They let her fall to the ground and shatter like a vase full of flowers. She was left alone to pick up the pieces. Now they are back and she's afraid of being broken again.
It started off as a manifestation tactic. I would repeat it to myself several times a day until it became a reality for me.
It took a month but now. I am feeling good. I am doing good.
And I am not just saying that to people to get them off my back. I really do feel good.
I feel great.
I am out of the first trimester of my pregnancy so I have said goodbye to morning sickness and hello to smooth sailing. The doctors have said everything is going well and I am thrilled.
I have taken up a position in my dad's company. It doesn't pay well but I am okay with that. I needed something to get me out of the house and back on my feet. Now that I am living back home with my dad, I need to make myself useful.
That is how I ended up as an assistant on this press tour. I run around and give directions to people after I get them from my dad. Sometimes I feel like a chicken running around with its head cut off but as long as the job gets done, all is well.
The crowd claps feverishly as the band steps out onto the platform. They take their seats and immediately get to the question and answer portion of the evening.
"Chris, a while back, we saw you in jail for a day with some nasty wounds on your face. Tell us about that. What is the real story."
"Well," Chris laughs and leans forward. "You already have the real story. That was just a well thought out publicity stunt created by our manager Drew. It was to promote our newest single, Fight For You."
The three boys break out into a harmony of the song. The crowd loves it. They go wild.
"You recently got back with your former label. How is that going?"
"Pretty good," Brad laughs.
"He has us preparing to announce a North American tour. We haven't done that in years." Brian adds.
I glare at my father from the other side of the stage. He knows as well as I do that they were not suppose to announce that today. My father looks worried but ultimately decides to let it go. They are handling it surprisingly well with no speeches prepared to answer their questions.
"It has only been a few years since you won the talent competition you were in. It completely changed your lives. How have you adjusted to life since?" Another reporter asks.
Brad answers first. "It's been great. We love music and what we do so it's easy for all of us. And we really are the best of friends." He looks at his band mates.
"I think we all miss our moms but it has been worth it." Brian chuckles.
Chris sighs. "Traveling around the world does not make it easy for romance. It's ruined some good things for me- for all of us, really. I'd do it all over again if I could."
He'd do what again? Leave me? Would he stay this time? Would he break my heart again?
"Chris! We noticed you have some tender things to say about romance. Is there anyone specific you are thinking of?"
He nods. "There absolutely is." He smiles, looking down at the table, scribbling something on a pad of paper.
Here we go.
"Can you tell us about her?"
"She is an amazing woman," he states simply, looking up but he continues to scribble.
"Who is she?!" The reporters gasp.
I shake my head, fearful he is going to tell the whole room about our long-ago romance as if it is still current. He will send every reported present after me. It will hit the internet in minutes. I'd be bombarded.
"I have learned from my mistakes in the past." He laughs. "Out of respect to her and her family, when it is time, you will know." He stands. Motioning for the other two to stand as well. "Thank you."
The three of them exit the stage before the agreed upon time while reporters still beg for answers on the mystery girl Chris speaks so highly of.
I grab Chris' arm as he passes me without even so much as a glance. "Hey," I stop him. "Thank you for not telling them my name or anything." I make sure his efforts have not been ignored.
"Oh, you thought that was about you?" He smirks, shoving a piece of paper in my frozen hand.
He leaves me, stunned.
I shake my head and uncrumple the piece of paper in my hand. Is this what he was drawing so intently out there?
I read it.
The words scribbled on the paper in his handwriting. They are traced over and over, the pen almost ripping through the paper because of the repetition.
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