Status: slowly progressing
London Love
Chapter 8
It had been a day and a half since anyone had seen Catherine. After getting back from the club she seemingly disappeared. She wasn’t answering anyone’s texts of calls. To be honest, it had Michael and the rest of his family worried. He sat on the bed in his hotel room, wondering what could possibly be wrong. He knew it was irrational, but he felt something for her, something he hadn’t felt for anyone in the past. She was intriguing, ambitious, intelligent, and so so beautiful. Debbie entered her son’s room to see him pacing the floor, clearly distraught and in deep thought. She had never seen him like this, and even though it may not be her place she had to do something about it.
Catherine heard a light knock on her door. She had spent the last day and a half lying in bed crying. Her eyes had dark circles under them. The other makeup she had worn to the club was smeared. She was wearing the bulkiest and laziest clothing she had brought. To be honest she looked and felt like shit. Another knock reached her ears, this one a bit heavier. She didn’t want to see anyone, especially not Michael. Rolled up in blankets she nestled herself further into the queen size bed.
“Catherine! I know you’re in there. We’re all worried sick about you,” Debbie said through the door. Another person Catherine didn’t want to deal with, but she knew she couldn’t be completely rude. Throwing her messy hair into a ponytail, she climbed out of bed and walked to the door, grimacing at her reflection. She gently opened the door to a worried Mrs. Phelps.
Debbie noticed her state of dress as well as the messy hair and running makeup and knew something was wrong. She pulled the young woman into a hug.
“You know I’m here, we’re all here if you need to talk. What’s going on sweetie?” The concerned look on her face nearly made Catherine start crying again. She tried to play it off as exhaustion and hormones but she knew that her excuses weren’t being bought. “Can I come in?” Debbie asked. Catherine nodded and stepped out of the doorway so Debbie could enter. They sat down and Debbie tried to pry the story out of the woman next to her. Catherine wasn’t in the mood to share though and continued to brush it off.
“You know, he’s worried about you. He’s been pacing the room wondering whether he did something wrong, bugging Ryan to see if he had upset you in some way,” Debbie informed her. She knew she wasn’t going to get any information but she had tried. “If you don’t want to talk to me about whatever it is, at least let Michael know you’re okay. She gently patted Catherine’s knee and then left the room hoping something she had said would reach her.
Frustrated and angry with herself Catherine headed to the bathroom for a hot shower where even she couldn’t tell the difference between her tears and the water.
Catherine heard a light knock on her door. She had spent the last day and a half lying in bed crying. Her eyes had dark circles under them. The other makeup she had worn to the club was smeared. She was wearing the bulkiest and laziest clothing she had brought. To be honest she looked and felt like shit. Another knock reached her ears, this one a bit heavier. She didn’t want to see anyone, especially not Michael. Rolled up in blankets she nestled herself further into the queen size bed.
“Catherine! I know you’re in there. We’re all worried sick about you,” Debbie said through the door. Another person Catherine didn’t want to deal with, but she knew she couldn’t be completely rude. Throwing her messy hair into a ponytail, she climbed out of bed and walked to the door, grimacing at her reflection. She gently opened the door to a worried Mrs. Phelps.
Debbie noticed her state of dress as well as the messy hair and running makeup and knew something was wrong. She pulled the young woman into a hug.
“You know I’m here, we’re all here if you need to talk. What’s going on sweetie?” The concerned look on her face nearly made Catherine start crying again. She tried to play it off as exhaustion and hormones but she knew that her excuses weren’t being bought. “Can I come in?” Debbie asked. Catherine nodded and stepped out of the doorway so Debbie could enter. They sat down and Debbie tried to pry the story out of the woman next to her. Catherine wasn’t in the mood to share though and continued to brush it off.
“You know, he’s worried about you. He’s been pacing the room wondering whether he did something wrong, bugging Ryan to see if he had upset you in some way,” Debbie informed her. She knew she wasn’t going to get any information but she had tried. “If you don’t want to talk to me about whatever it is, at least let Michael know you’re okay. She gently patted Catherine’s knee and then left the room hoping something she had said would reach her.
Frustrated and angry with herself Catherine headed to the bathroom for a hot shower where even she couldn’t tell the difference between her tears and the water.