you, but that’s alright, I'm fine with being a little miserable if it means I get to keep my self respect.”

“Self respect? How would being with me ruin your self respect?”

“I wouldn’t respect myself if I was with someone that’ll ignore me for a month at a time or that’ll be to busy to remember my existence. That’s how being with you would ruin my self respect, Henry.”

“If you’re not gonna be with me, you can’t call me Henry.” He threatened.

“Farewell, Your Royal Highness,” she curtsied as the custom dictated, and then stormed off.

He should’ve gone after her. He should’ve apologized a hundred more times and sworn that he’d never forget to call her again, but she’d injured his pride. She’d told him off worse than anyone had ever done, and his pride refused to let him chase after her, even if his heart was crying out for her.