Chapter Fifteen
Marisa
“Perfect Illusion”- Lady Gaga
The sun disappearsbehind a cloud as we barrel down the interstate. An Ed song comes on the radio and Justin groans. “That dude’s a cunt,” he grumbles and changes the station. How he can’t love any song Ed puts out is beyond me. I’m starting to wonder if Justin truly is a hopeless romantic or not. He flips through the stations, finally stopping on an Imagine Dragon’s song. “Ah, that’s more like it,” he says, turning the volume up before he drums his hands over the steering wheel and belts out the lyrics. My hand has been on my thigh for the past three hours, palm up, just waiting for him to take it and hold it.
“You think you could get me into that signing in South Beach?” I ask. “I’ve always wanted to go to Florida.”
“Yeah. Sure.” That’s all he says before he goes back to singing that stupid song.
“You think that would be a good first signing?”
“Huh?” He shoots an annoyed glance in my direction and I want to shrink under it. “What?”
“Uh, just, do you think it would be a good first signing?”
“I guess.” He rolls his eyes before looking back at the road.
I want to shout at him. Shake him. Last night he loved me... he did. He looked at me like he wanted to love me. He fucked me like I was everything to him. It was good sex—no, great sex—that I made him wait on. My heart slowly picks up speed until it’s hammering against my ribcage, forcing me to clutch my chest because I’m afraid it’s about to pound out of my body. But Justin doesn’t even look over at me.
I couldn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t stop watching him. I wanted to memorize the way he breathes when he’s dreaming because I love him... and now he’s acting like I’m a burden on him.
My head spins, angry little voices shouting inside it. He pulls off the interstate, heading down Pearl Street and panic rattles me to my core. Just a few more minutes and I’ll be out of his car. Out of his sight... “Thanks for taking me, babe,” I say.
He looks over and smiles. “Yep. I had a great time.”
And now he’s singing again. The car slows and he pulls over to the curb in front of my apartment building. He’s tapping his fingers over the steering wheel, scrolling through his stupid phone. I want to take that iPhone and chuck it out the window, down a gutter where it will never see the light of day again. He laughs, I assume, at something someone posted, then he looks up at me, leans over, and kisses me. “I’ll see you later.” The trunk pops up.
I nod, push the door open, and climb out, then take my luggage from the trunk and he drives off. My chest heaves, my stomach churns because the image of us on that hotel bed is stuck in my head. I love him. He’s supposed to love me.What the fuck, Justin? No one else is going to be so right for you. I write. I read King and Patterson. I’ve bought fucking Ansel Adam and the same hand towel as you. We have static electricity. We have a connection. I am different. I am FUCKING DIFFERENT!
I walk to the front of my building and key myself in. I don’t bother with the elevator, I just cart my suitcase up the dirty stairwell, tears falling down my cheeks because I don’t want to let him go. I don’t want to have been played. I’m not a pawn.I’m the motherfucking queen, Justin!And the game’s not over until the king is dead.
I stop on the top landing. “I’m not one of those girls,” I say, my voice echoing down the empty stairwell. “I’m not.” Shaking my head, I open the door and walk to my apartment, open the door, and throw my bag down. I hate that I’m going to have to be this way, but, honestly, I don’t know any other way to get through his thick fucking skull. I only want what’s best for us. That’s all. Just what’s best.
