"Are you sure about this?"

"No, but I can't put it off any longer."

"You know we can change that. A meeting with the Board of Directors will have you re-contracted within hours."

"I need to do this."

My boss, Charles Worth, stood in the doorway to my change room. "You don't have to do this, Troye."

Sighing, I turned around to face him. "If I put if off any more than I have to, I'll only be becoming the thing I said I never would."

Charles came over to me. "There's no rush for you to leave. Everyone loves having you here. You're part of the family."

"I love being here," I replied, "But my time here is over."

My heart tugged sorely in my chest at my words. I didn't want to leave England any more than I had to but delaying the process would only be delaying the inevitable.

For the past four years I'd been working in London at Gentry Model Management, the upcoming global modelling agency owned by entrepreneur, Charles Worth.

Charles had started the company when he was only a teenager. Since then, it had risen as one of the world's leading modelling agencies and had a net worth in the millions. It was truly an honour to be working for such a successful visionary.

When I'd first met him, Charles had been in the U.S to open new offices in New York and Los Angeles. Upon signing with him, he'd been surprised at my adamant insistence on working in England.

"Troye, we have positions in your city," he had said gently. "You don't have to leave your home for this job."

I'd told him, "I need to get out of here. If there's any position available in London, please let me have it. I'll work every day to prove to you that you made the right decision, please."

He must've heard the desperation in my voice because he'd looked at me sympathetically with nothing more than, "Okay. We can make that happen."

A month later I was packing it up and flying transatlantic to live in a new city, in a new apartment, with a new job.

My family had been reluctant to see me go. My older sister, Aria, hadn't been as devastated as her own job required her to travel a lot. My parents on the other hand had been a wreck.

"You don't have to go," Mom had cried sadly, holding me in her arms as we said goodbye at the airport. "We can move to a new town, a new state, whatever you need. Just don't move all the way across the ocean."

"Mom," I'd said softly as I gently pried her hands off me. "I need to do this. I promise, as soon as I do what I need to do I'll be back."

That had been a partial lie, for I wasn't sure if I'd even wanted to return at all. Part of me was dying never to come back here but I knew it wouldn't be that simple.

Mom had been a mess of tears and crumpled tissues. My father on the other hand had been stone cold.

He'd stood tight-lipped and firm. His mouth was a straight line and his jaw was set. He had eyes of steel and his rigid posture was angry and unyielding.

It wasn't as though he didn't care I was leaving - he did, immensely - but rather the reason as to why. He knew what had caused me to make this decision and his anger and pain was written into his body language.

"Dad." I'd said.

He had looked down at me. "You know how I feel about this."

"I do."

"And you know what I'll do if you just say the word."

"I know that too, but I've told you it's not necessary."

"You don't have to go, Troye," he'd told me. "We can figure this out as a family. You don't need Ja-"

"Please." I'd breathed heavily, closing my eyes shut as soon as memories began to swell in my head. "Please don't."

He'd looked at me with sympathy. There was anger and hostility in his expression but I could see further into his eyes where his real emotions lay.

Pain. Fear. Sorrow. Hopelessness. He couldn't help me and it pained him. His child was hurting and he couldn't do anything to take that feeling away.

It must've felt like he was trapped at the bottom of a sinking boat, but he wasn't the one that was drowning.

"I get why you're leaving, I do," he'd said. "But just don't forget all the ties that connect you to here. You'll always have a home here Troye, no matter who it's with. And when the day comes that you're ready to find it again, I'll be waiting with open arms."

"Dad," I'd choked out softly. "Goddamnit."

He'd pulled me into a fierce hug, Mom still trembling beside us. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him as if it would physically hurt me to let go.

Because it did hurt, but I'd found that pain was becoming a familiar sensation to me.

The reason for my leaving was known in our family. I'd given them the full story when I'd broken down in my parents house at three o'clock in the morning after it was finally all too much. My parents had held me as I cried, deep heart-wrenching sobs of all the things I'd bottled up then.

Mom had cried with me, her heart breaking the same way mine did as she knew she could do nothing but hold me as I let it all go. Aria had teared up beside us as Dad held us altogether, knowing I couldn't do it myself anymore.

There were too many and not enough feelings that night. It had started out as a numb ache before dissolving into a full-fledged agony that had me pounding on my parent's front door in the middle of the night.

Aria had been home then and came rushing over as soon as Dad made the call. There they listened to the story I gave them, from everything that had happened between New York and Maine. When it was all over I'd simply let myself succumb to the silence as I let the ache settle deep in my core.

London had numbed it, but a disease in the bones was a battle that was already won.

In my four years in England, Aria had visited me several times as her schedule allowed it and my parents twice. The last had been for New Years where I had proceeded to tour them around the shinings of London in the festive season. Their presence was enough to warm the chill in my core long enough to celebrate the holiday season.

Now, four months later, my contract was up and my flight home was scheduled to leave the next morning.

Charles came over to me from the doorway, stopping short beside my vanity. "You know you are always welcome here," he said, and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. "As a model, and as a friend."

I nodded up at Charles - we had skipped the pleasantries long ago, at his insistence - and smiled softly. "Thankyou Charles, you've done more than you could ever know."

"I just hope that you found what you were looking for," he said sadly. "The thought of you leaving here unsatisfied makes me ache."

Long ago, on a night we'd stayed too late at the office working on a special issue of the magazine, Charles and I had gotten tipsy and crossed a few lines in our friendship.

It had been the night of Thanksgiving. I was tired and alone and Charles' family lived in Manchester. He'd had too much work to be able to go home for the holiday so he'd chosen to stay and refine the details of a large photo shoot with me.

It had been a quarter to midnight when we popped the second bottle of tequila. I'd had fewer drinks than he but Charles held his liquor better than I could. I was in a hazier state than he was.

One moment we had been laughing over an extreme close-up gone wrong when suddenly I'd felt lips on mine.

It took me a few seconds but I was sober enough to comprehend what was happening and when I did, I said nothing in response.

Charles had taken this as approval and leaned in to kiss me again. It wasn't pushy, just curious. He was gentle and asked before crossing every border.

We hadn't been kissing for more than a few minutes when I'd pulled back with a sad smile, saying, "I can't do this."

Charles cleared his throat and backed off. "Troye, I apologise. Truly. That was not professional and as your superior, I should have known better."

"We crossed the lines of professionalism as soon as we cracked open the first bottle." I'd told him. "I have no problem with moving past this if you don't, as long as we can reclaim our professional attitude afterwards."

Charles had agreed. I could tell he was nervous; he was a boss drinking alcohol with his employee in the office after hours who he had now just kissed. It was out of bounds, but we were both to blame and I wasn't about to take the situation to Human Resources.

Since then we'd had an easy and loving friendship. We joked around with each other but kept it professional in the workplace at all times. He never had a hand that strayed too far and I never had the desire to seek out a second round. We became friends, and I knew he genuinely cared for me as one.

That night was also the first time I made a promise to myself.

When Charles had kissed me, it had taken my mind all sorts of places. The first had been to register what was happening and with whom, and the second had been the horrible aftertaste burned in my mind.

It wasn't the literal taste that left my mind scorned. It was rather the what.

At that point, I hadn't kissed anyone in a little over a year. Kissing Charles, I remembered why.

My stomach churned as I'd swayed on my feet, the alcohol being nothing to do with it. It took a moment to come to fruition but when it did I realised I didn't like kissing or being kissed.

The literal action had my head blaring alarms at me and all I could think was stop stop stop.

I didn't want it. Any of it. It wasn't anything to do with the fact that it was Charles, more so as it was another person in general.

I hadn't been kissed for a long time before that. Charles' lips on mine made me remember why and it sent my body in a downward spiral.

When I'd finally gotten home that night, I'd lain on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I don't want that, I'd thought to myself. That didn't feel good. Don't make me do that again.

It was simple, or so I'd told myself. From that moment onwards, I'd sworn to myself that I would never fall for another man again.

I had enough scars and bruises to testify to the fact that love brought more pain than it did happiness, at least to me. My last heartbreak nearly ended me. I knew I wouldn't survive another one. Not after-

It had been my mantra for the last three years. I'd turned down every potential date, evaded every near meeting, let go of every opportunity. The concept of who is Troye Evans? was lost to me long ago. I hadn't been me for a long time but I could start with being true to myself.

And I'd been true to it ever since and beyond.

"I wouldn't say I'm unsatisfied," I told him through the mirror. "Living in London for the past few years has helped to some degree. I just hope that feeling transfers intercontinentally."

"Any time it gets too much," Charles said, looking at me sincerely. "You're always welcome here. Just say the word and I'll have you on the next flight, anytime."

I shook his hand and smiled warmly. "Thankyou. Working for you has been incredible."

"I'm sure the crossing of our paths does not end here. We'll see each other again Troye. You're going back to your old agency, after all. We're partners."

Nodding, I said, "I can't believe they were willing to wait four years to re-contract me. They could've found someone much better."

"Any company that doesn't snatch you up are fools." Charles said. "No one compares to you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Charles." I chuckled.

"I don't need flattery. You're already mine, or at least, up until now you were."

I grasped his arm gently. "I'll be back."

"I'm already counting the days." he smiled back.

Making my way to the door, I turned around and stared at my dressing room for the final time. It wasn't anything special but it was where I had worked for the past four years. Leaving the company was a growing ache in my stomach that intensified as I walked down the corridor.

Out on the sidewalk, I hailed a cab for the journey home as it was already drizzling outside and the night air was chilly.