52.
October 15th, 2020
With hands that had begun trembling the moment I’d stepped outta my car and into her apartment building, and a heart that wouldn’t stop acting like a ticking time bomb, I moved forward and knocked on her door like a fucking teenager approaching his crush for the first time. I then pushed my hair away from my face, and scowled when it fell forward and covered my right temple again.
It’d been a little over eleven days since I’d seen, or heard from Zaira. When I’d reached the hospital last week after she’d refused to let me join her in the ambulance, Kenzie, along with Zaira’s parents, had refused to let me see her. They were just as confused by her sudden shift of behavior towards me as I was, but they had no other option but to respect her wishes. I’d done that too – not only on that particular day but the next ten or so days as well. It wasn’t like I had a choice. She didn’t wanna see me after being discharged, and she’s been continually ignoring each and every one of my calls and texts ever since. It’s a different story that some of the messages I’ve sent her in the past week have been long-ass, whiney monologues of me asking her to talk to me, and also of me professing my undying love for her as if I were a Shakespeare-designed character. But in my defense, those monologues had only spilled outta me during nights where I was too drunk to tell the difference between Tom Hanks and Kevin Spacey.
Yeah, I was a weird ass bitch after a few glasses of scotch, what can I say.
I sighed and ran a hand over my face as I waited for Zaira to open the door, but when she didn’t, I swallowed and knocked again.
Everything I’ve learnt about her health and general wellbeing since the…incident, has been through either her parents, or through Kenzie, Kenneth, Dylan, and Amara.
However, none of those traitors ever told me why Zaira didn’t wish to see, or even talk to me anymore. I’m sure they must’ve asked, and I’m surer that she must’ve told them. But those four asshats kept refusing to answer me whenever I tried to get something out of them.
Kenzie, though, had told me that Zaira was seeing a therapist because she was facing occasional frights and nightmares. It had quite literallymaimedme to know that she was going through something so drastic, and the idea of her facing those very frights and nightmares alone – yeah, that killed me a little on the inside.
I loved her so fucking much, and the fact that she’s chosen to keep me away while she goes through such darkness – it’s been biting away at my conscience and heart.
I wanna be there for her, but she won’t even acknowledge me or my attempts of reaching out to her. How am I supposed to do anything unless she lets me in again?
Why did she push me away in the first place?
Aubrey has paid, and paidwellfor everything she’s done. She was prosecuted for each and every despicable thing she’s done to Zaira. Not only her, but her manager and friends have also been caught up in her mess. She’s solely accountable for most of what she did, with only some minor help from her ‘girlfriends’. But because it was her manager who’d filled her head with certain ideas that could successfully hurt Zaira and damage her reputation, that bastard, too, had had to pay.
Ronen, that goddamn heaven-sent motherfucker, made sure Aubrey paid back the contract money forWaves That Hold Usas part of her legal charge, along with a couple of her assets and a large amount of cash as a cherry on the fucking cake. She was pulled out of media appearances for the movie, and a few of the big-name magazines and fashion brands that had signed her on for one-time collaborations also stepped back when Ronen reached out to them.
Aubrey’s parents had prevented the news of their precious daughter’s massive fuck-up from reaching the media. The news that had instead gone out was one of the happy family enjoying a wonderful vacation in their holiday home in Miami after Aubrey’s ‘months of hard work’ onWaves That Hold Us.
What a joke.
I’d been furious about the whole escape lie. Ronen couldn’t do anything against it because his work ended when Aubrey took accountability for her wrongdoings and paid the legal charges. But forme, it wasn’t enough. Not after all she’s put Zaira through.
I wanted Aubrey’s reality to be revealed to the media, and for her disgusting layers to be peeled before the world’s eyes one by one, but there wasn’t anything I could do but fume in my empty penthouse with two bottles of Johnnie Walker and a constant resting dick-face.
Dylan had offered to expose Aubrey to the media, but Shane had reminded us that in doing so, we would end up putting Zaira in the spotlight, too. She’d be just as much the talk of H-town and the tabloids as Aubrey, and that would serve no purpose but cause more distress and drama.
I’ve been getting uncountable DMs, tweets, and comments from fans asking about Zaira and I’s absence on social media. We haven’t shared anything at all in around two weeks, so for the fans – who are used to seeing multiple tweets and posts and stories from us on a daily basis – it is bound to be a little confusing.
On Shane’s request, I did send out a neutral tweet the other day talking about getting some downtime in with Zaira before the press tour ofWaves That Hold Usbegan. Call it bravery or stupidity, but I tagged her in my tweet, and was surprised when I didn’t hear any objections from her. Well, I got no other response from her either, so there’s that.
At least she didn’t block me on all of social media, right?
Right.
Kenneth and I were to head to New York – the first stop in our dreadful press tour – in the next four hours. So, before I got busy with travelling and the whole promotion shebang, I wanted to meet Zaira one-on-one and see where she stood.
Wherewestood.
I rose my left arm to knock on her door again, but stopped halfway when it flung open.
I sucked in a quick breath as her eyes met mine, and swallowed as I gave her a once-over.
Her hair was a mess above her head, with some long strands falling on the sides of her face. The glasses she had on were gold rimmed, and looked so damn beautiful on her. She was wearing dark shorts, and a too-fluffy peach hoodie with a black cat poking its head out from behind the wide pocket at the front bottom – one I’d gifted her last month, despite her protests.
With another swallow, I looked at her face again, at her surprised expression, and every inch of my body buzzed with electricity when she blinked at me.
God, did she not know what she did to me?
