Star-Crossed ✔️

1

- 1 -

Some days, I wished I could just walk into a Walmart and purchase a pack of mini powdered donuts without hearing my own name.

I think I even preferred the blood-curdling screams of the girls outside of my hotel lobby or swarm of bodies that would lose a tooth just to get a candid picture of me at the airport. My bodyguard did a pretty good job of fending them off, but the few strays never ceased to catch me off guard.

But hearing my name in a hushed whisper while perusing the Little Debbies, only to look over to find some kid and their mom staring at me with saucers for eyes, when I was just trying to get tour munchies? I hated it. For once in my God forsaken life, I'd like to just blend in. Of all of the places in America, I would think I'd be able to have some sort of anonymity at a Walmart at two in the morning.

I waved curtly, forcing a tight lipped smile despite my exhaustion. The girl, maybe eleven or so, waved back eagerly. She timidly approached me, her mom lingering back with her phone already in the air.

"Hi," she said, her voice wavering with emotion. "Can I get a picture?"

Of course, I'd never deny a picture or a hug. The stories of other celebrities snubbing their life-devoted fans over a picture, especially minors, made me sick. I nodded and stuffed the donuts back on the shelf, holding my arms out for her. This part I didn't mind as much. The kid was sweet and clearly wasn't a money seeking tabloid writer.

It's just . . . sometimes a guy wants to buy fucking donuts in peace.

I buttered them up, giving the impression that I certainly wasn't burdened by their interruption, just so that the mom could make some bullshit Facebook post about how I was so real and so genuine and just like us.

Before I'd even gotten the second pair of automatic doors to slide open for me, I had a cigarette resting in my lips.

The American leg of my tour started tomorrow. I had thought of everything I'd like to have on the bus, but I just couldn't sleep until I came out and got these donuts. If I was being honest with myself, that was probably a mix of the jitters and the Adderall, but I was rarely honest with myself.

My phone rang in my pocket. There was only two people who would dare call me this late: Joey, my manager, and Dustin, my best friend.

It was Dustin, thank God.

"Yellow," I greeted monotonously, sliding into my car while trying to ignore a homeless man staring at me like I was Ghandi.

"Dude," Dustin breathed into the phone. "Dude."

I locked my doors, a bit suspicious of the scraggly man that was inching slowly over to my Beamer with crazy eyes. Deciding I didn't want to find out what his intentions were, I pulled out of the parking lot, still ignoring Dustin on the other end.

"Dude."

"Yes, Dusty?" I said sweetly.

"Did you know that the drummer from Freefall is coming to your show in Memphis?" he asked and I knew his head was probably going to explode. "Can we . . . Can you do the thing?"

'The thing' was basically just DM'ing the drummer from Freefall, an indie rock band that Dustin had idolized since before they first appeared on the charts, and asking if he wanted to come hang backstage after the show. I had done the favor for my best buddy a few times, each time being worth it just to see him blush and bask in the glory of his favorite celebrities.

I wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it.

"Anything for you, sexy," I said with a grin.

Dustin had come on tour with me every year. I had only been doing music for four years now, having not been my original spotlight. I was acting since I was six and then I posted a stupid cover of me singing a basic ass song when I was nineteen and the world went crazy.