SEQUEL TO EXPECTATIONS!
It is highly recommended to read the first book before starting this one.
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It's a funny thing, expectation versus reality. Expectation lives somewhere on the border of your biggest dreams or your worst nightmares...
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Stop fucking touching me.
Addison's hand squeezes mine while my mother's hands fidget with my tie and the stylist swipes a makeup brush across my face.
Stop smothering me!
A body presses against mine, hands moving to the lapels on my suit jacket while other hands move to my hair to apply more styling gel.
Knock it off!
A kiss is pressed to my cheek, a makeup wipe touching the spot a moment later, while hands now start fidgeting with my dress shirt cuffs.
"Stop!" I can't take it anymore, jerking away from them.
"Alex!" my mother scolds, appalled by my sudden outburst.
"Baby." Addison pouts, taking a step towards me, but I quickly retreat. She frowns, becoming exasperated by my behavior.
"Just stop!" I reiterate. "You're all suffocating me!"
Addison and my mother both look like I just slapped them across the face while the stylist casually packs up his things, finished getting me ready for the award show.
The biggest award show in music is tonight and I'm doing my first performance in years for live television, my nerves already on overdrive after having my name tarnished by the media's speculations over the past few days due to of the paparazzi pictures of me, Joslyn, and Hallie. And to top that I'm nominated for album of the year again. I won a couple of years ago, the last time I attended. The night I first told Joslyn I loved her...
My blood begins to boil again and I brush past everyone to get some space, walking over to the hotel room window. Pacing, I try to shake off the nerves and agitation.
"Someone needs to loosen up," my dad comments, chuckling deeply.
I look over to where he's sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, sipping on some clear liquid that's defiantly not water. He swirls the contents around in the tumbler, raises it, offering it to me. I scoff in disgust, shaking my head in incredulity.
"Testy," he presses, standing up and stalking towards me, extending his cup in offering, again.
The strong stench of alcohol wafts through my nose as he slings his arm around my shoulders, and as much as I want to be repulsed by the liquid in his cup, I find myself itching to reach for it.
I push him off me and stride to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Shutting everything out for a moment.
I place my palms on the counter and let my head hang over the sink, breathing deeply. When I look up into the mirror, I see a person I barely recognize. Someone that's been through so much and aged in just a few short years, not necessarily physically, but in a way that if you look deep into their soul you can tell.
