CHAPTER37
LEVI
I’m an idiot—I realize that.
I don’t know why I like to torture myself, but the pain that I cause myself helps keep me in check. I used to drive to this parking lot, park my car, walk in, grab a couple of bottles, walk out, drive home, and drink them throughout the week. But now, I make myself sit here, watching everyone who might be just like me walk in and out.
My seat belt stays on at all times as I imagine my life cutting short. Imagine where Stella would go, how my bandmates would feel. I imagine literally dying to help myself not fall back into the hopeless cycle that would cause me to actually die.
Pretty fucked up, I know. I should stop doing this to myself, but it’s the only thing that hits deep enough to fully help.
It helps motivate me to do good, to get better for myself so I can live the life I want, and to also be the best for Stella.
When my eyes start burning, that’s when I decide I’ve had enough. Putting my car in reverse, I drive out of the plaza without looking back.
* * *
I’m mentally exhausted when I arrive at the studio after staying home “sick” for a couple of days. I’m definitely not ready for another day’s work of practice for our upcoming concert. But right as I walk into the lobby, a flash of blonde hair catches my attention.
Picking up my pace, I see her go into the women’s restroom, wearing a sexy pair of denim shorts.
I should think twice before storming into a restroom I shouldn’t be in, but I don’t give a fuck. She’s probably the only one in there since it’s a ghost town right now. Pushing the door open, I find her standing in front of the mirror, texting on her phone.
“Did you change your number? Because I’d bet, right now, you’re not texting me back.”
She jumps at the sound of my voice and turns with a full-on scowl on her beautiful face. “What the hell, Levi? This is the girls’ restroom. What are you doing here?”
Turning, I lock the door. “There. Is that better?”
“No!” She rushes to me and pushes my shoulder. “What are you doing in here?”
“I came to see if you were still alive. Glad to know my messages were seen, but just ignored.”
I sent her about three messages since our eventful night, not getting a single response back.
“Is there a law that says I have to respond to every text message I receive?”
“No, it just makes you a decent human being.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Can I help you with something? I have to go if we’re just going to argue.”
“Why are you avoiding me?” The question comes out before I can think.
She raises a brow. “I’m not avoiding you. This was how our relationship was before … you know …” She trails off, casting her gaze to her black Converse.
“I get that.” I nod. “But our relationship has changed. We had sex, Amelia.”
“Millions of people have sex with strangers and never see them again.” She shrugs, like it’s no big deal.
She just called me a stranger.
Months later, and we’re still strangers?
“We’re not fucking strangers.” The irritation is clear in my voice. “We have to see each other every day and pretend we’re dating. That’s strangers to you?”
She opens her mouth to say something but closes it a second later.
You know what? Why do I give a shit when the feeling isn’t returned?
