August Skye

Part 2

My hands trembled uncontrollably, like leaves in a violent storm, as I gingerly nudged the bathroom door open. A world of uncertainty lay beyond the threshold, yet the sight that greeted me was far from my anxious expectations. There she was, seated cross-legged on the bed, her phone cradled between her shoulder and ear. A part of me wished fervently that she would be asleep, that I could slink away unnoticed as if the night's events were a mere figment of my imagination. But reality, as always, proved to be a relentless surprise.

I was too far out in the open to retreat back into the bathroom. And to my dismay, her mesmerising ocean-blue eyes had locked onto me the moment the door had creaked open. She was the living embodiment of every photograph I had ever seen of her, every interview I had obsessively watched, every album cover I had collected over the years. She was the one and only August Skye.

My mind screamed in disbelief. Holy shit!

"I understand," she murmured into the phone, her gaze never wavering from mine, pinning me in place. "Yeah—" A roll of her eyes betrayed her irritation. "Yesss... Yes, I understand. Phyl, I have to— Later. I have to go now. Bye!"

She ended the call abruptly, her full attention now on me. My throat constricted at the sight of a ring on her finger, and I found myself retreating, inching back towards the bathroom.

"Hi, Willow."

Her voice, soft and melodic, sent shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the room, effectively halting my retreat. It was a weird combination of a British accent she'd acquired from spending her school years in the UK paired with her American accent. Then I realised, she was speaking to me. She knew my name. "Uh—" I stuttered, my mind scrambling to remember how to form words. "H-Hi, uhm, August?"

A giggle escaped her lips as she gracefully hopped off the bed, her dark hair cascading down her back. She was barely dressed, clad only in a pair of lace underwear that left her toned stomach, long legs, and breasts exposed. Heat rushed to my cheeks and I quickly averted my gaze, my heart pounding in my chest like a wild drum. As she approached, her presence seemed to fill the room, and I found myself looking up at her, unable to see anything else.

I had always known she was tall, but standing in her presence, I realised just how much she towered over me. She was breathtakingly gorgeous, a vision of beauty that seemed almost unreal. And— I think I'm going to pass out!

"May I?" She inquired, her gaze fixated on my left hand. The object of her curiosity was the wedding band that adorned my finger.

I acquiesced, extending my hand towards her, allowing her to scrutinize the symbol of matrimony that ruined my life. Her touch was feather-light as if I was brushing against a cloud. It was a sensation that left me feeling as if I was floating. She traced the circumference of the ring with a gentle fingertip, a sigh escaping her lips as she retracted her hand and met my gaze once more. Her lip was caught between her teeth, a sign of her internal deliberation.

"Willow," she murmured, my name rolling off her tongue like a whisper in the wind.

A wave of panic surged within me. I could sense it coming, the inevitable rejection. She was a public figure, and this impromptu marriage could potentially tarnish her already suffering reputation. Furthermore, she wasn't even homosexual. The last thing she needed was a scandal revolving around an impulsive marriage to another woman.

The internet would explode with this news.

Her image would be irreparably damaged.

Thus, it was only logical for her to reject me now. I waited for it.

"Willow," She repeated my name, pulling me out of my tumultuous thoughts.

This time, I found my voice. "How do you know my name?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. It was such a foolish thing to ask, considering our situation.