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Once I’d submitted my After Midnight script revisions to Olivia, I locked myself in my bedroom with a pint of chocolate ice cream and a warm cup of tea. Orlando’s rejection haunted me, and I couldn’t even face my own apartment now. I needed to be alone, without even Sherman for company, to binge on food that was bad for me and thoughts that were worse.

I’m not sure how long I wallowed, staring mindlessly at the TV, with the sound off, ignoring the phone and Sherman’s pathetic whimpering outside the door, not even noticing that the ice cream had turned into a chocolate puddle in the carton. Orlando’s voice at the end of our call spun through my mind, and I played it over and over again, the vulnerability, the trust, the warmth, followed by the awkwardness and distance that had come so quickly.

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First, let me just say, the Scars update will be late this week. I’m in the middle of a six day stretch at work, which means I’ve been so exhausted, I can barely form words enough to make conversation in day-to-day life, let alone be brilliant when it comes to what I commit to the page (I use ‘brilliant’ very loosely here). I have some time off starting on Wednesday, so expect a new update by Thursday at the latest.

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Olivia was over the moon when I called her back and told her that Orlando was back on board. Listening to her prattle on about how wonderful I was, while slightly enjoyable at first, quickly started to grate on my nerves, which in turn made me feel very, very tired. I told her in no uncertain terms that I had to go, and went into my bedroom to get some sleep.

But sleep eluded me. I laid in my bed, with Sherman purring contentedly at my side, staring out the window at the sky that would never be completely black because of the light from the still-bustling city, waiting for the blessed unconscious to take over, but it just didn’t come. My mind whirred, replaying the things Orlando had said, the way his voice changed when he was being charming, the flush I’d felt at his admission that he wanted to meet me.

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Since my revisions on the After Midnight script had gone over so well, Marcus had insisted I do the bulk of the re-writes from now on, in exchange for a screenwriter credit when the movie was actually released and a decent salary. It felt nice to know I’d have such a hand in bringing my own work to the big screen, and made me confident enough in my own abilities again.

Of course, confidence wasn’t usually a problem, but the way Georgie had gone off on me over the pages I’d submitted, I was beginning to doubt my talent and my ability to do my job.

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My conversation with Georgie was fresh in my mind over the next week as I re-wrote the pages she’d asked for. I did everything I could to get into the mindset of my thriller again, from re-reading some of my favourite thrillers by other authors, to watching suspense-filled movies, to avoiding answering Orlando’s calls. I knew if I talked to him again, I’d turn to mush and my work would suffer some more, so it was best to just not pick up the phone when I saw it was him.

Amidst all of the stress of trying to get my work back up to my own standards, not to mention Georgie’s, and the temptation of picking up the phone every time I knew it was Orlando, I also had to deal with my mother. The term ‘bridezilla’ would be tame compared to the raving lunatic she’d turned into, freaking out over every little detail, being even more unpleasant than usual, if that were possible, and just generally making me want to shove her out into traffic every time she called.

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