by L.J. Shen
Alex saw the doubt etched on my face, locked my chin between his fingers, and slammed his mouth down on mine. His other hand caressed the side of my tit, darkening my thoughts with lust. “Go take a piss,” he hissed, his hand sliding backward and cupping my butt. “I promise not a drop of alcohol will meet my mouth tonight. All I intend to get high on is you.”
“And Fallon?” I hated that I asked him that.
“Fuck Fallon,” he said, unblinking.
The joy that filled my body in that moment was so pure and real, I felt like I could fly.
I wobbled to the restroom and stood in line for ten minutes. It sucked, because most women were there to powder their noses, and that was precisely the thing I was afraid Alex was going to do when no one was looking. Every minute made hysteria bubble and simmer inside me, hotter and deeper. I had the fastest pee in the history of urine, washed my hands sans soap, and rushed back out to the main drawing room where people danced on white and black marble floors, chandeliers twinkling above my head. My eyes darted to the spot where I’d left Alex.
He wasn’t there.
Of course he wasn’t. He was an addict, and all three things he was addicted to—alcohol, cocaine, and Fallon—were there tonight.
My eyes roamed. I spotted Alfie flirting with someone at the bar, Lucas dancing with a girl in a Victorian dress, and Blake talking on his phone on one of the balconies overlooking the Paris skyline. If Blake knew I’d lost Alex, he would maim me. And rightly so. I started walking around in circles, searching for him. Black tux. Black mask. That was pretty much half the attendees of this Halloween charity ball, but the knowledge that so much was on the line for me—my job, my salary, my heart—made my heeled feet run from spot to spot, searching for the troubled rock star.
I peeked into every face and studied every curve of jaw before deciding he wasn’t in the ballroom. Then, I began to look through the balconies. All eight of them. The first one was filled with couples making out. The second had a yelling Blake, and thankfully, he hadn’t noticed me. The third one was occupied with smokers, the fourth was empty, the fifth had a couple fighting in French…when I reached the sixth balcony, I stopped. It was empty, but I heard voices. One of them was familiar. Ragged breath on tough-as-nails accent. The familiar hoarseness that came with smoking like a chimney. I erased the space to the white marble railings with three steps.
And there, standing on the terrace below me, I had the perfect view to my very own version of a horror flick.
Alex and Fallon on the balcony of the first floor, face-to-face.
Without masks. Without pretense. Without me.
The lower terrace was deeper, almost twice the size of the one I stood on, so I had a crystal clear view of them.
She was prettier in person than I’d expected. Her hair was blond, long, and shiny. Her hourglass figure was hugged in a red silky dress. A seductive Juliet. The beautiful Disney Princess in the perfect dress. The way they looked at each other alone paralyzed me. Good. I’d had it coming from day one. Wasn’t I the genius who’d gotten into bed with the baddest rock star in the universe, who—by the way—had warned me he was after his ex?
She took a step toward him. He didn’t take a step back. No words were spoken, and that somehow made everything worse. She cupped his cheek, looking up. He bowed his head, looking down.
Then she got on her tiptoes and kissed him. Softly. Heartbreakingly slowly. I watched them, surprised the moon didn’t drop into the earth and the stars didn’t rain down on me. It felt final, bitter, unexpected. Suddenly, I found it hard to breathe.
Three.
Two.
One.
Three seconds. That’s the time it took him to tear his lips from her. Three seconds that felt like a lifetime as I stood there, in my stupid dress, with my stupid hair, being my stupid self. His lips disconnected from Fallon’s, but his eyes were still heavy and his expression was tortured. Anger washed over me. How could he do this to me in my favorite city in the whole world? How could he do this to us after London? After Watford? After the whole, entire freaking world?
He took a step back, and she threw herself at his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. He grabbed her wrists and untangled himself from her, schooling his features to their usual icy look. “No.”
“Why not?”
“How much time have you got?” He chuckled bitterly.
“Alex…”
Timing can make or break you. I learned that the night my parents died when they’d decided to cross the road at the exact same moment that psycho had driven past—and then over—them. And it was in perfect timing that a patch of fabric detached from my elaborate dress just then on the balcony, sailing down like a feather, old ink on antique pink. I didn’t need to read the words I’d scribbled on it to remember them by heart. I knew every patch on The Paris Dress. This one was, coincidentally or not, my favorite. It had the lyrics of one of the best love songs ever to be written, and it was written by the guy who’d just broken my heart in the most romantic city in the world.
I don’t want your yesterday.
And would never expect your tomorrow.
But if we can have today, I will show you what love tastes like.
And maybe, just maybe, we’ll forget about all our sorrows.
The patch fell between them, a symbol of their infidelity, and the air burned like there was a fire nearby. Only Alex hadn’t cheated on me. He’d said so himself—he wanted me for fun. Not for today, tomorrow, next week, or even the second after we said goodbye a couple of weeks from now, in L.A.
They both looked up, and I wanted to leave, but my legs were rooted to the floor. A statue made of broken hopes and dreams. So out of place, the party behind me still fizzing with laughter, music, and alcohol.
His eyes widened. Even in the dark, I could see how unnaturally big they were. Alex wasn’t the kind of guy to panic, and this look on him—the surprise, the regret, the dread—was new. He took off before I could blink, chasing me. Fallon stayed put, her blank gaze scanning me like you would dirt.
A slight smirk spread on her lips, and my brain tried to will the rest of my body to cooperate and move. I knew my heart was disobedient, but didn’t think it’d make the rest of my organs rebel, too.
“He won’t give you a head start.” Her grin widened, as she swiveled her head to the view and parked her forearms against the railings, giving me her back. Paris was lit up in black and gold before us, the Eiffel Tower like a needle that could pierce your heart. “When he wants something, he always gets it.”
“He didn’t get you,” I whispered.
“He always had me. I just waited for him to come and get me. I did absolutely everything in my power to get his attention, but I never had it. Not all the way. You’re not listening, Indigo Bellamy. Take off before he gets to you. You two don’t belong together. We do.”
“We don’t belong together,” I repeated. It was true. He’d bullied me, told me he wanted someone else, and then went and kissed her the minute I’d turned my back.
“You better start running.”
I snapped like someone punched me from the inside.
I took my heels off without even being present in the moment, collected them in one hand, and took flight. I ran and ran, and then ran some more. The chateau was an elaborate labyrinth. Every floor had a long hallway full of big rooms. I took the stairway to the floor down, knowing Alex would go up to get me, and started opening doors, looking for the busiest room I could hide in. The faint echo of the bass thudding against the ceiling was the only evidence there was a party upstairs. My heart raced faster than my mind. I didn’t have a plan. The only thing I knew was that if I saw him now, I would accept his explanation, and maybe even apology. I would forgive him, and I would take him back.
Until the next time Fallon came around.
Until the next time temptation knocked on his door.
Alex Winslow was both an addict and an addiction. Pure and wild. The notion that
I couldn’t refuse him was bone-deep, so I did the only thing I could tonight. I copped out.
Jogging into another empty room, I glanced around to see if I had somewhere to hide in it. I couldn’t hear any footsteps, and for all I knew, he could’ve given up and gone back to kissing Fallon until their lips fell off.
It was a fairly small maintenance room. The door was unlocked, and I still had cell phone reception, so I decided to stay there until the party died down and I could call Lucas and ask when we were heading back to the hotel. I dragged the heavy door behind me shut and flicked on the flashlight on my phone. The screen was broken, but it still shone just as bright, much like Alex.
I dragged my back against the wall and squatted, gathering my knees in my arms and resting my chin on top.
You were right, heart.
I’m sorry, heart.
Never again. Never again. Never, ever, ever again. Ad infinitum.
Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. Somehow, it didn’t surprise me when the door flung open and light poured through the crack. Then he came to me, like in a dream. Tall, commanding frame, confident footsteps. Fierce brutality stemming from his mere existence on this planet. Everything I’d studied and admired for the last couple months assaulted me when he entered the tight, dark space. I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe for him to apologize, or to be mean and his usual terminally indifferent self. For him to tell me I always knew it was going to be this way. That we were temporary. That Fallon had his heart. That I had his body, and a few rebound songs that always left me balancing on a thin thread of flattered and furious.
“Get up.” His voice was like a whip. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to his chest in one, effortless movement.
I groaned and glued my back to the wall, pushing him away. “Go away.”
He tried to yank me closer, his movements becoming desperate and impatient, when I pushed him off again, this time harder.
“The dress!” I tried to control my labored breaths. “It was for you. The patches were you. That’s why I made it. Out of your songs, Alex. If you looked closely.” I tore a patch of the dress, waving it in his face.
Go tell your friends that I’m the one,
Other guys have had their run,
Your soul is mine, and that’s the end,
I don’t even care, that you fucked my whole band.
“I did it for you. Because you’re layered and multicolored and different and…and…” And torn. My dress had fallen apart. Nothing I ever made fell apart. Other than The Paris Dress. Other than his dress. I inhaled, squeezing my eyes shut. “Just…leave.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I laughed, struggling to keep my tears at bay. I wasn’t going to cry. Especially over him. “You kissed your ex-girlfriend in front of me while I was in a dress I made for you. Because I feel like the stupidest girl in the world right now, and I think I’m allowed this one moment of quiet meltdown without an audience. You can sympathize, right? Understand the need to be broken without the limelight shining all over your ugly-cry face?”
Why was I being so brutally honest? I’d only stroke his inflated ego. Though I wasn’t sure his ego was so huge anymore. I actually suspected it was as fragile as my current state of sanity.
“First of all, I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me. And second of all,” he exhaled, punching the wall behind me with both fists and boxing me between his arms. I didn’t fight him. For the first time since we’d met, I didn’t need to. I knew I wouldn’t let him have me. Not when his lips were ghosting someone else’s tonight. Feeling in control over my body again was, sadly, anticlimactic.
“I felt nothing,” he said.
“You love her,” I insisted, praying to hear him dispute those words. “You said so yourself.”
“I love her?” He snorted, shaking his head. “What part gave me away, Indie? Huh? The part where, in every single conversation I’ve ever had about Fallon, I wanted her down and compliant and submissive, begging for my forgiveness and love again, or the part where I chased your sorry arse across the world? Tell me, Stardust, is that what love feels like? Feeling the need to steal, and destroy, and ruin your love interest just so you could breathe for one fucking second without feeling like a cockless loser? I don’t love Fallon, I don’t even like Fallon, and I sure as hell don’t fucking want Fallon. It was you I wrote songs about. It is you I see first thing in the morning before I open my eyes, like you’re carved into my fucking eyelids from the inside. It’s you I see at night, a second before I fall asleep, like you’re printed on every goddamn ceiling in Europe. I don’t want this to end, and my reasons are purely selfish. You made me forget about the drugs and remember about the art. But I’ve a feeling I’m not the only one who’s enjoying this arrangement. Why fuck it up? Because of a brief, one-sided kiss? Fallon is not a threat. Fallon is not even a hiccup. The only girl I’d like to be with until I’m back in L.A. is you, Stardust.”
Until I’m back in L.A.
Just an arrangement.
My reasons are selfish.
It killed me from the inside to know the man who came up with some of the most inspiring words about love was also capable of offering something so half-assed, partly-baked, and indecisive. And what slayed me even more was that I was fully ready to take it. Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow, or the next day, once my heart slowed down and logic kicked in. He hadn’t cheated on me. If anything, he’d peeled her off and told her no.
I felt Alex on my skin, even though he was smart enough not to touch me. He was waiting for me to speak when the door opened again.
Fallon appeared behind his back.
She looked horrified.
And broken.
And…dangerous.
Like a fatal disease that crawled to your threshold without knocking on the door, asking you to open your mouth and let it poison you. Most of all, Fallon looked high. Her pupils were dilated and wide as saucers, her skin clammy and gray. She thrust herself at Alex, trying to peel his palms from the wall above me with quivering fingers. Cold sweat misted her forehead, and her shudders were as violent as her eyes. It scared me so much I momentarily forgot to hate her and was more worried we should be calling for an ambulance.
“You weren’t supposed to find her,” she growled, tears running down her face. She wasn’t crying. She was shedding tears. I didn’t even think she was aware she was doing it. Her face was emotionless, ill-looking. “How do you think it feels to read about you in the news, Alex? New love. New album. New songs. I’m hurting, too. Don’t play into their hands. It’s us, baby. You and me. I don’t need rehab, and you don’t need her. All we need is each other.”
Who the hell were they?
“Fallon,” he bit out, more exasperated than emotional, like she was an annoying kid he tried to tame, “busy here. Where’s your fuckboy, Bushell?”
“I don’t know!” She threw her arms in the air. “Probably doing charity stuff or something boring along those lines. Oh, my God. He’s so boring. How was he even your friend? You guys have nothing in common. I need to talk to you.”
“The only thing you need is rehab. Go back to your boyfriend. Fiancé. Whatever.”
“Don’t do this, Alex. Don’t play into their game and let them win. This is not who we are. We do us. We’ve always done us.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, and one look at Alex’s face told me he was just as oblivious to what was going on. He parked his waist next to mine, turning his head and narrowing his eyes at her.
“You’re engaged to someone else.”
“They forced me. Jenna paid me, and I needed the money. Will won’t give me access to shit unless I go to rehab.”
“What are you bloody talking about?” Alex growled.
“They wanted you to hook up with this girl! That was the plan! They wanted her to make you forget about me! About the drugs.” She stomped her foot, waving around and pointing at me. “Oh my gosh, like, how can you not see that? You don’t need a sobriety co
mpanion. You have Blake, who’s attached to you by the hip, and Lucas, who would goddamn-near kill for you!” she spat out, growing twitchier by the second.
I mulled her words over. She looked crazy, but the things she said added up pretty correctly, and that worried me. Had Jenna hired me to make Alex forget about Fallon? It sounded extremely farfetched, but I’d heard stranger things.
“Bollocks!” he yelled into her face. He was losing his cool, too. “How would you even fucking know that? No one from my team talks to you. No one!” Alex took a step in her direction, so mad I thought he could push her.
I dragged him by the arm back to me, and the mere touch between us made his face soften a little. Still, he looked scarier than I’d ever seen him.
“I know that because Will was in on it,” she cried on a full-blown sob. “Will loves me. I know he does. But I don’t love him. I love you. They wouldn’t let me talk to you.” She sniffed. “They said…” Now she was crying for real, and I wanted to cry with her, because things had gotten so much more complicated. “They said I ruined you and that you’re better off without me. That she was sweet and proper and will make you feel better.”
“Lies.” He shook his head. “No, no, no.”
“Will only ever wanted the best for you. For me, too. Blake, Lucas, and Alfie were in on it, too. Why did you think Lucas was pushing himself on this girl so hard? Is she really worthy of the attention of two rock stars? I mean, no offense.” She raked her eyes along my body, meaning the offense and then some.
I took a step toward her, about to give her a piece of my mind, but now it was Alex’s turn to pull me into him. My head was spinning with the revelation, even though I wasn’t even sure it was true.
“If you’re lying—” Alex started, raising a finger in warning.
“I’m not lying,” she cut through his words, stomping her foot again, a reoccurring tick that was more suitable for a toddler. “Why the hell would I lie? You know these people. Will wanted to save me and love me and blah blah blah. Then he felt guilty about us, so he ganged up on you with your friends and agent, who would do just about anything to keep you sober and productive. But you’re not happy, Alex, are you? How can you be happy without me? I thought about you every day.”