Forbidden Fruit (Travis Kelce)

I wish I hated you

Arianna

Switzerland had become my sanctuary, the last place any media outlet would think to look for me. The serene landscapes and the quiet gave me the space I needed to clear my head and be by myself. I had rented a small, secluded chalet in the Swiss Alps, where I could retreat from the world and try to heal.

Despite the breathtaking beauty around me, I can't escape the thoughts that plague my mind. I miss Travis so much it hurts. Every morning, I wake up wishing things could go back to how they were, but I know there's no going back to normal after what happened. The whole situation has broken me in ways I never thought possible.

I want to hate him, to be angry and furious, but I can't. Instead, I feel a deep, aching sadness that refuses to leave me. There have been so many times I've hovered over the unblock button on my phone, wanting to hear his voice, to ask him why. Finally, I decide to unblock him, feeling a surge of relief at the possibility of reaching out. But just as quickly, doubt creeps in. I'm not ready for that conversation yet. The wounds are too fresh. With a heavy heart, I block him again.

In my solitude, I've poured my emotions into my music. I've written song after song, each one a reflection of the turmoil inside me. "I Hate Boston," "Good Looking," "Illusion," "The Wedding Song," "NASA," and "Houdini." It's ironic that my heartbreak seems to fuel my creativity, making me write some of my best music yet. But none of it matters. All I want is an explanation, a reason why Travis did what he did.

One afternoon, feeling particularly overwhelmed, I grab my guitar and start playing. The familiar chords provide a small comfort. As I look out the window at the snow-capped mountains, the words flow out of me effortlessly.

Hung all my clothes in the closet you made
Your shoes still in boxes, I send them your way
Hoping life brings you no new pain
I rearrange my memories, I try to rewrite our life

My fingers tremble as I strum the chords. Every note echoes the emptiness I feel inside. How did we end up here? I blink back tears, forcing myself to continue.

But no matter how I try to
And no matter how I want to
And no matter how easy things could be if I did
And no matter how guilty I still feel saying it

I wish I hated you
I wish that weren't true
Wish there was worse to you
I wish you were worse to me
Yeah, I wish I hated you

I choke on the words, my voice breaking. The guilt and sorrow weigh heavily on me, making it hard to breathe. I can barely see the lyrics through my tears.

Our shadows dance in a parallel plane
Just two different endings, you learn to repair
And I learn to keep me in one place
So close and yet so far if only we had known from the start

But no matter how I try to
And no matter how I want to
And no matter how easy things could be if I did
And no matter how guilty I still feel saying it

The chorus pours out of me like a confession. Each line is a lie I desperately want to believe. I pause, wiping my eyes, trying to steady myself.

I wish I hated you
I wish that weren't true
Wish there was worse to you
I wish you were worse to me
Yeah, I wish I hated you

As I sing the final lines, tears stream down my face. The song is a painful reminder of everything I've been through.

But as I look out at the snow-capped mountains, I feel a small sense of peace. Switzerland is far from the chaos, the perfect place to start healing. And even though my heart is shattered, I'm determined to find strength in my pain, to rebuild myself one song at a time.

I reach for my phone, dialing my manager's number. "Hey, it's Ari," I say when she picks up.

"Arianna, how are you holding up?" she asks, her voice filled with concern.

"I'm managing," I reply. "I wanted to ask if Dave can fly out to Switzerland. We have an album to finish, and I need other things to focus on."

"Of course," she says. "I'll make the arrangements. I hate to ask this right now, but do you still want to perform at the Super Bowl?"

"Yes," I say firmly. "I'm not letting this get in the way of my career."

"Even if the Chiefs make it to the Super Bowl?" she asks. "The chance is very high."

"Yes, even if that's the case," I confirm.

"Okay," she says. "I'll find choreographers for you, and we need to work on a set list. Remember, it has to be clean since it's network television."

"I'll work on it," I promise.

As I end the call, I feel a renewed sense of determination. I'm not going to let this situation define me. I'm going to rise above it and show the world what I'm capable of. And maybe, just maybe, I will find a way to heal along the way.

Author's note
I meant to post this chapter before the results chapter 🙃