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Chapter Fifteen

Same Ol' Mistakes- Rihanna

xxx

I packed hurriedly, not paying attention to what I threw into my suitcase. The only phrase that kept repeating was leave. Leave the apartment. Leave the city. Leave the state. Immediately. All I wanted was to step onto the jet and go back to California, far away from Justin.

I unlocked my phone and pressed the block button on Justin's contact information. I didn't want to see his name on my screen, his texts, or his calls. None of it.

When I finished hurling shit into my suitcase, I lugged it down to the hallway where Sasha, Luke, and Clark patiently waited for me. Luke must have told them what happened because Sasha gave me a sympathetic look that translated into "I heard what happened. You okay?" I gave her a nod. It was sufficient.

Our private jet would be waiting for us at JFK International Airport, which was only a half hour away. We all hopped into the Escalade with Sasha and I in the backseat. Leaning my head against the tinted glass window, I watched the brake lights of cars speeding past us. The brightness of the brake lights moving at a fast speed made a red streak behind them. I exhaled deeply, and my fingers gripped the arm rest of the car door.

The ride to JFK was silent. Clark didn't try to turn on the radio to fill in the silence.

We boarded the jet with assistance from the crew and the captain introduced himself to us. I nodded politely and proceeded to take my seat. I chose a seat near the corner as we waited for takeoff. I must have closed my eyes and fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, Sasha was gently nudging my shoulder.

"We're here." She murmured.

I nodded, stretched my arms above my head before I followed her out the jet. Thanking the captain, I made my way down the stairs to the Escalade where Luke and Clark were already seated in. There were no camera flashes from a distance documenting my arrival in LA, due to us using the private section of LAX. I didn't want my departure from New York to be on the tabloids the next morning because they would undoubtedly mention Justin, and I didn't want to see a picture of him or hear his name.

Los Angeles was notorious for its traffic. It used to be difficult during lunch or in the evening – the peak times – but it seemed that any hour of the day was susceptible to heavy traffic. Cars had minimal space between them and people wore frowns behind the steering wheel.

Instead of going to Calabasas where my condo was, I instructed Clark to take I-10 towards Pacific Coast Highway which would take us to Malibu. My house there would be the best place for solitude.

When we reached the house, Clark punched in the code for the security gate and maneuvered through the driveway that led to the front entrance and garage. Parking the car, I jumped out and grabbed my bag from the back and told them to enjoy their weekend off. Sasha was about to say something when I closed the car door and walked briskly to the front entrance. When the door closed, and the lock clicked with the sound a promise of privacy, I pressed my back against the wall and slid towards the floor until my butt hit the ground with my legs outstretched in front of me.

From outside, the headlights flooded a small portion of the interior before they moved and soon vanished. There were some lights on through the house, small ones that wouldn't waste too much electricity and gave the entire area a peaceful feeling.

I could feel my throat tightening from holding back a sob. My bedroom was on the other side of the estate and I shuffled sadly across the hardwood floors to reach it with my suitcase rolling behind me.