Heavy Wears The Crown

Thirty Two

"So here I am, and I'm dying and I'm waiting for you (waiting for you) Come back, come back to me and I'll take you gladly and I'll take you anyway"

---------- She's a Lady - Forever The Sickest Kids ----------

Nolan

I think I broke my hand.

I'd played my part well, waving, being supportive, hoping she would change her mind even though I knew the best thing for Carter would be to get far, far from me. I pretended I was happy for her, hell, if I was a decent human being I would have been.

But I'm not.

I'm not a decent human being. I'm Nolan Doufer. I'm fȕcked up in every way. There isn't a decent human being cell left in my body. What had survived my childhood had been squashed when my own sister chose Holden over me, and what few cells had clung to life then the drugs had incinerated. I had honored my bet though, honestly hoping above the odds that she would choose me over half a mill. I wouldn't have chosen me for half a buck. I was a wreck, and if Carter stayed with me I would ruin her. Undoubtedly.

Knowing that I would ruin her, that she had to leave, I pretended to support her. Waved her off, hugged her goodbye, drove her to the fȕcking airport...and the moment she was out of my sight...

I snapped. Taking a garbage can and hurling it across the airport lobby had nearly gotten me arrested. Punching the rental car repeatedly had nearly broken my hand. Pacing back and forth cursing furiously and self-loathing had nearly made me late for my concert.

But I wasn't arrested, my hand was functional enough to drive out of this God forsaken airport, and I made it to the show. You know the one, filled with screaming girls begging for my attention, with thousands of people jumping up and down wanting to be me, be near me, be with me, and not a single one mattered to me.

Could I do this? Finish the tour, go on to do another, and another. Was this the life I was built for? I had always thought...and then I met the girl.

"What the hell." I sputtered when after the show I came into my dressing room to find it wasn't empty. "Get the fȕck out, how did you even get in here?"

Píss poor security had left a group sneak into my dressing room. Three girls or two guys enjoyed my couch, and my cheeses, and my waters, and my coffee table to snort their coke off of.

"Oh my God." One of the girls with only a bikini top on and a squeaky voice rose to her feet and flashed me.

"Out." I repeated and took a step back. "Before I have the lot of you arrested. Take your drugs too damn it! Hurry up!" I ushered them out furiously from the door way. All three girls made a dramatic show of rubbing against me as they rubbed against me, and the last, exceptionally high, gave me a sloppy kiss.

"God dámn junkies." I cursed and slammed the door after them, I wiped my mouth off and plopped down on the couch. I took my phone out and examined it. No call, no text. The least she could have done would be to let me know she'd landed safely. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Sit around all night thinking her plane had crashed?

Who the hell was I kidding? I wouldn't have texted her if the roles were reversed. The less we communicated, the easier this would be. For both of us.

"She needs to get on with her life. Without you." I told myself and rose to my feet to pace again. I did so trying to calm down for only a few seconds before instead grabbing the small coffee table in the center of the room and flipping it with a frustrated yell.