Hudson
It’s been a week since LA and Ryan has shipped us off, straight to Texas for our first concert instead of heading back to San Diego. The so-called scandal hit us hard and as much as it helped us promote the new album, I hate it. That photo is total bullocks, Sophia wouldn’t take no for an answer at the party I was forced by Ryan to attend, and she cornered me in the loo not her bedroom. I was just trying to take a piss, not get a blowie from some prissy chick who just wanted the drama. Why couldn’t she have just gone after Bandit? He would have given her a better show; I could promise you that.
I tried to call Charlotte, thinking she might have seen the press, but she won’t take my calls, and a text that reads I didn’t do it just won’t cut it. My punishment is being hauled hundreds of miles away with no chance of fixing things between us. That doesn’t mean I don’t think about her constantly though. Girls have been throwing themselves at the band. Even more than usual now that we’re mainstream, and all I do is compare them to the goddess I’ll never get to see again. No one holds a candle to the sexy librarian slash sex kitten that rocked my world. I’ve tried to write songs for her, but even they don’t do her justice. Never before have I hurt this way and I make it obvious around the bus and don’t give a fuck as we hit city after city on our way to Texas. Tonight is a big show and we’re singing only songs from the new album, songs that Charlotte wrote with me.
We make it to the venue and hit the stage at nine, rock out every song to the best of our ability, and win the crowd. For how shite I feel, I still give it my all and the fans love it. Wrapping up with an encore of an old song, we head backstage for a bit of an after-party. I make my excuses to leave and hit the shower in the bus and land in bed soon after. I’m especially not up for partying these days.
We tour the country for the next few weeks, and no matter how much time goes by, I never feel any better about how I left things with Charlotte. I think about sending flowers but wonder if that would only make it worse. My circumstances haven’t changed and as sorry as I truly am, I don’t think flowers are any kind of apology for what happened. Doing nothing and letting her believe the media about Sophia is killing me though. I may not ever have a real shot with her and I’m not a good guy, but for her to think I jumped from her into the bed of some rich princess guts me. Sophia doesn’t come close to the same league as Charlotte and I don’t want her to think otherwise. A song is something I thought would be romantic, but every time I try to write, I end up with shite. Crinkling yet another sheet of paper, I toss it onto the bus floor. We’re still hours from our next show which will be in Knoxville, Tennessee, and I’m itching to try and call her again.
“What are you doing back here?”
“Nothing.” I grab the scraps of paper from the floor, but one gets away and Nick grabs it before I can. Fuck.
“So, this is why you’ve been crying yourself to sleep the last month. Who is she?”
“Give that back.” I try snatching the paper from him, but he’s being a damn child and keeps it from me.
“Tell me who she is that inspires such awful fucking lyrics and has my buddy so broody and down all the time. Really, man, you’re like the gray cloud of lame and sorrow.”
“Shut up.” I lie back in bed, trying to ignore him.
“Should I go ask the other guys? Will they tell me?”
“Fuck, no!”
He seems to settle a bit at my outburst, exhaling a dramatic breath, then sits across from my bunk on the edge of his mattress.
“For real, Hudson, you can talk to me. I knew something’s been bothering you. If nothing else, brother, you can talk about it with me and get it off your chest.”
I take his words into consideration and debate the level of teasing I would endure from spilling my guts. Nick is a great guy and likely won’t be a wanker about the situation. Still, I’m hesitant. I’ve never been a man to talk about myself, especially to be open and vulnerable, but that’s part of what got me in trouble with Charlotte in the first place. Maybe I can start changing that.
I take a deep breath and slowly start confiding in Nick. “This is all rubbish, but I’ve been trying to write a song about Charlotte.”
“That makes a lot of sense. I suspected something was going on with you two, especially since you’re the only one that calls her Charlotte and not Charlie.”
“Yeah, well, it was just supposed to be us having fun. Me helping her become more confident, enough to sing in front of people. Before I left, things had gotten really weird between us and I didn’t even say goodbye, thinking we would be back in a day or two anyway. Then of course, that utter shite about Sophia came out and I can’t imagine what she thought of it. All while I’ve been cowering in this fucking bus, not knowing what the fuck to say to her.” My voice rises with my anger over the stupidity.
“Hmm. Ok, so what got weird? Did she get clingy or something?”
“No. If anything, I wanted her to get clingy. I started having all these impossible ideas and instead of saying anything I just ignored it. Then the night we all went out for karaoke, I had to drag some bastard off her. Remember me telling you she was followed? Anyway, she spent the night with me, and we just slept, and then she was gone in the morning and really distant from then on out. Wouldn’t talk to me, even over text, except in front of everyone else. Didn’t show up at the flat just to hang anymore.”
“Sounds like she might have caught feelings.”
“Caught what?”
“Feelings. I don’t know this for a fact—I for one don’t know shit about what women want—but maybe she realized she was feeling more than she should for someone she was just supposed to be hooking up with.” He shrugs. “But what the fuck do I know.”
I let it sink in. Could Charlotte have been feeling the same things I was? Is it possible she wanted more from me and because I made it clear I was leaving and couldn’t be anything more she just kept it to herself? I suppose all things are possible, but why the hell would someone as amazing as her really want more from an orphaned rock star who would only disappoint her? She knows this business and all the hardships involved; she more likely grew distant as a way of saying goodbye.
I shake my head at Nick. “I wish mate. I’m no good for her anyway, but I hate how things ended.”
“Oh, you mean the Sophia shit?”
“Yeah. Fucking Sophia and that damn drama nightmare.”
“So, you’re trying to write her a song saying, gee I’m sorry that it looks like I fucked a socialite bimbo the day I left you and didn’t say goodbye. I’m a total asshole and hope you don’t hate me because I love you?”
“What? Fuck, no. None of that shite. I just don’t know what to say about anything and I’m usually better at songs than words.”