"You know one thing we don't have to worry about?" He asked, his torso leaning closer to tower over the table. His eyes were serious, hands folded under his chin.
"What?" I asked, hoping this would put an end to our bickering conversation.
"We will...
I have yet to write in my journal about last night.
I am no longer a virgin. My baby spitter has been blessed by the God of a man with the last name of Kiszka. I should specify - Josh.
I only have good memories of last night. After we had sex, he washed my hair and body for me and I did the same for him. We got out, dried off, and sat on the floor, conversing across the coffee table. Josh had the polaroid camera at the time, so I took a few pictures.
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I looked at them as I sipped on my coffee, the Vegas morning air refreshing and cool as it whipped around my hair. Josh's sweatshirt covered my torso and a pair of his sweats were a little big on my waist, but I was very comfy nevertheless. A blanket draped over my legs for extra warmth as I admired the bustling city atmosphere below.
Today, we have a "lunch party" - just a meeting, really - with some representatives from our label and a few other small artists signed under Republic Records. After, we're doing a smaller, more intimate show, our usual post-concert get-together, and then leaving for Phoenix in the morning. It's a five hour drive, just like the trip here, so it shouldn't be too bad.
Twitter was filled with pictures from last night of Josh and I walking on the sidewalk, his arm linked with mine. There was a few they captured of us in the rain, and even though my hair and makeup looked like a pile of fiery garbage, they were my favorite, just because of how happy Josh and I looked. I remember the feeling, clear as day. I hadn't even noticed how cold I was until I got inside the hotel - that's how carefree and happy I felt with Josh.
He makes me feel safe, a feeling that doesn't come easy to me. I felt so guilty knowing that I was lying to him every day, unintentionally, but that doesn't make me feel any better.
Sometimes I wonder why I even ran away in the first place. I was eighteen, which isn't really an excuse, but I definitely did not think it all the way through. All I knew was that I had to get away from the piece of shit that is Chris Felkner and the only way out of that contract was to literally "die." It sounded logical at the time - run away, stay with Anastasia, start over without the pressure of being America's sweetheart.
