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Okay, it’s Monday, and I had planned to post the Scars update on Saturday, but I haven’t had 2 minutes to sit down and write it. The craziness at work is intensifying, and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to continue at this break-neck pace, but I’m going to try. I’ll have the update done sometime this week, hopefully, but will not be able to post it until Monday, March 3rd. Thank-you all for your patience, and I hope you enjoy where I’m taking Peyton next.

The relief at being back in my own home was instant as soon as I unlocked the door to my flat. Sherman ran to greet me, meowing loudly as he waited to be picked up. He wasn’t used to me not being there, so my week-long absence had probably shaken him up. I immediately went into the kitchen to check his food and water situation, surprised to find they were both full.

“I’ve been checking on him,” Olivia explained as she set my bag on the kitchen table. “The poor little guy was starving when I checked on him the first day.”

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I can barely keep my eyes open as I write this, so I’ll keep it brief. The Scars update this week will be posted on Monday, rather than Saturday, as I’ve been working excessive hours lately due to the fact that I’m now working in two stores, an hour’s drive away from each other. I’m helping to manage another location because they’re very short-staffed and have no manager or assistant manager at the moment. I’m also in charge of the hiring for that location, and the training, etc… that goes along with a new employee. Needless to say, I’m beyond exhausted, and I haven’t had time to sleep, much less write. I’m off for 2 days this weekend, however, so I’m hoping to have the Scars update written then. Thanks for your patience, everyone, and I hope you enjoy where I’m taking Peyton and Orlando.

I spent the next few weeks fully immersed in my new book. Georgie had loved the pages I’d re-written, and that had sparked a desire to finally finish the damned thing. I wrote like mad for hours at a time, sometimes not even stopping to eat, and by the end of three weeks, I found myself at the end of the book, two weeks earlier than my deadline.

But that left me at loose ends, which I really hated. While I was writing, I could distract myself from thinking about Orlando and the stupid position I’d gotten myself into with him, but without my manuscript open in front of me, all I was left with was empty time and a mind all too eager to fill it with thoughts I really didn’t need.

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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?”

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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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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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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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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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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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