Jailer, Failure, Bail(er)

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"Baby, who you tryna fool? I might be 21, but I got memories left to prove that I've seen your kind before . . . and I know exactly what you want . . ."

Trying her best to keep her breath leveled, Shakira arched over the bathroom sink. Was she going to vomit? She wasn't all that sure.

"Shit," Shakira muttered to no one in particular. She stared at her hands shaking and demanded them to stop before she could break into tears. She was so fucked up. The media knew. Mitch knew. And now, Adam and his doll, Nina, the girl outside, knew.

Shakira wondered if Adam did this a lot--cheated on Nina she meant, because Nina was so cute and sweet; how could anyone want to cheat on her?

"It's nothing new. He just has problems," she had said. Nina shrugged, helping Shakira maintain balance and setting her on the couch.

But Adam was a mystery, of course, and Shakira couldn't figure him out. He had stormed off into his bedroom, locking it shut, after shouting things that shouldn't make sense.

"It wasn't my fault!" Adam yelled. "It was the alcohol!"

"But you didn't drink anything," Shakira slurred. When the words escaped her mouth, she wondered if she shouldn't have done that and if she should help him in his troubles instead. But then again, Shakira couldn't even stand straight and Adam did say that she was a horrible actress.

"I didn't!"

"I thought you said you don't drink at all!"

"I don't! I--I used too! It was--it--" He never did finish his sentence as he threw his arms in the air and made a sound of defeat and escaped to his room.

That had been an hour ago.

It made perfect sense to Shakira, though she didn't point it out to Adam or Nina.

Nina held Shakira's hand as they both sat on the couch. Her hand felt like it was touching the hot flames of a fire and it burned harder every time Nina's hand squeezed as comfort. Shakira would have fucked Adam if Nina wasn't here, but she didn't need to point that out either.

Instead, Shakira excused herself to the restroom.

Shakira let the water run as her fingers brushed against the drops. She wanted to cry, but her tears had been long dried up by cold hands.

"So, uh, hi Shakira, how have you been doing?"

The fingers of the hand that wasn't holding onto her phone rubbed the soft pulse on her wrist, asking it to remain steady, "What do you want, Gerard?" It's been long and Shakira prayed that her long months of preparing would help her in her situation.

She hoped her body was shaking from the cold chill that was the wind and not from her insides freezing in a way that made it hard for her to breathe.

"I don't, um."

Shakira could hear his readjusting the phone as the noise ruffled against her ear. Gerard, very rarely, had trouble with words.

At one time, it would have seemed charming to her, but now, it saddened her to realize how wide the length that their relationship was now put at.

"I don't really know how to say this, to be honest," Gerard said quietly, chuckling nervously.

"Fuck you," she wanted to spit at him for the longest time ever, but she didn't. Instead, Shakira sighed and she hung onto the thin cloth she had on for a dress, the length upsetting her.

"I just--I miss you, Shak. It's been--"

"Is that it?" she asked quietly, looking over to her side where there laid a street of cars--cars filled with people who couldn't feel the pain that battled to break her once again.

"Shak, listen to me."

"Why don't you listen to me for once?" Shakira surprised herself as she heard a snap leave her mouth. And also, very rarely, did Shakira raised her voice at Gerard; she was under his spell that way.

Gerard coughed before starting again; her snap also surprising him.

"Shak, you don't understand. It's been hell without you. I've been through shit you haven't even--"

Shakira laughed. Cruelly. "No, Gerard, you don't understand. You think you know what hell is?" Her voice was levelled and Shakira could feel his agitated flinch.

It would have been better if she yelled, to be honest.

"Gerard," Shakira paused to catch her breath as she continued in a whisper that was all pain and despair, her heart throbbing in agony, "You should realize which one of us you're talking about here before you say anything else . . ."

Shakira's eyes moved towards the door as it inched open. With an inch of a crack, Adam's face peered in, his eyes twinkling in a mischievous way, a finger pressed against his lips. "Shhhh," he breathed, barely audible, but Shakira caught on as she slid deeper into the bathroom to avoid getting hit by the red wall of a door.

He slipped in, quickly and quietly, and when the click of the lock sounded, he broke into a low crouch and chuckled. Making himself comfortable on the bathroom floor, Adam patted the space next to him, inviting her to join in on the fun.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Shakira hissed, trying her best to keep her voice low, even as she sat facing him.

"Are you feeling better?"

Though Adam asked without concern of his rather loud audio, Shakira still said through teeth with fear of Nina being able to hear them two, "No, thanks for asking. I almost slept with a guy who's already taken."

"Who? Me? I'm not--"

Shakira made effort to cover his mouth with her hands, "Shhh, god, what if she could hear us?"

Just as she realized how close they were to each other now, Adam leaned forward to touch her forehead with his. Shakira dropped her hands and scrambled further away from him.

"Stop," Shakira commanded.

"You're afraid? And here I thought you were incapable of feeling such," Adam chuckled. "What happened to the witty comebacks and god-awful attitude? It was starting to rub off on me to be honest."

Shakira huffed in response, her patience for today growing thin and the supply for it wasn't coming until she got herself out of here.

"You drank a lot. Don't you feel sick?"

"You're doing it again," Shakira said, dodging the question.

"Oh sorry," Adam grinned, his voice lowering just slightly, "Do. You," Adam paused, looking right and left like he was afraid of someone overhearing the two of them before continuing, "Feel. Sick?"

"Not that!" Shakira groaned as she massaged her temples, her head getting buried into her hands, "I'm going to fucking kill you, Adam. You are an asshole to put me in all this and I feel like shit."

"Oh?"

Shakira looked up as Adam held out-stretched in his hands a cigarette.

She scrunched her nose in disgust, "If the fact hadn't gotten through that thick head of yours the first night, let me make it clear: I don't smoke."

"I didn't either," Adam said quietly.

Shakira's eyes were narrowed as they were already prepared to ask a million stubborn questions.

Adam, however, dismissed them with a sigh.

His voice strengthened in volume as his intentions, "But this helps get you through shit. Trust me."

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⏰ Last updated: Oct 06, 2013 ⏰

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