🍕banging these out like a motherfucker.🍕
I rush back to the rest room and sit on the couch again, waiting for the other men.
I watch the rest of the show and venture to catering.
I order a salad and sit by myself.
While eating, Randy slides into the opposite chair.
"Can we talk?" He asks.
"There's nothing to talk about." I mumble, poking at my salad.
"Yeah, there kinda is." He taps the table.
"There really isn't-" I begin.
"Yes there is! I felt something more than love at that moment, we're meant to be." He says.
"Randy-" I begin.
"No. I love you." He whispers, grabbing my hand.
"No you don't. You don't love me and I don't love you. You kissed me when you were drunk and you're holding on to the false thought that it meant something. It didn't." I yank my hand away and grab my salad, tossing it in the trash as I walk out.
Can I not get away from drama?
I wander until I find Dean and we drive back in the Durango.
I take the photo that I'm not suppose to open out of my pocket.
I flick it around in my hand as Dean drives through the night.
What am I suppose to do with this.
We arrive at the hotel and hurry in.
The men order room service and sit on the couch, watching tv.
"I'll be right back." I mumble.
I stumble towards the bathroom and sit on the bathtub ledge.
I take out the photos and examine the one with Dean and the other woman first.
I sigh as I reach for the folded up one.
I unfold it and another photo falls out.
I wave it off quickly and look at the first one.
Blurry and aged, I see its a photo of Bray and I.
He is giving me a piggy back ride and we both grin widely while running.
I groan at the photo, the happiness rushing back.
I smirk and turn it over.
In scribbled pen, it states as so.
"Lillian, I wish the times of happiness could have lasted longer than they did. Unfortunately, we live in a filthy, disgusting world. I think we are the only good people here anymore. I can't keep my sanity any longer. You're the only thing that's keeping me alive and I really really hope you're doing okay. I love you so fucking much and I'm sorry I can't find you. I love you. I love you. I love you. -An exerpt from a journal I made at age 17"
I awe.
I feel butterflies in my stomach and smile.
I put the photo on the counter carefully and pick up the other one.
In scribbled letters, it says
"Remember what truly matters."
I flip it over and the feeling shatters.
A beautiful family, really.
A short, blonde mother.
A brunette, tall father.
A toddler lies in the mothers arms.
An older boy stands, smiling.
A little freckled blonde girl is on her fathers hip, grinning and waving at the camera.
Her eyes crunch up with her beautiful smile.
She seems so happy.
Not anymore.
My god.
It's me.
