Chapter Twenty-Two
Justin
“HeavyDirtySoul”- Twenty One Pilots
The cursor flasheson the screen. Over and over.
And it felt like a storm, like the tides being sucked out and washing back—DELETE. I haven’t written shit over the past week. I am literally at a word count of 235. I was supposed to be at 15,000 by now. Shit like this makes me want to throw this hybrid author deal to the wind, but I have three more damn books in this contract. My last release sucked, it barely hitUSA Today—at 110. Panic crackles through my chest as I stare at that word count, willing it to move, but all that’s in my mind is a pile of shit buzzing with flies.
My phone vibrates on the table and I sigh when I see my agent’s name pop up on the screen. “Jesus fucking... ” I mumble as I lift the phone to my ear. “Yeah?”
“What the hell, Justin?” Denise shouts into the phone. I yank the phone away and Cobain’s head pops up, his ears perked. “Justin?”
Slowly, I pull it back to my ear. “Stop yelling. What the fuck’s going on?”
“Demolished...I just, it’s on over 100 pirating sites.”
I shoot out of my chair, angry heat seeping from my pores. “What!”
“Darryl is livid. It’s a breach of your contract and—”
“Wait, wait, wait!” I pace, dragging my hand through my hair. “A breach ofmycontract?”
“Who have you shared the file with?”
“Nobody.”
“Oh Jesus Christ. You didn’t give it to one of those damn girls did you?”
“What? No.”
“I swear to god, you are a PR nightmare, you do realize that?”
“Fuck you. You aren’t my publicist—”
“No, but I’m your agent. And your publisher is pissed. The book has been leaked, it’s all over the damn place and... the worst thing, the reviews on Goodreads are terrible. Terrible.”
Cradling the phone against my shoulder, I lean over my keyboard and pull up Goodreads in my browser, click on my profile, onDemolished—“2.5 stars? Are you fucking kidding me? That book is goddamn poetry.”
“Maybe it is, but the consumers sure seem to think it’s a pile of shit, well, that and they think you are an asshole.”
“What?”
“Go read some of your reviews, Justin. I told you it was only a matter of time before things came back to bite you in the ass. It seems like you would have learned after you had to get the restraining order on that one girl, but, I’m not your mother. Hold on... ” I hear her lower the phone. Someone says something in the background.
A sarcastic laugh slips through my lips as I read over the reviews:Terrible. A four-year-old could write with better prose. Utter drivel.Then I come to the really heartfelt one:Justin Wild is a complete dick. He’s a misogynistic butt-pirate that treats women like they have been put on this earth to bow down and worship each turd that fall from his virgin asshole. Don’t let his charm fool you, ladies. He is a massive fuckface.
“Shit,” Denise groans. “Darryl wants to meet with me and the lawyers to talk about canceling your contract. Amazing. Just amazing, Justin.” And then, she hangs up and I’m left with the phone to my ear, my fingers twitching over it.
“Fuck.” I chuck the phone onto my desk, throw my head back, and stare at the ceiling as I drag my hands through my hair. I’m pissed that someone got ahold of that book. Worried about how it got hacked. But more than anything, I’m more bothered by those reviews. They shouldn’t bother me because the book is carbon copy of what my publisher instructed me to write. Some stupid shit about a second chance romance that involved a cartel boss. The girl was annoying and the guy was a pussy. My messenger dings and I drop my chin to my chest, glaring up at the tiny box that’s popped up on my screen.
Amy Smith: Hey Hotstuff: So, I saw this closed group that’s called: Justin Wild is a Manwhore... thought you should know.And then up pops a link to a page with a black and white banner, a picture of me in the left-hand corner. I can’t see anything that’s been posted, but I can see the members and there, at the very top, is Tori. “Shit,” I mumble under my breath. “Bitch.”
I grab my phone and angrily jab out a text telling her what a bitch she is while I walk to the bathroom and plop down on the shitter. Cobain follows me inside and sits on the floor by the door staring at me as I scroll through my newsfeed. “Get out of here!” I snap at him, but all he does is lie down, folding his paws and resting his head on them. Damn dog.
New Release. New Release. Dirty teaser—holy shit…what the hell?Preston groans. Tobias groans as they shove my mouth from one cock to the other.Who the fuck are LP Lovell and Stevie J Cole? Nasty bitches I need to meet evidently... and then I see a picture of Marisa and that cocksucker Chris Talon. I clench my jaw. My nostrils flare. Out of all the damn guys. I stare at the picture. He’s kissing her cheek, all snuggled up to her. Oh, the fuck, if she’s ditched me for this sack of...
I click off the app and text her:I want to see you.
