BUBBLEGUM BITCH

Chapter 2

It's been about a week since Marina tweeted, but I just can't come to terms with the fact that she has enough nerve to do that to me...to our fans. There are so many fans that want us to be best friends and Marina just had to go and ruin it all over the Internet. My manager called me, out of breath, trying to explain to me Marina's tweets, but I told him I completely understood and hung the phone up in anger. I'm just frustrated of Marina's shit and so is he. He arranged for me to meet with her later tonight and I only agreed for the fans; if it wasn't for them, I would tell her to go fuck herself, I wasn't wasting my time on her. I take a deep sigh and throw myself on my bed, tonight was going to be a long night, one hour will probably feel like five.

It's four o'clock and I have to meet Marina in an hour. The side of my stomach began to ache and so I crouch in a ball for a few minutes. Barrie texts me 'Good luck xox' and I shoot him a quick "Love u", the pain felt too bad to focus on anything but my slowly approaching horrible night. The pain is starting to almost feel like bullets being shot into my sides. Why would Marina even say yes to meeting me? To humiliate me? To ruin my life in some sort? And why the hell did I not think of this before I agreed to the whole meet up? Now I have to put up with this dinner not knowing what sort of shit Marina is going to pull.

I sacrifice the comfortable position i'm in, getting up for the numbing cream. I clutch my stomach tightly reaching for it, I've never had this sort of pain before. It was so sudden, so unusual. I take a dab of the soft cream and set it on my sore spot. It instantly numbs the insides that were screaming at me and numbs the skin on top. This must be a side effect from agreeing to meeting with Marina.

I fiddle with my loose hair and tie it into a loose braid like I did last week at the Brits. Marina must be at the restaurant by now so I decide to pack my purse with more numbing cream and head out.

I arrive at the restaurant and pay the taxi driver. I was surprised, this restaurant looks high-class. Two nicely dressed men gladly open the doors for me and I walk in, getting closer and closer to Marina with each step I take. There were chandeliers that draped down with white curtains tied at both ends. The walls were a color of beige which made the restaurant look much more expensive then it really is. The whole place was dim lighted and the smell of tomato sauce lingered in the air. "Table for one?" asks the man at the front counter. There is a slight accent hinted in his voice. Was it French?

"Um," I say, "No. I'm waiting for someone. Did one of the people for our reservation walk in yet?" I ask. Marina might've came, but I look around and I don't see here so it doesn't seem so.

"Your reservation name?" he asks. Yes, it is a definite French accent in his voice.

"Diamandis?" I ask. His eyes scan the list and he shakes his head saying there is no reservation for Diamandis. "Grant?" I ask. "Elizabeth Grant? Marina Diamandis?"

"Oh!" the man says. "Right this way!" He leads me to a darker room instead of the dimly lit room. Alot of the booths are full of couples sharing meals, encased in their little small conversations, enjoying eachother, completely opposite of what Marina and I will be like. There is a small booth with a girl sitting in it, Marina. "Your, um... partner requested the bar," he says with a slight laugh at the end. "And here we are."

There she is. Marina fucking Diamandis. She sits down staring at her menu like she doesn't know what happened, acting innocent. "I thought you wouldn't show up," I laugh, trying to make conversation... She doesn't reply. "Look, I didn't want to come here either, it's our managers fault." She still said nothing. "Marina?" I snap. She still stares at her menu like I'm not even here. "Stop with this bullshit Marina, I don't want to be here as much as you. At least make me come for some reason. I don't want to eat in silence," I say trying to sound more casual. She still reads the same menu. "Goddamn," I sigh.

"Stella or Bud Light?" Marina asks herself, cocking her head to the side. "What am I saying? Of course Stella." She laughs to herself not even acknowledging me. "Hmm, this menu looks delicious, don't you think?" she asks, finally making eye contact with me for the first time. She has a blond wig on, and if you didn't know what kind of bitch she was, you could fall in love with her at first sight.

I hesitate to reply, still stunned she finally said something to me. "I didn't check it out yet," I say coldly. "Don't make this night shit Marina. You already ruined the night at the Brit Awards, don't you dare ruin this one. Don't you realize that we lost a lot of fans because of your conceited, stupi-"

"Oh, blah blah blah. Who the hell cares, Lana? It's old news. Should I get a cheeseburger or hamburger? I'm in America so either one would seem appropriate." Her eyes scanned the menu again. Then she notices me staring at her in anger and frustration, if she avoids my questions one more time I feel like I would flip a table. "Calm the fuck down" She says.

I laugh to myself. "Are you being serious right now Marina? Are you seriously going to act this way? The way guys treat me on dates. It doesn't end good, Marina, it does not end good for me. I don't want it to end terribly so can we talk like normal people that want to discuss work?" I ask.

"I don't want to discuss work. I very well know you got pretty pissed last week, but why would I tweet that if I didn't intend for you to feel like shit? Did you ever think of that, Lana, did you? I don't give a fuck about what our fans think, I'm allowed my opinion with whoever I want. I just don't like you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to sit here with you, I didn't even want to meet you. I wish our manager's would leave us alone," she blurts out. Fuming, I look at the menu for the first time, trying to create a barrier between Marina and I. I don't want to look at her or even hear her voice anymore. I'm so fed up with how immature she can be. Isn't she older than me? I sigh, I know what Marina said was all true; she doesn't want to be here as much as I fucking do.

"Tell me about it," I agree.