Rhys wanted to be in disguise. For once. Maybe for good.
He didn't like being Rhys Ashworth anymore. He wanted to be anybody. Especially, Gilly when it came to one person. Never in a million years would he want to be his best mate ,Gilly. Gilly was his side kick. Gilly was just an after thought. Actually, Rhys found his face horse like and simple. Lets face it plain ugly. Who would want to be Gilly? But now, things were different. And Gilly was right where Rhys wanted to be.
He hated this. He hated the whole idea that his life could be turned up side down like this just for falling for the wrong person.
Beth didn't know this, but she had changed him.
He was a changed man because of her and she'd never know. He decided.
There were reasons he couldn't explain this to her. Instead he screamed at her. He did that when he couldn't face up to the fact that he had to let her go. He'd shove her away instead.
Wasn't that the way it was suppose to be. Shove the one you love, away.
He was in a melt down. And the village was in an early frost. The fog had left ice on the trees in the park. Was it a sign of things to come? Would this be the worse year ever?
If he had a lager in his hand, maybe he could face tomorrow. He was that way. Just hanging out at the pub. Away from Dad at the shop.
Again, it was questioned, "What are you going to do with your life, Rhys?" His Mum wouldn't give up. Dad wasn't much better. That is if he could even call him Dad anymore after the truth he'd learned the last few months.
There was no liking anything about his life anymore. It was a fact. He'd been screwed. And he'd screwed up with Beth as well.
And she had Gilly now.
This was not looking good. He was the one always on top. He was the one the birds flocked too. But now. That didn't much matter. Nothing much mattered anymore.
All he could do was shove his hands in his pockets keep his head down and hope to weather this thing. This miserable thing that had him around the throat. He could barely breath without Beth on his mind.
She was the one. Really. Like a knife it cut deep in his heart. Would it ever matter what he did now. The ache clung to his limbs. Every move he made was heavy and impossible to shake. He needed to get away. But how?