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I’m not sure how long I sat there like that, but the sun had set when the phone finally snapped me out of my fog. I groped in the couch cushions for it, pressing the ‘talk’ button absently and holding the receiver to my ear.

“Dominique?”

I heard his voice as though it were far away. He sounded somewhat flustered, probably from the fact that I’d actually answered the phone this time, rather than letting it ring like I’d been doing for the last week. I took a deep breath, seriously considering just hanging up right then and there, but something in me craved the sound of his voice at that moment, just as a distraction from the awful emptiness that was swelling inside of me at an alarming rate.

“Yes, Orlando,” I said, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded. My face was wet with tears, and I felt like I’d swallowed a golf ball.

“Are you okay?” he asked immediately. “You haven’t been answering your phone, I was worried.”

Part of me wanted to smile, and part of me wanted to be disgusted at how needy he was sounding. But the truth was, it was nice to know someone cared whether I answered the phone or not, even if it was just someone I had an unrealistic crush on, and who’d never be part of my life in any real way.

“I’ve been sick,” I lied easily, figuring that would explain the difference in my voice. “I must have caught some of that flu that’s been going around.”

“How are you feeling now?” His voice was so full of concern, I felt a fresh wave of tears threaten to start, but I managed to hold them back.

“I’m really tired,” I answered honestly. “I hate being sick, it makes me feel like I’m not in control, you know?”

“I feel the same way,” he said, a bit of the urgency gone from his voice. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better, and that you picked up the phone.” He hesitated briefly, then added, “I missed you, believe it or not.”

Of course I’d missed him, too, but I would never in a million years admit that.

“It was only a week,” I pointed out.

“I know, but it was a very long week,” he chuckled, then he sobered. “Lauren moved out two days ago,” he almost whispered.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. After what had happened with my mom, the last thing I wanted to do was hear him bitch and moan about his girlfriend leaving him. I wanted to talk about something happy, to hear him laugh, and carry on a friendly, light conversation. I also wanted to ignore how my heart began to pound at the idea of him being single. I ran my fingertips over my scarred neck, just to bring myself back to reality. Thankfully, it worked and the excitement faded as abruptly as it had begun.

Luckily, I didn’t have to actually answer him, because he launched into a long-winded story about how they’d been fighting even more than usual over the past week, and how he didn’t even care enough to try to convince her to stay. He sounded oddly detached, and yet somehow wistful at the same time.

“I guess I miss her,” he said after he’d stopped for breath. “The house feels very empty without her constant noise, if that makes any sense. She always needed the telly on or a radio, or something, like she was afraid of silence. Now there’s never anything on, because I’m not used to flipping things on myself. Did you ever notice how silence can be really deafening sometimes?”

I sighed. “You have no idea,” I whispered. “Sometimes it’s oppressive to be in the quiet all the time, like the walls are closing in around you and any moment everything is just going to spontaneously combust. It feels like the calm before the storm, like the quieter it is, the worse whatever horrible thing that’s heading your way will be whenever it finally arrives.” I stopped, realizing I was prattling on about silence, when he was in the middle of talking about the demise of his relationship. I suddenly felt very rude, something I’m not used to feeling.

“You’re right,” he said, as though he were mulling it over, my tangent not seeming to bother him. “That’s exactly how it is right now, like the next bomb is ready to drop on me. I couldn’t have said it better.” He sighed. “I guess that’s why you’re the writer.”

I smiled, though he couldn’t see me. “I guess so,” I agreed. “So what are you going to do now that Lauren’s gone?”

He paused for a moment, the steady rhythm of his breathing the only thing I could hear.

“I don’t really know,” he admitted finally. “I knew this was coming, that we’d end up this way, but I wasn’t really prepared for it. My mates wanted to take me out and get me sloshed, in the hopes that I’d end up in bed with some random woman, but that’s not really my style, you know?”

“It’s not?” I failed at keeping the surprise out of my voice. The idea that someone as beautiful as he was didn’t want to take advantage of it that way was startling to me for some reason. I swore to myself I’d lay off the gossip rags.

He laughed at my reaction. “No, believe it or not, that’s not something I enjoy doing,” he said. “Well, I mean, I like sex, who doesn’t? But with a stranger I’ll never see again? I just don’t see the point.”

I really couldn’t say anything to that, not being experienced in that area. My reclusive lifestyle wasn’t exactly conducive to an active sex life.

“I suppose,” I said after a brief pause, for lack of anything else.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he said, misinterpreting my tone. He sounded the tiniest bit annoyed.

“No, that’s not it,” I said quickly. “I’m just not comfortable talking about sex, that’s all.”

“You’re not?”

I sighed. “It’s not in my top ten most favourite subjects, no,” I said quietly. I couldn’t exactly come right out and tell him I was a virgin, now could I?

“Can I ask why not?” He was intrigued now, and I was on very shaky ground.

“There are more interesting things to talk about,” I said, trying my best to be honest, but knowing that sooner or later, if this conversation kept going the way it was, I’d have to lie to him.

“No, there aren’t,” he disagreed, then chuckled. “I sound like a pig, don’t I?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You sound like a man,” I said.

“Don’t get me wrong, Dominique,” he started. “I don’t sit around and talk with just anyone about sex, but you have to admit there are times when, with the right person, it’s nice to discuss your fantasies and such.”

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? I’d rather talk about what my mom had said to me earlier than have this discussion with him. For some reason my lack of experience made me feel ashamed and somehow embarrassed. He talked like everyone in the world had sex, like it was more natural than breathing, and yet I was as frigid as they come.

“Dominique?” he pressed when I’d been quiet for too long.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit uncomfortable right now,” I admitted, feeling a hot blush spread over my cheeks.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said softly, his voice like melted butter. I closed my eyes and tried to picture his face, tried to match it to that tone, and I was very pleased with the picture my mind conjured. In my head, his eyes burned, so dark they were almost ebony in their intensity, and his lips were pursed in a half-smile that was intended to be playful, but only ended up being sexy as hell. His hair was slightly disheveled, his curls allowed free rein to play around his head. My stomach clenched at the image, and I quickly shook it away.

“It’s okay,” I said, when I’d gotten a hold on myself. “I guess you could talk to Lauren about things like that, right?” I wanted to bring him back to our original conversation, to get away from this topic before I became so overwhelmed by him, by his voice and by the pictures in my head, that I just blurted out what I didn’t want him to know.

He sighed again, more heavily this time. “Sometimes I could,” he said, the sexy quality gone from his voice, to be replaced by a sadness I didn’t like. I instantly felt bad for bringing it up.

“Sometimes?” I asked lightly.

“She was very fickle about that kind of thing,” he said, as though contemplating every word before he said it. “There were times when she was up for anything, and then there were times when she would clam up on me and either get angry or just walk away. It was beyond frustrating to be with someone who was like night and day that way.”

“I bet it was,” I said.

“Have you ever had a partner like that, Dominique?”

“I can honestly say I haven’t,” I said, relieved that I could answer truthfully.

“I hope you never do,” he said. “I’ll admit, I’m a sexual person, I like the intimacy, the closeness, and when the person that I love isn’t into it, it feels like rejection, like I’ve done something wrong. And she never seemed to care about that, about how what I wanted, or how she made me feel when she yelled at me for wanting to be with her.”

“That’s kind of selfish, isn’t it?”

“It seems that way, yes,” he said. “Maybe I’m just looking at it wrong, though.”

It surprised me how, even though they’d broken up, he still wanted to defend her, to turn the blame on himself so he wouldn’t have to say anything really bad about her. I wondered if I could ever do that, if I could ever want to protect someone from scrutiny like that, but I just didn’t have an answer.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting intimacy,” I said, in answer to his last comment.

“I guess not,” he agreed, though somewhat hesitantly. “We just didn’t seem to be on the same page where that was concerned, though.”

“You’ll find someone else who won’t be like night and day where sex is concerned,” I said, pushing away the desire to be that person as it flared up in my stomach. I doubted I would ever be open about sex, given that I didn’t even want him to see me with my clothes on, let alone without them.

“I hope so,” he said, and maybe I’m crazy, but his statement sounded very pointed, like there was something behind it, more that he wanted to say but wouldn’t. I decided that fighting with my mom had made me over-tired, and therefore I was hallucinating.

“You know what? I should probably go,” I said, getting up off the floor and sitting on the couch. My back and legs protested quite loudly at the movement, after being in one spot for so long. I winced and tried not to gasp as the physical pain started to pulse through me.

“Oh, okay,” he said, and he sounded disappointed. “Can we talk again soon?”

This was the hard part. I wanted to talk to him more, to hear his voice every day if I could, but I was afraid of what that would do to me again. I was vulnerable right now, and I needed the reassurance that someone gave a damn, but after that had passed, could I really keep talking to him without losing myself to ridiculous fantasies that didn’t have a shot in hell of coming true? He’d opened up even more this time, made it that much harder to turn my back on him and the way I was starting to feel. I had to make a decision about this, and I had to make it now.

“I’m actually going out of town for awhile,” I lied, seeing no hope for it. “I need some fresh scenery to help me write, so I’m planning an extended vacation.”

“Is there a number where I can reach you?” He was almost pleading with me now.

“Orlando, look,” I said, trying to be as nice as possible. “I need to be alone to get my work done, so I can’t give you the number. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to get a hold of me for awhile, okay?”

“If that’s the way you want it,” he finally agreed, after a pause that told me I’d upset him. “Will you ring me when you get back?”

“I’ll try,” I said softly, the tears starting to well in my eyes at the disappointment and hurt I heard in his voice.

“Take care of yourself, Dominique,” he said gruffly. “And don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“All right, Orlando,” I agreed, wanting to tell him I’d changed my mind and wasn’t going anywhere, but I knew I couldn’t do that. “Good-bye.”

“Bye.”

I disconnected the phone and stood up, stretching lightly and grimacing when my back sent ripping pain through me. But it wasn’t half as bad as the pain that was radiating through my chest, making me gasp for air.

I’d made the decision that was best for me, I’d pushed him away again, like I did with everyone else in my life, but this time it really hurt. I could deal with my mom not being part of my life because she was a bitch, and I could deal without my dad because he was a prick, but did I want to be without Orlando, without his beautiful voice and the way he made me feel? I felt wanted when I talked to him, like I never did with anyone else. I thought about what my mom had said only an hour before, and I wanted to pick up the phone and tell her how wrong she’d been. There was someone in my life who cared about me, and he was wonderful and special and genuine, all the things she’d never, ever have, especially with someone like Garret. I wanted to laugh at the shock I’d hear in her voice when I told her that Orlando Bloom wanted to talk to me.

But then I had a horrible thought. He didn’t know anything about the things that Mom found so disgusting about me, the fat, the scars, the inability to go out into the world. How would he feel if he knew about that? He’d already admitted that sex was important to him, so would he want to be with me that way? Would he be grossed out by the thought of touching me? Would all of his perfect words fade away when he saw how truly hideous I really was? I hated the idea, but I had the feeling there was more truth to my worries that I wanted to admit.

I went into my bedroom and gathered together my pajamas and a book, then went into the bathroom to start the bathtub. I needed the warm, soothing water to take away my pain, both physical and emotional. I wanted to forget the perfect man who didn’t seem so perfect anymore, but most of all, I wanted to forget the fact that I was falling head over heels in love with him, and couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.