sorry // justin bieber

36.- typing back

Justin

I take the last sip of my coffee and leave a few bills on the table before I stand up and leave the café.

This is really unfair.

"Well life is not fair" I remember her telling me.

Well, texting me.

I take a few steps heading to my car when a bunch of people start taking photos around me. Of me.

Fucking paps. They start walking with me and I try to ignore them. Soon they start asking me questions.

"Did you meet with Hailey, Justin?"

"Did you cheat on her?"

"Why did you break up?"

"Are you trying to get her back?"

"Is there another girl?"

I turn back. "What?!" I ask in disbelief.

"Is there another girl, Justin? That's why you broke up?" One of them repeats.

"No, of course not!" I reply.

"Did you brake up or not, Justin?" another asks. I know this one. Is the guy from TMZ who tends to follow me around. It's like they assign celebs as they were pets to take care of.

I want to say yes, because it's actually true and they will find out anyways, but these guys piss me off so much I won't give them the pleasure.

I go inside a library because I know they don't follow me inside stores. A short girl immediately comes to me and asks if she can help with anything. I tell her no, that I'm just looking around. She nods and walks back to the counter. I go through some of the books until the paparazzi are no longer outside. I still buy a book, just to be nice. It's some kind of photography book about architecture around the world. The girl who tried to help me hands me the bag with my book and I go out.

I'm mad. I'm pissed. I think about Halley and everything that's changed in my life since I met her. I lost my girlfriend. I'm back on the spotlight. I'm alone.

I remember that stupid text she sent me a few hours ago. That she kissed Connor. Like I'd care if she kissed him or not. I thought we'd agreed on not talking to each other anymore.

So I put out my phone and start typing back:

Me: so what do you want a medal or something?

I immediately regret sending the text, knowing I said that to hurt her, knowing it came out of my own anger and sadness, knowing I was the one who got me into this mess.

I walk with my hands in my pockets and my head low. On the way to my car I see this homeless guy sat on the street without a shoe and a pierced shirt. I feel sorry for him. Sticking a hand in my back pocket I pull out my wallet and give him everything I have. It was about fifty-something dollars. The guy smiles at me and shakes my hand gratefully.

I feel awful.

It could always be worst. I shouldn't forget that.