Wilbur
It's been two weeks since I saw Eve. In person, at least. Each night has been the same; drinking until I can't stand up and then fall asleep as I scroll through my photos of her.
Maybe it's stupid, but I love her.
Loved?
No, love. I think I was in love with her after just a few days of knowing her, even if I insulted her every chance I got. Oh, what I would do to turn back the time. To never speak harsh words to her; the words she never deserved.
Since she's just announced her album, she's been having a million interviews. I watch each one, of course. Eve has cut her hair, now stopping at her shoulders instead of her chest. She's expressed that she hates it, but I think it's beautiful. She could have any hair style, though, and would look incredible. The public has picked up quickly that we're done. I haven't had any interviews recently, I haven't even left this shitty hotel since Eve kicked me out. Her interviews have given the answers, though. Whenever she's asked about me, she just dismisses the question. Fans have seen that she unfollowed me on Instagram, and apparently it's a thing for girls to cut their hair after leaving a relationship. And I guess the fact that I'm rotting away in this bed and haven't been spotted in two weeks adds to the fact that we're over.
I set my phone down in front of my leg and open up my notebook, lying it flat on top of the bed. I press the record button and lean back, placing my hands on my guitar.
"This is Cause for Concern. Obviously give it more guitar, drums, and trumpet, too. Uh, I guess it's really about how the girl in the situation could do anytning to me and I'd still be in love, or whatever. A bit stupid, but here it is."
"So what's it to you?
You're down another 8-ball
I haven't even got a cue
And you look dreadful
When you jump to what you'll resort to
Singing, "Chance, we ain't gonna hurt you"
When there's fuck-all else to do
You could eat the foam from the headrest
You could knock the wind out of my breath
You could kick the teeth into my head
There's no cause for concern
So what's it to you?
You're down another 8-ball
I haven't even got the cue
And you look dreadful
When you jump to what you'll resort to
Singing, "Chance, we ain't gonna hurt you"
When there's fuck-all else to do
You could eat the foam from the headrest
You could knock the wind out of my breath
And you could kick the teeth into my head
Still, there's no cause for concern
We ain't gonna hurt you
We ain't gonna hurt you
We ain't gonna hurt you
'Cause when there's fuck-all else to do
We could eat the foam from the headrest
You could suck the wind out of my breath
And you could kiss the teeth into my head
And still, there's no cause for concern
I said there's no cause for concern."
I pause for a second before ending the recording then I send it to the group chat with me, Joe, Mark, and Ash. The nice thing about running our own label is not feeling rushed to release anything, but we still wanna have our first EP out soon. I have a bunch of music written, but this is the first song I've sent to them.
I've had my phone on Do Not Disturb for the past few hours, so I checked my silenced notifications. As expected, I don't have any messages other than social media likes, other than a text from my manager.
David: Hi Wilbur, how are you?
Me: I'm here. What's up?
David: So, I know I'm not the manager for Lovejoy, but I am still your manager, so I need you to do something for me to help get the band's name out there.
Me: ?
David: There's an upcoming actress, Taylor Reed. Just go out on THREE dates with her. That's all I ask.
Me: I already told you I'm not doing that shit again.
David: I'm sorry but I'm not really giving you a choice here. She's meeting you for dinner tonight. Don't worry, she has a boyfriend and isn't happy about this either.
I leave his message on read and shut my phone off, letting out a deep breath and shutting my eyes. I wish I could just find a new manager, but I know every manager in the industry is the exact same way, usually even worse. At least, this time, he set a number for the dates. Three isn't bad, until I consider I have to actually leave this hotel room. I have to shower. I have to change my clothes.
I stand from my bed and set my guitar on its stand, stepping into the bathroom. I turn on the shower and stare at myself in the mirror, even more disgusted than usual by what stares back at me. The deep bags in my eyes, my greasy ball of hair, a full beard on my face. I strip and toss my clothes to the side before climbing into the shower, groaning as the hot water hits my body. I force myself to not get distracted during the shower and just hurry up and clean myself, washing my hair and body for the first time in a week. Disgusting, I know.
I stand in front of the mirror with my towel wrapped around my waist, carefully shaving my face. I look beside the sink, suddenly feeling sick as I see the hair cream and face moisturizer Eve gave to me. I use the moisturizer before drying my hair then using the hair stuff, still unsure of how much to use. I want to just text her and ask, but I can't. She thinks I hate her, but I don't. I should've checked the bathroom before leaving the place for a few days. But she hates me. She thinks I still love Connie, but I really don't. She hurt me too deeply, I could never love her again.
I pull on a plain shirt and pair of slacks, not caring about how I look. I go down to the lobby and head to my car, quickly finding the restaurant David sent me. I go on in and sit at the reserved table on the outside patio, right next to a railing where called in paparazzi will stand. I stare down at my phone until I hear a voice.
"Are you Wilbur?"
I look up and nod. "Taylor?"
"Yep," She sighs as she takes a seat across from me. She's pretty, I guess. Red hair, green eyes, nice enough body. But I'm sure no one will compare to Eve, at least not for awhile. "Sorry you got dragged into this."
I shrug and look back down at my phone. "Not your fault,"
Unlike Eve, Taylor doesn't care about acting for the cameras. We both sit and stay on our phones, looking up every once in awhile to talk to the waiter and eat our meals. Of course, a few camera men stand feet away from us, snapping away and yelling questions, but we just completely ignore them.
After I pay the check, we walk out and stand on the sidewalk until her Uber shows up. "See ya next time." I tell her, watching as she gets in the car.
She gives me a small grin and wave before closing the door. I walk to my car, glad to get in without getting harassed by any fans. My phone suddenly drops into the crevice between my seat and the console, making me curse as I have to reach down. My hand feels my phone and a small piece of paper, so I pick up both. My heart nearly stops as I read the note from Eve, remembering she gave it to me a few days after we started dating.
William~
USE THIS STUFF ON UR FACE !! It's magic. And ur face is too pretty to let it get gross. Teehee.
<3 <3 <3
Eve <3
I feel my breath quicken as tears flood my eyes, staring at her sweet handwriting and the lipstick mark she left on the paper. I fold up the note and place it in my pocket, taking a deep breath before starting my drive back to the hotel. In just the short time of being with this woman, she really fucked up my brain.
And damn it, I miss her like hell.
a/n: just a warning, i don't know toooo much about lovejoy, i've been a fan of Wilbur since 2019 but i'm just now getting into the band, so if i get stuff wrong i'm sorryyyy 🥲🥲 but this is also a fictional book so who cares lol
