A Heart Like Yours | ✓

Four - "I'm not stalking him"

I can hear the voices growing in anger as I exit the elevator. The harshness bites at my skin as I slide the mop and bucket towards Holden's room for cleaning.

Brooks is nowhere insight, and the door is wide open as I approach. Not wanting to intrude, I knock as loudly as I can, trying to be heard over the thunderous voice of the women inside.

"Sorry to interrupt," I clear my throat. "If now is a bad time, I can—"

"Actually, it's perfect," Holden moves from his stance in the room, pushing the door open further for me. "Soph was just leaving."

I can hear Charlie's voice in my head. Sophia Garez; Holden's ex-girlfriend and upcoming actress. I'd heard all about the drama from Charlie's lips as she'd recited the words from her favourite gossip magazine over a year ago.

Sophia looks over at me, eyes like a hawk as she takes in my attire. Her perfectly straighten blonde hair contrasts with my messy ponytail. She's nearly a head taller than me, and not much shorter than Holden as she stands close to him, glaring. I've clearly walked in on something of importance, and I wish more than ever that I could leave this uncomfortable silence altogether.

Without a second glance, Sophia barges past me, muttering under her breath.

"I pay Brooks for security, and when I need him, he's never here," Holden rakes a hand through his hair, grinning at me. "Nice to see you again, Blake Somerton."

"Surprised you remember my name," I mumble, dragging the bucket past him.

"Never heard a girl called Blake before."

"Blake Lively?"

"Who?"

"What? You — nevermind," I mutter. "We're all clearly just living in your world."

He reaches above his head to lean his arms against the doorway as I move into the bathroom. "You sure have an attitude."

"Don't you have anything better to do?" I question.

"What exactly is there to do in a hospital, Somerton?"

"Write a song? Go for a walk? Buy some food?"

"I honestly don't need another lecture from Brooks about leaving my room. One is enough for this lifetime."

"You're not allowed to leave your room?" I blanch, spraying down the basin.

"Not without a fucking guard, no," he mutters.

"No wonder you insist on harassing me then," I quip. "Must be lonely," I soften, "having to be here by yourself."

"Are you sympathising with me? Didn't think you'd have it in you."

"I know what it's like," I turn away from him, cleaning down the shower. "Having to be stuck in a hospital all day.'"

"Well, you are the one who insisted on becoming a hospital cleaner—"

"No," I interject, unable to look back at him as I notice the greening bruise clear on the inside of my arm. "I used to be a patient too. I had leukemia as a kid. I was in and out of the hospital for three years.'"

"Shit," Holden curses. "That's rough. You good now?"

"Yeah," I say, fast. "Been in remission for years."

I look up when the silence continues, watching as Holden's hand momentarily flickers towards his chest. "Are you good?" I ask.

"Get back to work, Somerton," his lips tug up at the side but I notice the pain etched into his expression.

Working in a hospital teaches you how to tell when someone has a high pain tolerance and when someone learns how to hide it.

He turns away from me, leaving me to work alone.

"Three days cleaning for him and you're hooked now, aren't you?"

I jump slightly in my chair at the sound of Anna's voice behind me. I lower by phone, turning to stare at her. "I'm not hooked. I was just doing some research."

"On?"

"What people think happened to him on stage."

I'm spending my lunch break searching all the theories and ideas about what had happened to Holden on stage during his tour. The only acknowledgment he'd made about it was a post to his two million followers, apologising for cancelling the next three shows. No one from his management has made a statement about his condition, nor has he posted in over two weeks.

"I wouldn't blame you if you are stalking him now," Anna smirks, throwing her legs over the bench to sit beside me.

"I'm not stalking him," I defend. "I'm genuinely just curious."

"Of course you are, med student," she scoffs.

I open my phone, Holden's latest Instagram upload brightening my screen. It's a photo from behind him, the crowd of the largest show he's ever played ahead of him as he raises a hand to the air on stage.

"What's he like?" Anna questions.

"I'm not sure," I say, honestly. "I've only cleaned his room a few times, so it's not like I've gotten to know him."

"But you're talking right?"

I nod. "It's like — I don't know, he's being fake."

"Fake how?"

"Faking his happiness. He always seems to easygoing and cocky. But I just feel like that's how he's been told to act. Like the world only wants a hot-shot bad boy."

"Are you sure you don't want to major in psychology too?" Anna grins, bumping my shoulder. "You're too smart for your own good."

"Hardly," I mutter, tracing the slight bruise that has appeared on the inside of my wrist.

Anna's pager beeps and she curses. "It's Martha," she groans. "Looks like I'll be cleaning up some more vomit."

I laugh as she walks off, my attention drawn back to Holden's Instagram. There is something off about him, something that has gotten under my skin.

It only makes me want to investigate further. So that's exactly what I do.