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JACKSON
No phone.No Uber. Just a slow, mindless walk back to the hotel with a throbbing headache. Reporters swarm me with their never-ending questions. One blocks the door, and I shove him aside. He falls to the ground, dropping his camera, and I don’t give the slightest fuck.
Things aren’t adding up. I can’t remember returning last night—I woke this afternoon in my bed, fully dressed and feeling like death.
The Hard Rock isn’t within a reasonable walking distance. Maybe I took a taxi, but how’d I find my hotel room blackout drunk?
I want to throw myself in bed and sleep off this hangover, but my paranoia mounts when I find my phone and an envelope on my bed. I know my phone wasn’t there earlier; I practically tore this room apart looking for it. A glance around shows my clothes still strewn across the floor. No maid found it while cleaning and placed it there.
And the envelope… I doubt it’s a receipt for my hotel stay.
When I pick up my phone, I’m not blasted with notifications—someone has already cleared them. There’s only a text message from Kyle.
I can make this all go away.
Kyle protects my image solely because it reflects on him, but it always comes at a cost.
Ignoring him, I check for anything from Aurora.
Nothing.
Despite knowing what I’m in for, I attempt to call her. No answer, no voicemail. She’s blocked me, as expected. I honestly don’t blame her, but it doesn’t hurt any less.
In the envelope, I discover what Kyle threatened me with last night, how he got me to the Hard Rock: pictures of Ethan and Aurora kissing at a diner.
I drop my ass on the floor, rest against the bed, and toss my head back. Sharp pain lances through my stomach, nausea hitting me all over again.
I wanted to talk to Aurora before I crashed. Withdrawals can be brutal, depending on what and how much I ingested. My body is already going through familiar symptoms: fatigue, agitation, cravings.
Then, there’s the mental turmoil, and she doesn’t need that psychotic trainwreck.
At least I can check on her even if she won’t speak to me.
Is Aurora okay?
Ricky
Fuck off. I no longer work for you.
Fucking great. Now I have no access to her. I could argue with him, but what good will that do?
I review my other messages, expecting drunk me to have sent a bunch of shit, but there’s only a string of sappy texts to Aurora. That’s it.
My mind is cloudy, and this headache gets worse by the minute. Exhausted, I close my eyes and let my thoughts wander.
How can I fix this?
My chest tightens, each inhale shallow, and I struggle to pull air into my lungs. My throat constricts, and tears burn my eyes.
I’ve lost not only the love of my life but my very existence. Without her, I’m nothing but regret and loneliness. There’s no fucking point.
This is worse than last time. This time, we shared hope and a future. Why would I risk that?
WhydidI risk that? Why did I allow myself to be manipulated by Kyle’s threats?
I’d give anything to turn back time. I can pay TMZ to remove the pictures, but I’ll never erase the images from her memory.