Even Heroes Have Scars

[103] Lonely

Ansley's P.O.V.

Her family had practically ghosted me at this point. Matthew let me know when she was moved into rehab and offered to come visit me, which I refused. It had been weeks since I last saw Demi or any of the people in her circle. Weeks since I left L.A. Weeks since I felt like myself. Everything had changed, and reasonably so. I wasn't using drugs or anything, but I was going to bars for the ambiance. The crowd, the laughing, the music, the occasional flirting. The only person I ever held out for no longer had any interest in me, not even as a friend, so I had nothing else to lose. It reminded me of the mental state I was in after Demi left for her world tour in 2014, how I bar-hopped into Scarlet's arms, how I became recognized by the bartenders, how I chained out one addictive behavior after the other until I became bored of the unpredictability. Some may have thought that me being around drugs and alcohol would've been a trigger, but it honestly wasn't since I had no emotional connection to the people. It was different watching Demi use.

"You've been here for an hour and still haven't ordered anything. Let me buy you something fruity," a girl whispered to me as she leaned against the bar I was sitting at.

I forced a chuckle and clutched my phone in my hands. "I'm not drinking tonight," I told her.

She nodded. "You waiting for someone?" she asked as she motioned toward my phone.

I stammered, "Uh... no. Not exactly. No. Just killing time." I shoved my phone into my pocket.

The girl was really pretty, like a model or former prom queen. Her beauty reminded me of Demi, made me both intrigued and upset at the same time. People danced around us, and all I could think about was how this girl's flirtatious smile was almost as perfect as Demi's. Almost.

"Killing time until when?" She seemed interested in me at this point.

I shrugged. "Until I decide to go home, I guess."

She looked around. "You want company to go home with?"

Knowing Jacob was spending the night at a friend's house, I took the girl up on her offer. Now was as good a time as any to move on, as I'd been single for a few months at this point. It was both horrific and freeing. No emotion was attached to the situation other than missing my ex. I wasn't sure if it was better or worse for me to be thinking of her while this occurred. On one hand, it was comforting, but on the other hand, it was like I'd swallowed ice shards, clogging my airway and making my chest heavy. But I also knew this girl didn't deserve to have me thinking of someone else while we fucked.

"You look really familiar," she told me as we laid there afterwards, chests still heaving.

"I've gone to that bar every day this week," I said. "Maybe that."

She scrunched up her nose and shook her head. "I don't think so. I haven't ever been there. It's gotta be something else."

"I don't know."

"I'm here on vacation. You didn't use to live in North Carolina, did you?"

I shook my head. "Never been."

She continued her pondering for another few seconds. "Are you famous?"

I shrugged. "I guess you could say that." I didn't even care if the world knew of my newfound promiscuity. Not like I had many fans anymore anyway, as the album hype was absorbed by the O.D.

"Oh, I know! You're that girl that dated Demi Lovato, aren't you? She used to live here. Didn't she die?" She had way too much excitement as she said that chronically painful dialogue.

"She didn't die. You should go."

I barely gave her time to pee after sex before I got her an Uber.

She never gave me her name, and I never asked. And over the next week, three more girls had similar interactions with me. It was becoming a habit, giving mysterious flirts until a girl came home with me, then asking her to leave as soon as she recognized me.