“It’s crazy, right?” Charlie asked. “The things I’m feeling. The way my body is changing from the inside out is so weird. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. It’s harder than I thought it would be.”
“I’m sorry it’s been hard for you. I know it’s unfair. This is supposed to be a happy time, and so much sadness has interrupted that. I didn’t mean to make you feel left out, but it honestly isn’t anything to envy being a part of. That little boy dying the way he did. It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever witnessed. I haven’t slept right since all this started. Watching Demi and Lauren wasn’t easy. I almost understand why Demi wanted to leave you out of it, sis,” Stassi admitted. “How are you two?”
“I don’t want to talk about Demi,” Charlie said. She hadn’t accepted one phone call from him. He texted her daily. She never responded. She was trying incredibly hard to stick to her guns, but she missed him terribly. Talking about it wouldn’t make anything better, so she would rather not. She had to figure out things on her own. He was willing to give her anything she wanted. She knew he was at her mercy. The problem was she didn’t know how to undo the damage that had been done. Shehad no answers on how to fix their problems. They both felt like they were in the right, so even though Demi was willing to wave the white flag, she wasn’t sure if going back would solve their issues. She still wouldn’t feel like she had a place in his life because he didn’t understand the problem to begin with. She was sure he thought she was being emotional, hormonal, and unreasonable, and hell, maybe she was. She just didn’t know anymore.
“Okay,” Stassi said. “Well, do you want to talk about your career? Because you’ve been holed up here, doing absolutely nothing but self-loathing, and it’s not healthy.”
“What career?” Charlie scoffed. “What am I supposed to do? Market an album with a big-ass belly?”
“Yes,” Stassi said. “You’re supposed to share your whole journey with the people who love your music. You’re heartbroken, so sing about it. That nigga pissing you off, so get in the studio and write a song about that shit. Give us what Mary gave us withShare My World. Give us what Keyshia gave us withLove. If it hurts, sing, Charlie. If you love him, sing that too. But this shit that you’re doing…Rotting here. It ain’t the move. Do anything but that.”
“I can barely pull myself out of bed, my morning sickness is so bad,” Charlie protested.
“So, shit, write about that!” Stassi joked. “I want you to snap out of this shit. Get back to being you. Write. Get on stage. I want you to turn that baby into everybody’s baby. Make your pregnancy into everybody’s pregnancy. If you sit down for these nine months, your dream is going to fade away. Day has some events he wants me to plan for the company, and I think you should perform, Charlie. I think you should sing your heart out. If it’s broken, let it bleed.”
“Nobody wants to see a pregnant girl on stage,” Charlie shot back. She didn’t want to give up her dream, but she knew it wastime to be realistic, too. She and Demi wouldn’t likely end up together, and this baby would be the death of all her plans. It was terrifying, but somehow, it still felt like the most important job she had ever had. She didn’t know what was ahead of her, but the responsibility she felt growing inside her felt like something she couldn’t just abandon. This baby was proof that the love of her life existed once. He had been in front of her eyes before DJ died. She had watched him fade away like a mirage as soon as his son left this earth. Now, she was in the desert searching for her next reprieve alone. She was waiting for rescue, but it felt like Demi would never find her again. She felt it. He had dropped her off in that desert the day he asked her to leave the hospital. He had promised to return for her, but every day since, she had been dying slowly, thirsting for his presence. Even now, at this moment, the pit in her stomach was growing because he felt impossible to reach. She felt him, wherever he was, drifting further and further from her.
“I don’t think I can share what I’m feeling and who I am right now on stage, Stass,” Charlie said. “I don’t even know who I am. I’m insecure. I’m terrified. I’m up, then I’m down. I’m unreasonable. I’m moody. Bitchy. Horny. Selfish. Angry. Jealous.”
“Bitch, you sound like every single woman I know. You are us. Sing for us.” It felt like Stassi was trying to talk her off a ledge; hell, or was she trying to talk her onto one?
“I’ll make you a deal. Just go live. Go live like you used to do when you had 500 followers, get your guitar, and just sing. If folks don’t care, I won’t say shit else about it. You know the bloggers are all waiting for you or Demi or Lo to speak about DJ’s death anyway. They got the funeral images all on Shade Room. The comments full of speculation. Just go live and sing your truth. If nobody cares, then I’ll back off. I’ll bet a whole bunch of folks care, though,Charlie. A bunch of people want youto sing their story. The pregnancy doesn’t make the story less important.”
Charlie was hesitant. She had never been afraid to open her mouth to sing until now.
“What are you afraid of?” Stassi asked.
“To be stupid in front of everybody,” Charlie whispered. It was the judgment she couldn’t handle. It was the feeling like she had won this grand love when Demi had come back to her, only for her to end up here. It was karma coming for her lick back. The public shame would be the nail in her coffin.
Stassi stood, and Charlie could see the look of “bitch please” all over her face.
“Where’s your guitar?” Stassi asked.
“It’s in the room, Stass, but…”
Stassi was already halfway down the hallway. “But nothing!”
She returned with the guitar and gave it to Charlie.
“Bitch, stupid in public and stupid in private is still stupid,” Stassi said.
Charlie’s mouth fell open in shock at the insult. “You just might be the worst motherfucking support system in the whole world,” Charlie said.
“I’m just saying. Shit, we all been there. These niggas have us out of body, doing crazy-ass shit, feeling crazy-ass shit, capping for they asses, sucking them, fucking on ‘em real good, feeling ourselves, like we ir-re-fucking-placeable, only for us to find out eventually that we all the same. All our asses out here looking stupid for these niggas. We all have our day. We all birds of a motherfucking feather. So, sing, bitch. Cuz you ain’t the first, and you won’t be the last. Sing our pain.”
Stassi went live before Charlie had time to protest.
“Sing what?” Charlie asked.
“Whatever you want,” Stassi stated.
Charlie popped open her case and pulled the guitar out. She grabbed a pick and then cradled it in her grasp. The guitar was beautiful. She named her Destiny because Demi had gifted it to her, and she felt he was hers, her destiny. Hereventuallyanyway. Why fight because they were going to end up together eventually anyway, was her explanation. This time didn’t feel like that, but the beautiful instrument in her hand reminded her of him—of them. She closed her eyes and strummed a few strings.
Fingers wrapped around a delicate champagne glass, Lauren sat, sipping, as her free hand scrolled through social media. She was halfway through a bottle of Bollinger vintage. It was numbing, just like she liked it. It was medicinal to all things that ailed her.
She didn’t even know how Charlie had come onto her timeline. She didn’t follow her, but before her very eyes was her adversary. Or was she? She had thought about that long and hard over the past few weeks. Her disdain for the girl was justified, but it was so hard to keep up. They were victims of circumstance, a circumstance that Demi had created.
Lauren didn’t even want to listen. Charlie wasn’t someone she hated anymore, but the initial shock of her triggered pain in Lauren every single time they crossed paths. It was like she was forced to forgive Charlie over and over again at every encounter. Charlie looked like every heartbreak she had ever felt was competing for her tears, and Lauren placed four fingers over her mouth as Charlie hummed a tune that was so familiar. No words, just a melody floating through a tight-lipped grimace as Charlie played that damn guitar. She wasn’t even saying the words to the song, and the emotion of it oozed through Charlie’sbody and through this screen into Lauren. Her eyes misted as she watched the numbers of the live run-up. Charlie finally added words.
