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I just wanted to give everyone a quick status update on Some Scars Never Heal. I’ve been crazy-busy this holiday season, what with work and family commitments, so I haven’t had the time to write that I would have liked. I have 4 days in a row off next week, though, and fully intend to prepare at least 2 updates in that time, so that I can continue posting once a week. Saturday, January 5th, 2008 will be the next update. Thanks for reading, and I hope you’ll all like the direction I’m taking the story in! Happy New Year!

It’s been a year since that phone call. I’m currently working in Toronto, in a new show that’s opening in November, called Spring Awakening. I’ve spent the past year with my family, renovating Dad’s house to make it my own, and really just relaxing. I miss Wicked, but I still see my friends from time to time.

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The next few days weren’t as bad as I’d thought they’d be. Orlando didn’t call, but then, I didn’t expect he would. I knew he’d be furious at what I’d left on his answering machine, but I didn’t care. I tried to push it from my mind and focus on my work and my friends.

About two weeks after I’d last talked to Orlando, Nick called me into his office at the theatre. We’d just finished a matinee performance, and I’d been looking forward to going home and relaxing before the evening show, but that thought went out the window when I saw the look on his face. I finished putting my wet hair into a bun on the back of my head, and followed him upstairs.

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Dr. Cuthbert came to see me while I was eating breakfast the next morning. He did a final check on my stitches, asked me a few questions, then said I was ready to go home.

Orlando arrived shortly after Dr. Cuthbert had left. He helped me get dressed, gathered up all of my things, and wheeled me to the waiting car in front of the hospital. He helped me in, and we went home.

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“I’ll just, um, go somewhere,” Lisa said when Orlando poked his head around the door. “I’ll be back later.” She hurried from the room.

“Hey,” Orlando said softly, not moving from the doorway. He was wearing black dress pants, and a navy blue sweater with a white button-down shirt poking out the top, and black dress shoes. He had a pair of sunglasses on his head, and his hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

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When I awoke, I wasn’t in my room anymore. It took me a minute to realize I was laying in a hospital bed, with an IV in my arm. There were bandages all over my arms, and I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. I tried to sit up, but my body protested, and I laid back against the pillows. Lisa was sleeping in a chair beside the bed. I reached over and shook her leg gently.

“You’re awake,” she said, giving me a sleepy smile. “You had me worried, you jerk.”

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I went home later that day to shower and get ready to go to work. I felt light and free, and there was a spring in my step as I walked up the back stairs to my apartment. I couldn’t keep the grin from my face as I unlocked the door and went inside.

“Well, well, well, look who finally decided to make an appearance,” Lisa teased as I threw my purse and keys on the coffee table. “Do I dare ask where you were all night?” The dirty grin on her face said she knew exactly where I’d been and what I’d been doing.

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By the time we pulled up in front of the apartment building after dropping Adam at his place, and made our way past the few lingering photographers to get inside. I hurried up the stairs to change out of the white peasant skirt and tight green blouse I’d been wearing. I wanted to be more comfortable and less dressed up. I threw on an old pair of jeans, and, for some reason I can’t explain, Orlando’s green sweater over top of a white t-shirt. I dabbed some perfume on my neck and wrists, touched up my make up, pulled my hair into a ponytail high on my head, and went back into the living room.

“That’s a bad idea,” Lisa said as soon as she saw me. “Do you really want to be wearing his sweater when you go with him? Isn’t that just giving him the wrong idea?”

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Another month went by much the same as the last had, and it all seemed to be a blur. We were heading into September already, and it would soon be a year since Orlando and I had spent our first two weeks together. It seemed hard to believe that so little time had passed, and yet it felt like it had been so long.

I didn’t hear from Orlando at all, not that I’d expected to. I forced myself to let him go, to stop obsessing about him, to get on with my life. I slept with his sweater under my pillow every night, and some nights I cried myself to sleep. The pain never seemed to change, it was always the same raw feeling that made me curl in on myself and squeeze my eyes closed against it.

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I didn’t talk to Orlando again for at least a month after our conversation that night. I went back to work, and really had to put everything I had into the show, just to keep from collapsing. Sleep was still sporadic for me, and I still cried far to easily, but it got easier as each day passed.

When the landlord of the apartment building Orlando and I were supposed to be moving into called me a couple of weeks after our phone call, I wasn’t exactly sure what to tell him. He wanted to know when we’d be moving in, and since I didn’t know the terms of the lease, or what the penalty would be for not standing by it, I just said I’d have Orlando call him as soon as possible. Then I spent the next two days in a fog so thick, I’m not even sure I went to work. The idea that our wonderful apartment was empty, and that we’d never get to live in it, was almost more than I could take, but I managed to get myself through it.

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