The Wild Popstar

Chapter Thirteen: The Confession

She was lying alone on the beautiful mahagony wood bed. There was a table with exquisite carvings and a polished look that made it outshine any other piece of furniture in that room. The last twenty-four hours had been very eventful. But right now, it was very quite. Too quite to be precise. The teenage popstar sat there on the grandé bed trying to reflect on the events to find out what had led her to behave so erratically. The entire thing was so messed. Guilt was eating her up. She wanted to do nothing more but go and confess, but fear was playing his own game. The fear of being rejected.

She knew that the moment they realised that she was the culprit, it'd never be the same. Liam was right, she was a bitch. One Royal Bitch. She had betrayed their trust in her. Loyalty and trust are the main foundations of friendship. She had failed at both, and for what? Some pitiful revenge. It wasn't even revenge. She had felt barely any satisfaction, it was guilt and only guilt that ruled her emotions. She had not dared to touch her phone out of the fear that the management would have called or probably one of the boys had left a message.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered to herself and then she started sobbing. Her head was rested on a silk pillow, which now had stains and blotches over it. The girl cried to herself for five whole minutes until she heard a knock. She looked up at the door but didn't respond. It was one in the morning, who would be knocking at this hour? She wondered. There was another knock, this one, louder.

Picking herself up from the bed, she ran a hand over her crumpled outfit, then looked at the mirror. She looked like a complete mess. She tried to rub out the tear stains, but failed. In the end, she walked towards the door and opened it.

The door swung and hit the wallpapered wall of the hotel room.

"Do you open the door to anyone in the middle of the night without checking?" The brown eyed boy asked humorlessly. He looked tired. What was he doing here? She panicked.

"What do you want, Liam?" She left the door open and walked towards the bed before seating herself on the edge. He walked in and sat across her on one of the chairs.

"Are you still in a bad mood?" He enquired, trying to study her face. He noticed how quite the room looked and how her hair was messed, her dress crumpled and her eyes-puffy and red. Had she been crying over the fiasco?

"No, I'm fine now. What do you want?" Alexia asked, trying to keep the anxiety outside her voice. Did he know? Why was he acting so cool? Why did he come to her room in the middle of the night?

"Are you going to keep talking like that? I just wanted to see how you were doing, that's all." She looked at him, his eyes were honest and sincere. Her eyes glistened and her throat felt like it was being choked. She'd been nothing but an insolent brat and here he was, asking her how she was doing. She'd probably dented their career, but he was sitting there, caring for her.

"I'm good. I'm sorry." She was biting her lips to keep her from crying. She kept staring at the beige colored rug. Her eyes looked like an overfilled pool and her nose would remind someone of Rudolf. Liam knew, nothing was good. One glance in her direction and even a drunk could tell that she was distressed.

He got up from the chair and sat next to her on the bed. "Hey, look at me." He said softly. He slightly touched her chin. She withdrew herself from his touch. Although initially shocked, he withdrew his hand; clearly she still needed space.

"Lex, look at me, please?" She just shook her head in denial. He sighed softly. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

Almost unable to speak coherently, she still managed to choke out. "Why are you doing this?" The British lad was thoroughly puzzled. Doing what? He looked at her, but she was still staring at the carpet. It suddenly struck him.