“I’m not that mad about Pistol anymore.” I sigh, putting the menu down. I’ve put a lot of thought over these past few days into this topic, and I can’t be mad anymore when it makes so many other people happy.
“Really?” Andrew quirks an eyebrow up at me.
“Really. I saw the way the fans reacted to it. The love they felt through it. It wasn’t just yours to give to them, but I can’t hold onto this hurt anymore.” I answer honestly.
“So you forgive me?” He asks, hope laces his tone.
“Not entirely, but yeah, for the most part.” I nod. “There was a lot of hurt that happened all at once in that time frame.”
“I know,” he agrees, and for the first time in I don't know how long, it feels like we’re finally on the same page. Hope blooms in my chest, for us, for the future.
The waitress returns with our drinks and takes our food orders before scurrying away again.
Past
The waitress drops the food off and we both dig into our plates silently. He’s fidgety as he sits across from me, sweat beads at the back of his neck as he cuts into the massive steak on his plate. His eyes dart from me to the door and then back to me. What the hell did he take?
“Are you okay?” I ask after I finish my first bite. The shrimp scampi is delicious, but the company is making it turn sour.
“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay?” he replies quickly. His pupils aren’t saucers so I know it wasn’t coke but pills maybe. He’s a hot nervous mess across from me.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. We continue to eat in silence, and when the waiter comes with our check, he hands her the card and practically follows her to watch her finish the task. I watch him incredulously as he signs the receipt and tugs my arm to take me back to the car.
“What’s the rush?” I ask. “It’s not like our parents are going to be pissed if we miss curfew.” I joke. We’ve lived in our own apartment, the four of us, for a few years now.
“No rush,” he replies as his hand finds my thigh. I revel in his touch and sit back against the seat. The radio announcer tells us that a brand new song has just landed in his lap, and we’re going to want to hear this one.
“Turn it up.” I tell him, waiting impatiently for whatever new song just came out. He turns the small knob on the radio up as the first sounds of the new song play over the speakers. I watch through the side window as the storefronts of LA pass us by when his voice surrounds us through the speakers. The opening lines of the song we recorded last month blast through the speakers, my sigh can be heard over the sound of the drums, and I feel my heart crack open. I slowly turn my head, not wanting to believe it, not wanting the betrayal to lay bare between us. His face is stone as the radio continues to play our song, the one we said would never be for anyone else. The one we were going to get married to, the only thing in our whole lives that would be private. He promised.
“Please tell me this is a joke.” I scream over the sound of his singing. “Please tell me this is a cassette.” My voice breaks and bone crushing hurt washes through me. “Please Andrew!!”
“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth as a broken, strangled sob wracks through my body. I feel like my lungs are caving in as my stomach bottoms out.
“I love you, Pistol,” plays through the radio, and it feels like my entire soul is being ripped apart, the frayed edges giving way as I hear my sticks my drop in the background of the song.
“Pull over!” I shout as saliva fills my mouth, my stomach turns as the song continues to play. The car sways to the side of the road before coming to a stop. I wrench open the door and get out as quickly as possible, the seatbelt holding me back from exiting. I click the stupid button and it releases. Once I’m out of the car, I vomit my entire dinner all over the sidewalk as sobs wrack my body. I can feel the hot tears against my cheeks as I let the pain envelope me. A warm hand lands on my shoulder, and I spin around quickly, ready to eviscerate the person the hand belongs to.
“You promised.” I say, eerily calm for the torrent of emotions running through me.
“I know, but you have to-” He starts, but I cut him off before he can give me an excuse.
“You promised!” I yell, my voice echoing against the deserted storefronts.
“Larkin-” he starts again, and if I could I would punch him so that he could feel even half the pain I’m feeling right now, I would, but I won’t.
“No. This was a choice that you made. You did this. You fucking ruined this!” I scream, wet tears coating my cheeks again. “I could deal with the drugs, I could deal with the women.” I take a deep breath.
“What wo-” he starts again, but I don’t want to hear his voice right now.
“But this, this just pushed me to the end. They say that when life tells you it’s time to let someone go and you don't, life will allow them to hurt you to the point that you have to let go. So that’s what I’m doing, I’m letting you go.” I cry, my voice breaking as a long sob cracks against my chest.
“Bristol, wait. Let’s talk about this, it wasn’t my choice.” He cries, tears coating his cheeks.
“You always have a choice, Rhyit. You just chose wrong.” I reply, moving away from him. He grabs my arm to spin me back around.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” I spit, anger racing through me at lightspeed. He removes his hand from my arm as his face falls. “If I did this to you, you would hate me.” I seethe, my teeth chattering with anger. He bows his head as the ramifications of his actions hit him with full force.
“I’ve gotta go.” I say, moving further away from him. “I can’t look at you right now.”