My Rockstar's World

Chapter 28

He fucking lied. They always fucking lie. He's no better than the rest.

I take a long sip out of a bottle of wine. I've already used the few glasses that we have, and I'm not in the fucking mood to wash dishes.

The only good thing Bawdy actually did was give a bunch of alcohol when he had Macy drop stuff off for me a week and a half ago.

Here I was thinking that I could trust someone. The only person I can trust in this world is myself, but I don't even think that's true at all times. I can't trust my taste in men apparently.

I open my phone and stare at the countless pictures that have been posted of him cozied up to girls in Miami. A couple pictures of him with fans would be fine. But he straight up has girls sitting on his lap in clubs and taking pictures kissing his cheek.

Sure, those could just be fan photos. I guess. If I want to be really naive about it. But the pictures that really sent me over the edge were those of him walking into a hotel with a girl and out with the same girl the next morning, and she's in the same fucking clothes. Her walk of shame made me feel shameful for ever thinking someone so hot and famous could just settle with someone like me.

Those pictures didn't come out until the weekend, so I thought everything was going great. He used the vibrator on me another night. I got hired at the photography place that I interviewed with and had my first day yesterday. I did well on my exam and made it to all of my classes last week.

Everything was going great until it wasn't. I think I'm the problem. I must have pissed someone off and am now embarking on a life of karma. No matter how good things are going, I'm only going to think about how I'm going to have an inevitable downfall.

What goes up must come down, right?

I fell so hard that my body almost ended up buried six feet under. I'm still alive and moving, but I feel dead inside. Numb.

Bawdy flew back on Sunday, and it's now Wednesday. I've successfully avoided him and just told him that I was busy. I can't confront him, or I know I'll just scream my head off. As much as he deserves it, I need to be calmer.

I don't even want to look at him, because I know his sexy eyes will pull me right back in if I don't know exactly what I'm going to say to him. He has asked multiple times if things are all right and has tried to come over, but I won't let him. Flipping off my front door camera while walking in also probably isn't helping if he's watching, and I know he is.

A light knock on my door pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. Kennedy's soft voice comes through the door. "How are you doing?"

I try to hold back tears, but they break through as she steps into my room. "I'm so mad at myself for letting my guard down."

"It's not your fault," she says while wrapping her arms around me. "Why don't you start with putting this bottle down." She sets the bottle that I'm gripping like a life line on my bed side table. "And taking off his sweatshirt."

I look down at Bawdy's sweatshirt that is wet from my tears and the wine that I've spilled. Besides just being comfortable and large, his sweatshirt still brought me some comfort. It's like he's still hugging me in a pure and warm way, and that's all I want, but he went a ruined that.

I know Kennedy is right. I can't wallow about a boy while wearing his sweatshirt. I pull it off over my head and throw it on the floor. It joins the pile of clothes scattered everywhere.

"Can I get you anything?" Kennedy asks.

"A bottle of gasoline and a lighter. I need to burn that fucking sweatshirt." I reply with frustration and irritation.

Kennedy tries to hold in a laugh. "How about you don't commit arson while burning down the building."

Goddammit, Kennedy, always being logical and practical.

"I'll keep going back to it if it's still here."

Kennedy thinks for a second. "How about some scissors. Cut it up. Get your anger out. I should have told you sooner that he seemed like trouble. Giving you drugs and shit. That's not you, Gianna."

I knew that Kennedy wasn't a fan of the Adderall, and it slipped out of me while drinking how I had done coke with him. Although I can never be upset with him about those things. They were my decisions at the end of the day.

"Sure, scissors."

Kennedy leaves me with a pair of scissors, and I get to snipping away at his sweatshirt. Tears are filling my eyes, but I try to blink them away. Going from sadness to anger is questionably a better transition. Sadness makes me useless. At least anger can fuel me to do something. Perhaps not something good, but at least it's something.

I continue cutting up the sweatshirt while sitting on the floor. I look over into my floor length mirror.

I look crazy.

But I feel better.

I put the scissors on my nightstand and brush off the scraps of fabric fuzzies that are stuck to my pants. I kick the sweatshirt under my bed. I'll deal with it later.

Checking my phone, I see more messages from Bawdy and some missed calls. He knows that something is wrong. As he should since he's the one in the wrong. I can't keep putting this off, so I agree to let him come over to talk with me. Kennedy will at least be gone at a study group. I know that she'll kill me, or more so him, if she comes home and finds us together, so this is the perfect way to make sure that I don't let him overstay his welcome.