The Mixtape

by Cherry, Brittainy

  “Don’t you see why that’s a shitty reason to stay in a relationship?”

  She rolled her eyes. “What exactly do you want, Oliver? If you’re here to just waste my time, congratulations. I’m already bored.”

  I clasped my hands together and placed them on the table. “I need you to tell the truth to the news outlets about our relationship. I need you to tell them that I wasn’t the monster you made me out to be.”

  She huffed. “Yeah fucking right. You think I’m an idiot? That would make me look insane in the public eye.”

  “Don’t you care about how you made me look?”

  She laughed. No shit, she actually laughed. I couldn’t for the life of me believe that I’d been so low in my past that I’d settled for someone as cruel as her.

  “I couldn’t care less about how it makes you look. Haven’t you seen? Ever since those interviews, my career has taken off. I’ve had the number one single for the past three weeks. Not to mention, I’ve been on almost every magazine cover.”

  “You’ve also ruined my life.”

  She smirked and shrugged. “That’s show business, baby. We’re in the entertainment industry, Oliver. This is what we do. We tell the world a story. The story I’m telling is that I’m the country sweetheart, and you’re the dark, damaged musician who lost his way.”

  “You don’t feel remorse for doing that to me?”

  “Not a lick. The truth is, the only reason I stuck around with you was because of the payoff I was supposed to get. The fame and celebrity-couple status.”

  And there it was.

  Cam’s true colors.

  “What you’ve done is affecting other people’s lives, though, Cam. In a very serious way. I don’t care about me anymore. You’re hurting people that I love.”

  “Like who? It’s not like you have anyone in your life that actually cares for you, except for your pathetic parents. Is it Tyler? Kelly? Whose life?”

  “It’s not them.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Then who?” Her lips pursed together as she released a low whistle. “Don’t tell me it’s that chef?”

  “It doesn’t matter who it is.”

  “But it does,” she disagreed. “Oh my God, of course it’s her. Were you fucking her when we were together?”

  “No. The only one who was ever unfaithful in our relationship was you.”

  She snickered. “Can you blame me? Why would anyone want to love someone as damaged as you?”

  I didn’t have anything else to say to her. Honestly, I’d heard everything that I needed to hear. She wasn’t going to go back on what she’d said to the press; therefore I had no reason to stay around Cam for a second longer. Her and her toxic ways weren’t a lifestyle I lived in anymore. I’d worked too hard on my healing to crumble at her feet.

  36

  EMERY

  Each passing day, in the morning I received a text message from Oliver. They were simple messages with songs attached to them. Simple messages that got me through the hardest moments in my life.

  Oliver: For when you need to laugh—Fuck You, by CeeLo Green

  Oliver: For when you need to cry—Trying My Best, Anson Seabra

  Oliver: For when you need to remember your strength—Girl on Fire, Alicia Keys

  Oliver: For when you need any emotional girl power time—Any Lizzo or Taylor Swift song

  Oliver: For when you need to remember my love—You Are the Reason, Calum Scott

  The last song made me cry, but it wasn’t sad tears. It was tears of love. So, even though I knew I couldn’t be with Oliver now as I worked through my issues, I sent him a song as a reminder of my love for him.

  Emery: For when you need to remember my love—Heart Stamps, Alex & Oliver

  Each day the songs kept coming my way, and I played every one on repeat. Even though for now Oliver and I had to keep our distance, I swore I could feel his love as the lyrics of the songs danced within my soul.

  37

  OLIVER

  I didn’t know if what I was doing made any sense, but in my gut, I knew I had to try my best. As I pulled into Randall, Oregon, I was determined to track Emery’s sister down. It didn’t take long for me to find out where Emery’s parents lived, and once I’d learned that, I was able to find Sammie.

  It was midday when I pulled up to their house, and I was thankful when I knocked that Sammie answered the door instead of Emery’s parents. Don’t get me wrong: I would’ve stood up to their father again, but he wasn’t my target for the day—Sammie was.

  “Oliver Smith,” she muttered, looking stunned as she stood in front of me. “What . . . I . . .”

  “You’re Sammie?” I asked, holding my hand out for her to shake. She took it, and shook, allowing me to feel the trembles in her grip. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  She stared blankly, shocked, as if I were a ghost or something.

  Her fingernails scratched at her forearms for a bit. “What are you doing here?”

  “I think you know why I’m here. I came to talk to you.”

  “To me? Why would you do that? I’m nobody.”

  The way the words fell from her mouth hurt me, because she’d spoken the word “nobody” as if she truly believed it.

  “You’re somebody to a lot of people. Especially your sister, Emery. I’m here because she probably believes she can’t be. I just didn’t want to do nothing while her world was falling apart.”

  “What do you have to do with Emery?” she asked, looking baffled. “I mean, I know she works for you, but . . .”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Your parents didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Emery and I have been dating for a while now. Your parents were planning to use me against Emery to take her to court over Reese.”

  “You’re . . . Emery’s dating you? You as in Oliver Smith? No way.”

  I smiled. “We were dating, until your parents, well . . . you know . . .”

  Her eyes glassed over, and I noticed so many parts of her sister that lived in her features. “I don’t get why they would do that, though. They promised they wouldn’t fight dirty. They just wanted what they thought was best for Reese. They promised . . .”

  “How many promises have they broken to you?” I asked.

  She remained quiet.

  “How many promises has Emery broken to you?”

  Her head lowered. “None.”

  I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. “Sammie . . . do you want Reese back in your life? Do you want to be her mother?”

  She glanced around the streets as if she was afraid of someone listening, before she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I need you to go. I can’t be talking to you. This is too much. I can’t do this.” She turned to reenter her house as I called out to her.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” She paused her footsteps yet didn’t turn to face me again. Her shoulders deflated, and I repeated those same words once more. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  With the slowest movement, the broken girl had enough strength to turn around and face me. Her shoulders were rounded forward, and the heaviest part of her soul sat right there in her eyes, which matched Emery’s. I didn’t know how, but I knew right then and there that guilt had been the thing eating her alive each day. I knew that she’d been swallowed whole by demons.

  I’d been swallowed, too, yet nowhere near as long as she’d had to face the darkness. I was lucky to have stopped falling before I spiraled too far. But Sammie? She’d been spiraling for five years. Her life had been stolen from her, and then she was told that she was to blame by the ones who were supposed to protect her, by the ones who were supposed to cover her with love.

  I would’ve spiraled hard too. I’d lose myself in ways I couldn’t even imagine. I’d fucking snap and hate the world to its core.

  Yet that wasn’t what I was seeing when I stared at Emery’s sister.

  No.

  I saw guilt.

  I saw blame.

&nb
sp; I saw her holding on to shame that never should’ve been placed against her shoulders.

  “What did you say?” she whispered, her voice coarse and cracking.

  I slid my hands into my pockets as I took a few steps toward her. “I said it’s not your fault. What that man did to you—it wasn’t your fault. What he took from you—it wasn’t your fault. Everything that took place afterward wasn’t you playing the victim card. You are the victim of a disgusting act, and I know your parents have told you that you could’ve avoided what happened to you, but that’s not true. You are not to blame. You were abused. You are the victim, and none of this is your fault.”

  Her shaky hands moved to her face, and she covered her mouth as her slim body began to tremble. Tears flowed down her face, and she shook her head. “I was wearing—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you were wearing. It doesn’t matter what you said. It doesn’t matter what hour of the night it was, Sammie. What that man did to you was unacceptable and evil, and I am so sorry that you went through that, but you aren’t to blame for what happened to you. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Maybe what happened to me wasn’t my fault, but I abandoned Reese . . . I left Emery to handle it all on her own. I made so many mistakes.”

  “Still, not your fault. You were dealing with a trauma, and you didn’t know how to handle it, so you did what you thought was best in that moment. That’s not your fault. Someone broke you, and fucked you up. I can’t say that I know what your mind went through, but I can only imagine the damage it caused. That’s why I want to help you. Let me get you set up somewhere so you can find yourself—really find yourself. I have some property in Texas by my parents that you can stay at, and there’s a great women’s center down there that helps with mental health due to trauma.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why would you want to help me? I’m nobody,” she repeated, shaking as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

  I stuffed my hands into my jeans pockets. “You’re the girl who sings poorly. You’re smart. You’re kind. You care so much that sometimes it can feel overwhelming. You hate feeling like a burden to anyone. You eat tacos with ranch, and you dip your Doritos in blue cheese. You wanted to go to college to be a therapist—to help people. You cried during The Notebook and laughed during The Hangover movies that you watched behind your parents’ back. You used to write your prayers out each night and placed them beneath your pillow. You can’t whistle, and you hate the pink Starburst—which, frankly, I find highly disturbing—and when you laugh, it lights up the room. You’re not nobody, Sammie. You’re somebody important.”

  “How . . .” She took a deep breath. “How did you know all of that?”

  “Because your sister told me. She talks about you all the time. She loves you and misses you more than you’ll ever know, and she needs you right now. She wants to help you too.”

  Sammie’s eyes flashed with sadness. “I don’t deserve her help. Not after what I did to her.”

  I snickered, shaking my head. “But you know she would still want to help you. She would take you in with arms wide open, Sammie, because that’s how she loves. Unconditionally.”

  She shut her eyes and placed her hands against her chest. “I’m broken.”

  “Who isn’t? It’s okay.”

  “How is that okay? I don’t even know who I am anymore. I look in the mirror and don’t see myself anymore.”

  “Everyone breaks sometimes. It’s a part of life. Sometimes we have to fall apart before we can fall back together. I couldn’t look in mirrors for a long time. I couldn’t face my demons because they were reminders of my mistakes and mishaps. But Emery walked me through them. I didn’t have to get through it on my own. So, please . . . let me walk with you. We’re all just trying to breathe, Sammie. It doesn’t make you weak to reach out for help. That’s actually what makes you strong. So, what do you say? How about we breathe together?”

  That night, when I got home, I opened my email to find a letter from an insider whose name seemed very familiar to me.

  The title of the email read: “Just In Case You Need This.”

  Hey Oliver,

  I’m not sure if you remember me, but we met at the farmer’s market. I was the asshole following you and taking your picture. Well, I was also the asshole who saw you when you were having a conversation with Cam at the outdoor diner, and I was able to record it. The clip is attached above, and I wanted to let you know that I can pass it on to media outlets. It might help clear your name.

  I know you might be against this, or not trust me, but again, a lot of us are your supporters. I won’t share it, unless you ask me to do so. I don’t want to cause you any more struggles.

  —Charlie Parks

  I sat back a bit, completely baffled by the email sitting in my inbox. My mind raced back and forth as I tried to figure out the best thing that I could do with the information he’d given me. I didn’t care about clearing my name as much as I cared about making life easier for Emery, and maybe having a chance to have her come back to me.

  So, I hit reply.

  Dear Charlie,

  Please send the video out.

  —OS

  38

  EMERY

  “I miss Mr. Mith,” Reese stated for the fifty millionth time in the past two weeks. Every time she said it, I felt like an awful mother. I’d brought Oliver into her life, only to have him ripped away from her days after she was questioning if he was going to be her father. I hated the guilt that was building up inside of me every single day, yet what I hated most was how much I missed him too.

  I missed him to my core. At night, he’d show up in my dreams, and come morning he’d live in my thoughts. Even though I knew I was making the right choice for my daughter, it didn’t make things any easier. I wished I could’ve figured out a way to make our love work. I wished I could’ve been able to keep him by my side during my hardest days, but I didn’t see any way that it was possible.

  “I know, baby, I miss him too.” I sighed, rubbing my hands against my eyes. I hadn’t cried in a few days, so I took that as a win. I knew I had to stop my tears from coming when Reese began asking me why I was sad. Hiding my sadness from my little girl was probably the hardest thing for me to do. Appearing strong when I felt weak was harder than anyone could’ve ever believed.

  There was a knock at my door, and I hurried over to answer it. Kelly was standing there with two bottles in her hand. One was red wine, and the other was sparkling grape juice.

  I cocked an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s good to see you too,” she joked, barging into the apartment without an official invitation inside; not that she needed one. “I figured tonight was a great night for a girls’ night out!” she exclaimed. “Reese! Do you want to have a girls’ night out?”

  “Yes!” my daughter shouted, making me shake my head.

  “No,” I said back. I didn’t have the energy to get up and go out. Most days, I was just trying to make it from morning to night. I didn’t have an ounce of extra energy to put anywhere else but within my daughter.

  “Oh, gosh. Don’t be a party pooper, Emery,” Kelly said.

  “Yeah, don’t be a party pooper, Mama,” Reese echoed. I gave her a stern look, and her eyes widened as she whispered, “Is ‘pooper’ a bad word?”

  I couldn’t even hold my smirk in from her comment. But she wasn’t the one I was supposed to be scolding in that moment. Therefore, I turned back to Kelly. “I can’t go out tonight. I have to keep trying to find a job.”

  “Jobs will be there tomorrow. A girls’ night is needed. And I bet you’ll feel even more inspired to job search tomorrow after a great time. You were there for me when I needed a girls’ day, so let me be there for you when you need one. Please, Emery?”

  “Yeah, pleeeeeeease, Mama?”

  I wanted to say no, go crawl into bed, and surrender to my sadness, but the spark of hope
in Reese’s eyes wasn’t something that I could let fade away. Ever since Oliver had stopped coming around, I’d noticed how sad Reese was about it. If me going out for a girls’ night would make her smile, I’d do it.

  “Okay. What do you have in mind?”

  “It’s a surprise. Just go get dressed, something cute! I’ll help Reese pick out something to wear. Meet out here in about twenty minutes, okay?”

  I snickered. “I don’t need twenty minutes to get ready.”

  Kelly scanned me up and down with her blue eyes. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry to say, but you do need twenty minutes to get ready. You’ve been running around looking like a zombie for the past few days.”

  “She’s right, Mama. You look like a zombie with fifty billion bags under your eyes,” Reese agreed. Then the two of them began walking around the living room like zombies.

  Well then.

  That felt like the confidence boost I was searching for.

  Before I could reply, Kelly was patting me on my behind, shooing me in the direction of my room.

  “And wear a nice pair of heels!” she shouted.

  Heels? Yeah, right. She was going to get a pair of sneakers, and she was going to like it too.

  It took me fifteen minutes to get dressed and do my makeup, but I hung out in my bedroom for those extra five minutes, giving myself a pep talk. I needed to put on my superhero cape in order for the girls to not notice how sad I felt. From zombie to superwoman in twenty minutes or less.

  “There our lady is!” Kelly cheered as I emerged from my bedroom as a butterfly. Well, maybe more like a moth, but they were getting what I had to give that night.

  Reese was wearing an adorable pink dress that flared at the bottom, and her kiddie heels. Her wild curly hair was tamed and pulled back into a perfect bun. I had no clue how Kelly had managed to do that in less than thirty minutes. It normally took me five hours to tame my daughter’s hair.

  “You look beautiful, Mama,” Reese gasped, looking my way. “Like a princess.”