She gets up and sits. “I would be the best he’s ever had.Better than you.”
“You’re like one small Froot Loop in a never-ending string of a Froot Loop necklace,” I say.
“I wouldn’t care, see? I’d be all full of Damian Miles.”
“Full of Damian Miles? He’d just be spilling his emptiness and sadness inside you.”
“Fuck off,” she grunts.
“Good comeback. Brilliant.”
“You’re a stupid cow,” she snaps.
“Better a cow than a table,” I bite back.
Damian crosses between us and walks toward the alcohol table. He’s downing drinks and I swear it looks like he swallowed a pill or two. He gives me a sideways glance and says, “I was right in the beginning. You’re perfect for this job.”
Then the rest of the band herds the girls up like a bunch of sheep, and I sit through a sickening game of what I deem Dirty Dick Roulette: when a group of people get together for an orgy where one person is most likely secretly positive for an STD and no one is using protection.
I need a bleach bath. I know I wasn’t hit with any bodily fluids but some of that shit was spraying across the green room.
I gather my things when the party gets too much for me. When the smell of sex is so thick in the air, I feel like anything they have might be contagious and airborne. There are so many bodies naked in front of me and the room is so hazy with smoke I can’t even see where Damian went, or who he went into. I escape from the room, fully clothed, with possibly a slight high from inhaling all the shit the room was filled with. I stumble down the stairs, and as soon as I get into fresh air, I close my eyes and take a deep, deep breath.
When I open them, I see Damian slumped up against the wall in a dark corner. He looks horrible, like someone sucked all the life out of him.
“Are you okay?” I say, running up to him.
He looks at me and for a brief moment doesn’t seem to know who I am. Then he says, “Jane Nash, do you think it’s possible that we’re all just a few bad life decisions away from being truly horrible human beings?”
“Yeah, it’s possible.”
“I’m done with it.” Then he collapses onto the floor, and I’m not quick enough to catch him and there’s no one around to help me. I drag him back into the stadium and I’m screaming for help. I don’t even know the number you call in England for an emergency. 911 is getting me nowhere. Thank God, someone finds us and we’re instantly on our way to the hospital.
The rumors start spreading online immediately. He collapsed from exhaustion. An overdose. Alcohol poisoning. Damian Miles: Dead.
There’s one slight problem with the stories: they’re all untrue.
Because right now, the infamous bad boy cock star Damian Miles is flying on a commercial airplane with me, economy-class, trying to run away from his life, and I’m his getaway girl.
And thanks, Karma, I did not see that one coming at all.
How the hell do I explain this to Dex?
Chapter 6
The world thinks Damian Miles just vanished into thin air, like he’s some magical, mystical creature straight out of Hogwarts.
And that’s exactly the way he wants it.
There is a great outpouring of grief and shock across the world, especially on social media. Half the world thinks he’s dead and is in complete chaos. The other half comes up with conspiracy theories about aliens, kidnapping, and enlightened, spiritual awakenings. And of course, in the pursuit of the hottest breaking news, the once-in-a-lifetime scoop, the media loses the truth, evades any form of reality, and the fictional account of a god is born.
How anyone in this day and age can believe any of the bullshit is beyond me. Most entertainment reporters were just flinging shit against the crowd to see what stories stuck. But in the end, everyone was just full of crap.
Gail demands a detailed account of our last hours together, the last place he was seen, and my thoughts of where he might have gone. On the seven-hour plane ride home, Damian and I begin to write the outline of the tell-all, the way he wants it written. But I refuse to write the words deceased or death and will only vaguely imply he “left the world.” I won’t let him pretend to die.
First, that shit is illegal.
Second, it’s stupid. One week in the real world will have him clawing back to his life of privilege, where women will literally bend over backwards so he can rest his beer bottles on them.
