Page 102 of The Comedown

I told Julian we were redrawing lines, but I don’t know what lines are left, except the one barring actual sex, which I’m holding on to with a death grip because anonymous sex with a stranger is completely different than sex with a man I spend almost every waking minute with. A man that’s integrated himself into all aspects of my life including the family I hold dear. Holter and Julian have some sort of bond that I can’t quite define. I wish I could write it off as gaming buddies, but even I know that’s not true. Holter likes Julian. David does, too. When the two men met, they immediately put their heads together talking music and became…friends? Maybe even collab partners in the future if them exchanging numbers was anything to go by.

If all that wasn’t confusing enough, I also told Julian he couldn’t fuck anybody else.

After getting into New Orleans earlier this evening, we parted ways like we do every night, and even though Julian has his own suite, I doubt he’s using it. He’s probably on his bus, disregarding everything I told him, fucking anything with a pulse.

Pulse.

His pulse while he made me come all over his hand…God. His heart’s never beat that wildly, not under my watch. He was alive. So undeniably alive.

Where is he right now? What’s he doing? We’re in New Orleans, a city that’s tailor-made for people like him, and there’s no way he’s not taking full advantage.

This is exactly why I shouldn’t have messed with any lines regarding Julian. If you don’t give someone your trust, they can’t break it.

Sighing, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, padding into the living room to listen outside the door right next to mine. Holter’s heavy breathing filters through the thin wood, so I decide to go out on the suite’s balcony to get some fresh air. Even though the hotel’s on the infamous Bourbon Street, my suite’s at the backside of the building, so I’m met by peaceful quiet when I step outside instead of the all-night craziness that assaults the front on a recurring basis. That’s a classic rookie mistake—booking rooms in the front of any building on the main strip of downtown NOLA. The partying goes until three or four in the morning…every morning.

It’ll be a miracle if Julian makes it for our early morning wake-up call for the parade we’re in tomorrow.

Piano notes interrupt the muggy night air, and I have to strain my ears, trying to make out where they’re coming from. A glance at the balcony next door reveals an open slider, but I don’t know whose room it is. I didn’t pay attention to the room numbers Irelynn listed earlier as she handed out keys to everybody. Mary and Holter are in the three-bedroom suite reserved for me, and Irelynn along with the rest of my team are spread out all over the hotel. Julian and his team…I don’t know. I don’t even know who his team is. There are too many remoras to tell honestly. Aside from Bare and Axel, and I guess Slade—unfortunately—I’m not sure who’s here to actually assist Julian. Suck, suck, suck, they’re all sucking him dry.

Similar to how Julian sucked his finger after…

Oh God, what was I thinking?

I was thinking about how sweet Julian was after I showed him what the remoras did to me on the roof of his bus, and about how tender he treated me afterward. He took care of me, not the damage control, but me. He didn’t worry about how the rest of the world would take it, only how I was taking it.

Then I was thinking about him kneeling down in front of that girl handing out shots and how much I wanted him to take care of me…and only me. He kneeled for me like I was a goddess, somebody worth praising, before he went and did it for someone else, someone he doesn’t even know. Someone he doesn’t make sure eats regular meals every day. Someone he didn’t get a tattoo for. Someone he didn’t tell his bodyguard to protect first because he values her life more than his own.

Someone that wasn’t me. That’s what it comes down to. I was jealous—incredibly so. For the first time in my life, I was jealous, and I broke my rule regarding celebrities because of it.

I do like Julian, and I’d be sad, so fucking sad, if anything happened to him. I wanted to get him to his twenty-eighth birthday, but I never anticipated…this. This feeling. These feelings, because there are a lot, more than just jealousy.

I drop my head back between my shoulders to look up at the night sky. Sparkling stars shine like brilliant gems and they seem to pulse as the keys on the nearby piano are practically smashed by whoever’s playing.

“Pretty night.” Axel startles me and I whip my head over to find him on the balcony of the room the music must be coming from. He’s not looking at me though, just gazing up at the same sky I was just admiring.

“It is,” I say before asking, “No sleep for you either?” Axel is an indie artist like me, hired by Julian, so he doesn’t have to do any of the publicity Julian and I get booked for. He comes along sometimes, but usually for moral support…I’m pretty sure that’s why. I have seen him checking Irelynn out a few times, so maybe his motives aren’t purely altruistic.

Chuckling, he says, “Not in New Orleans.”

A sultry tempo builds as Julian’s voice picks up, moaning out the lyrics for Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance,” except he makes it into a sad yet sexy lament instead of a dance song.

I should’ve known he played the piano, too.

“He’s good,” I say.

“He is…when he tries.” Axel’s eyes drop a fraction, and he swallows. “He could be good at anything he tries.”

“He’s one of those,” I agree, nodding.

Axel turns to face me, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the banister. “Could be. Problem is he stopped trying.”

I consider his words, asking quietly, “When did he stop?”

“Right after he got signed.”

I nod absently, following along while also keeping an ear to the tune being played inside Julian’s suite. It’s beautiful. Haunting, but beautiful.

“Julian pitched an entire new concept for a debut album. He was fucking pumped to stand out. Invested. Excited.”