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“You are about to get on that podium and take your one and only gold medal. Don’t let that circus take that away from you, Alexa. Promise me!”
I nodded and I tried. I tried to put the world out of my mind and enjoy that moment as it came. As the British National Anthem chimed around the stadium, my head surpassed my heart in thought and I took my victory with pride and a Union Jack flag around my shoulders.
I let the tears stream down my cheeks as I dipped my head and felt the weight of gold medal. I had longed for this; I had spent my whole life working for this and yet it was tainted by her huge public betrayal.
The taste in my mouth was of bittersweet regret.
There was a celebration; I was there but also not there. I felt numb and could barely stop crying. Luckily most people just thought the gold medal had brought tears of joy and I let them think that. I sought out the news at every turn and watched the media circus unfold. I couldn’t go home; the media were there. I was politely put on leave from my job, which I think would have been terminated immediately had I not just won the European Gold. They camped outside Grandmama’s house for a few days but they got nothing, not even a twitch of a curtain.
I couldn’t face what would need to happen next. I knew an ending with Dahlia was coming. I knew that the day we started, but the moment we had murmured the words I love you… I guess I had naively gained hope for a different ending for us. Then, even without the promise of a happily ever after I had, in turn, hoped for something better than this. A drifting apart, perhaps. Lives moving in different directions. Stolen moments as we both now traveled across the world. She for her movies and me for my races.
That was all gone now and I had never felt so stupid. Of course, I had only ever been the barmaid. The woman paid to help. Dahlia had never loved me; it was clear now. Lust, yes, she had been swept up in a wave of lust and passion but love? The real love that could change a person’s path, alter the trajectory of their lives, overcome any barriers?
We had never had that.
Or if we had it, she burned it down with her southern sassy drawl that cut me to the bone.
Grandmama didn’t ask any questions. She pieced together the series of events from the socialite news bulletins. I avoided them but it was impossible to miss. Dahlia’s initial rejection of our encounter had stemmed the flow but failed to stop the bleed. The gossips didn’t let go quite so easily, and before long, there were more and more snippets, quotes, photos.
Many of them were of me in the hotel, which was nothing new. I worked there. One of me in her car. One of us hugging when I won gold.
So, she made another statement. Yes, we knew each other. Yes, we were friends but nothing more. Acquaintances if anything, and she had taken an interest in my career, admired my talent on the track. She hadn’t realized I was a lesbian. She hadn’t realized that supporting me must have meant she must be in a mad lesbian affair with me…
My only comfort was that these were released as text statements. I didn’t need to hear her say those words about me. I didn’t need to hear her voice denying me over and over again. I only had to see them written on the screen. Repeated over and over again.
The only contact we had—if it could be called contact—was the delivery of my belongings to my grandmama’s. Although I wouldn’t say they were mine to begin with. Boxes of sports gear that I had worn once. Lingerie that had been purchased for long nights and lazy days. None of these things belonged to me, Alexa Sharpe. They all belonged to a woman who no longer existed… The version of Alexa who loved Dahlia Dante.
The other delivery was to my bank account. A large six-figure sum. It came with a note, that even though the terms of our agreement were not fully adhered to Ms. Dante insisted on the payment. I didn’t touch the money, though. The very thought of it disgusted me.
I had signed a contract. It was full of rules and conditions and scenarios. It didn’t tell me what to do when I fell in love with her. It wasn’t a contract for love.
The only thing that I had left, the only thing that I could cling to, was my sport, my running. So, I dove in once more. Andy floated the idea that I should look for a new coach, that he wasn’t good enough to train me through the next stages of my career.
My life was changing. From the extra publicity with the Dahlia thing, combined with my gold medal and new world record time, I was suddenly a big deal. I had signed a huge sponsorship program with a brand I couldn’t afford a few weeks ago. They had given me a PA to organize my meets, my calendar was now full of training, meetings, travel, endorsements, photoshoots, appearances.
The hotel didn’t need to wait until the storm passed to fire me. I quit before they had the chance. I wrote an email to Milly telling her I wouldn’t be back to the house so she could take whatever she wanted and sell the rest. She didn’t reply and I wasn’t that surprised.
Grandmama had constant worry etched into her kind features. I hated myself for aging her, for making her feel all this stress. It was the last thing I wanted, but the sadness, the intense feeling of loss… I just couldn’t shake it. I carried it around with me in everything I did. I felt like it would slow me down, that I must be running slower, that I had lost everything.
But the opposite was true. The slower I felt inside, the faster I ran. I was running the best I ever had in my life. No one could catch me, no one could even come close and I clung to that; it was the only anchor I had left.
Of course, I rang Dahlia. Or at least I tried. In the middle of the night when I could feel her skin on me, taste her on my tongue, feel the tangle of her limbs with mine… My heart denied me the sanity of clear thought and argued with me that what happened wasn’t true.
I felt again like our love was real as the moments of infinite tenderness we had shared were vivid in my mind. That Dahlia Dante had said she loved me too and meant it.
So, I called her. I text her. Again and again and again. But she never answered. And then, a few weeks later the phone never even rang. The texts didn’t deliver. The line just cut to disconnected and that is when I knew for sure.
It was over. Dahlia Dante had moved on, so I had to find a way to, too.
18
Ifelt like a reluctant participant in my own story, living in the grey and watching from the sidelines. I was numb to it all—no highs, no lows, just existing. I think I could have continued like that forever, but I was not alone.
My grandmama gave me a month. A month of mourning and she told me that was more than fair.
“Look, Alexa, you have had your heart broken. You fell in love with a woman who just wasn’t ready to love you. I feel for you, I have never felt that. I only know love ending because it was time to end and even then, it carried on in my heart. But she didn’t choose that path. For you, I am angry but for her, I feel sad, she must be very lonely in her life. Far more alone than you can ever be because you have people who love you… for you. But more importantly than that, you love yourself and you have stayed true to yourself. That is not the easy path, but the one you chose and I admire you for that.”
I feel the tears in my eyes rise and the sniffles begin. I’m not much of a crier. Mainly because I look awful when I cry, and whilst my life isn’t usually all sunshine and rainbows, I also don’t have a lot to cry about. I’m generally a happy person.
