My Soulmates are IDOLS Books 2+3 | 18+ [SoulBond Series]

146: Bastard

Ezra

It was the understatement of the century to say that Ezra was wrong.

No, because Ezra had fucked up. He had screwed himself over, broken so many damn promises that it was impossible to count them with just one hand. He broke them all. His promises to the team, to never let them down. His promises to his bestfriends, that he would stop letting his anger cloud his decision making. His promises to her that he would help her with her soulmate. He bit down, grinding his teeth lightly at the thought.

He fucked up. He let out a soft groan, his lips twitching.

It felt as if life had decided to royally fuck with him.

The situation was akin to having a shitty vibrator stuffed up his ass. Only the crappy rubber had split into two within him, mid-fuck (conveniently just before his release) the tip lodged deep within his rectum and the hilt in his hands. In that situation, all Ezra could do was hobble to the doctor's, explain everything despite his embarrassment and then let life reach its hands into his asshole and pull out all his mistakes. It would then display the vibrator to him on the operating table and he would then have to pay a hefty sum for the 'operation', and take the walk of shame on his way home.

He didn't know what kind of fucked up analogy that was, but it perfectly described how he felt at this very moment.

He felt like an idiot, the kind of idiot that would get things stuck in their ass. The kind of idiot that had to face such an embarrassing scenario. The kind of idiot that could have had an amazing orgasm, if he just didn't use such a crappy dildo. Ah, fuck. In translation, Ezra had his soulmate in his hands. He had everything he wanted on his laps, moaning in his ears, offering to give him an orgasm and he-

Urgh.

He wanted to kill himself sometimes. Just, punch his own ugly mug. He didn't know if it were even remotely possible for one to make that many mistakes. His anger and lack of control had exploded in his face like a shit bomb, his crap spewing all over the people in the vicinity.

Conveniently, the people that he loved.

Someone elbowed him in the side, knocking the breath from his lungs and Ezra blinked, automatically clapping his hands along with the awkward cheers and whistles from his team. His eyes darted to Oliver who shot him a look that practically spelled out 'fucking get your head in the game!'

Yeah, yeah.

He turned his face away to hide from the camera, rolling his eyes. He licked his drying lips looking back at the interviewer as he sunk deeper into the sofa. He didn't want to be here, at this crappy interview. He wanted to be at the hospital. He wanted to look at her and basically recite his apology for the hundredth time that week in his head as he stared at her beautiful face. He wanted to take a shower and cry, and cry, and cry then maybe masturbate to the thoughts of her. He didn't feel as bad for thinking erotic thoughts about her if he'd already cried three times to his mistakes.

Urgh he just wanted to get out of here.

Ezra purposely spreads his legs, letting his knees knock into Oliver's out of spite. His best friend exhaled, muttering his annoyance. Ezra looked away, pressing a knuckle to his face. He felt like shit, not for manspreading, but for being the best asshole in the world that week.

And he promised himself to never be someone like his shitty mother.

Ezra sighed.

A crappy childhood was never an excuse for acting like an asshole. He should not have reacted so violently to her. He should have at least given her the option to explain, but no, he fucking slammed the door just because his little pathetic heart was broken. He had treated her like- His expression soured.

-A prostitute.

"First of all, congratulations on your new album..." The interviewer began to speak in a voice that was way too perky for Ezra's liking. Ezra's mind muffled out the other extra words that he liked to call 'An interviewer's politically correct questions'. Those words were a waste of his brainspace. He pressed his lips together into a thin, harsh line.

Ezra was lucky in the sense that his fans knew him to be a guy who loved to sulk in his corner, so he was free to be sad when he wanted to be fucking sad. Oliver? Not so much. The guy was supposed to be a chirpy ball of happiness. His eyes tipped to said man, darting over the stiff smile on his face.

It must absolutely suck to be him.

He glanced back at the interviewer, going back into his daze.

His BFFs were not in the best of moods, each one wallowing in their own pit of self created guilt. Ezra was pretty sure not one of the members were up for the interview, especially with their soulmate hospitalised and basically one mistake away from dying. He pressed his finger to his lips, rubbing his chin.

One fucking mistake from dying.

If MinJae just slept a little weirdly, rolled around just a tad more, that flimsy bracelet would snap and Amber would be dead. Pain blossomed in his chest, strong and particularly torturous. Ezra did not want her dead. How the fuck was he going to beg for forgiveness if she died? Fuck. His eyes pricked with tears, and he vigorously sucked it all back with a harsh sniff. Oliver shot him another look and he shrugged, as if random sniffing were the most normal thing in the world.

If it were up to Ezra, he would have his soulmate's naked back pressed against MinJae's. Fuck. He snorted softly. Might as well tie the both of them together, strap them to one another, naked. No, no, MinJae would mind. He pondered over the thought. In that case, maybe Ezra could strap himself to her, naked.

That sounded so much better.

"So your company released news that MinJae's soulmate is currently hospitalised in Korea's Hospital for the Soul?" The minute MinJae's name spewed from the interviewer's fish lips. Ezra was on to him, his eyes flashing, dark with his warning. The members had gone quiet, even Casper was silent. As the leader of their team, Casper was usually the one to take charge in answering the questions, but he remained tight lipped.

Why the fuck was this guy trying to play with fire? Ezra gritted his teeth, digging his fingers into the sofa.

The interviewer seemed startled, surprised at the sudden hostility and Ezra bit back the urge to flip him the finger and tell him to fuck off. He would if he could. If the camera weren't in his damn face and he wasn't a celebrity. "I mean..." The interviewer laughed awkwardly by himself. "Tell us more?"

Who the fuck hired this crappy bastard?