So, yeah, I’d rather strangers on the internetnotknow where we are in real-time, thank you very much. Hence why I stay away from socials like my life literally depends on it.
But Mason assured me he wouldn’t do that, not without our explicit permission, so I assume he just sends the pictures to Ivy. Maybe Jeremy. Maybe that girl he befriended during his last stint in rehab, the one he went on a date with a little while ago.
Who fucking knows? And I don’t really fucking care so long as I don’t have to worry about some crazy-ass fan pulling a knife on me.
Worse things have happened in my life, so I’m not one to scoff off the possibility, as unlikely as it may be. I’m a fucking trauma magnet, okay? Bad juju everywhere.
I groan as soon as the thought comes. “Fucking Phoebe,” I mutter.
“What was that?” Shawn says stopping next to a parking meter.
Reaching up, I pinch my nose and shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Alright, enough,” Mason says loudly.
Slowly, I drop my hand back at my side and step back, turning slightly as Mason joins us. He shoves his phone in his back pocket, the buttons on his flannel pulling across his chest with his movements.
“It’s notnothing,you’re notfine.You haven’tbeenfine all day.”
I roll my eyes. “Mase—”
“Today was a bad day,” he says, as if it’s really that fucking simple. He crosses his arms, silently daring me to dispute it.
And it’s gonna be an even worse night,I think tiredly, not for the first or second or third time.
I didn’t sleep last night. Told the guys I did, when really I just snuck down to the hotel gym for a couple hours once I was sure they were asleep. Then I spent the early morning walking the streets, and pacing the beach. Went for a run…
Anything to keep myself away from the hotel bar.
Anything to keep me from calling Will and begging him to hop on a plane.
So I’ve been dreading this all day. Counting down the minutes to when I’d no longer be able to put off sleep. In a bed that’s not mine. In a city as foreign to me as another planet. Alone.
It’s been ten days since we arrived in LA.
Ten days, and while it hasn’t always beeneasy,it hasn’t been hard. Not until today.
Because I had my first panic attack in weeks last night, and it’s the first one I had in over a year that I didn’t have Will with me to talk me the fuck down.
I mean, sure, hetriedto.
Okay, he did.
But a cold, hard phone against my ear isn’t exactly the same as a soft pair of lips against my head. Or strong arms holding me tight.
Hearing him breathe means shit to nothing when I can’t feel it on my cheek.
When I can’t feel his heart thumping against my chest.
When I can’t remember his dark blue eyes without picturing them red-rimmed with tears and wide with panic. Blood dripping down his temple. The smell of motor oil burning a pathway up my nose and down my throat.
“What do you need?”
At the sound of Shawn’s voice, I’m pulled from my thoughts.
They’re both standing in front of me now. Like a wall separating me from the world beyond. Or maybe like a wall to keep me in. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to make me feel feral or safe.
Ping-ponging my gaze between them, I wonder what I’m supposed to say here. To give myself time, I quickly pull out a cigarette, light up, and inhale a long, scorching drag.