Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“But this is your dream, Alyssa,” Marina argues. “You’re really going to give up on your dream because of Geesha Riley?”
“Didn’t you hear me, Marina?” I press. “It’s not just Geesha Riley. It’s everything. And I’m not saying that I’m going away forever…but until this dies down? Why wouldn’t I want to get out of town?”
“Alyssa, don’t,” Van says as he takes a seat beside me on the couch, his palm quickly finding mine. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“…I’m sorry,” I whisper over at him. “I think I…I just need to do this right now, okay? For my own sake. I don’t…I don’t want to stay here so long that I start to hate the music too, that I start to hate the thing I used to love the most.”
“…I understand,” Cameron says while he leans against a nearby wall, “wanting to get away from it all…I used to feel that way all the time, before I…before we met you.”
“Look, I get that you want to get away,” Van starts. “But Alyssa, I’m not so sure that you’re serious about coming back, that you won’t…just stay gone.”
“Even if I do, isn’t that part up to me?”
“No, princess. It’s not.” Van’s eyes burn into mine. “You don’t get to just decide that you’re ready to drop everything, that you’re ready to drop us—” The fire behind Van’s eyes suddenly cools into something sad, something that forces him to look away from me entirely. “Jesus, Alyssa. How could you even think about doing this? You already know about…you let me open myself up to you, just so you could tear my heart out, too?”
Fuck.
Beth.
The girl who’d blown into Van’s life just to leave him in the dust.
“Van, I’m sorry—” I start, but Van’s already leaving my apartment, an air of irritation surrounding his every step.
“Van!” I call out after him. Cameron quietly follows in his footsteps, soon disappearing out of my apartment, too. Rhys is the last one to leave, his gaze regarding me with an unreadable expression, a mixture between hurt and something I just can’t name, as he matches the pace of Van and Cameron, their frames walking out of my world in just as much of a whirlwind as they’d come in, too.
“…Fuck.” It’s all I can say. The pain in my chest starts all over again with realization that I’ve potentially just fucked up everything good in my life. It falls over me with a heaviness that threatens to pull me right under.
“Hey,” Marina murmurs as she takes a seat right next to me. “You’re okay, Alyssa. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“…Right.” I nod over at her, forcing tears to stay behind my eyes. “Everything’s going to be okay, except I’m going to be going home without you. And the guys…if I seriously try to pull out of the band, they’ll never talk to me again, either.”
“Who said anything about going home without me?” Marina beams. “Filming doesn’t start for that indie movie for a few more weeks. And if you’re not feeling better by then, I’ll just go the commute route. You think I give a damn about flying back and forth to L.A.? You know how much I love airports.”
“Only because you think you’ll run into some rich, frazzled, and weary traveler.” I chuckle, as I rest my head against Marina’s shoulder. “…Thank you, Marina. For putting up with me.”
“You’re nothing hard to put up with,” she replies with a wide smile. “Don’t worry about it, Alyssa. You’re going to get through this. You always do.”
After I get the go-ahead from Gregory, I book a flight right out of L.A. He told me that he understood where I was coming from with wanting to get away, even going on some rambling speech about how some of his favorite artists liked to take a month or two off before diving into their tour schedule, just to clear their head and regain some of their drained creativity.
Except I’m not planning on just taking off a month or two. In fact, I don’t know how much time I plan on staying away from the spotlight, but I made sure not to mention exact lengths of time when I was in Gregory’s office, not wanting him to somehow get me on the no-fly list or something in response. And now, as I’m driving through the streets of my hometown, I wonder how long I’ll be able to last under the guise of pure anonymity. Before I came back to the city, I made sure to dye my hair a dark brown, using one of those cheap box dyes from the convenience store.
I’m also sporting a pair of Rhys’s shades, the temporary tattoo of scrambled eggs he’d drawn on my skin starting to fade underneath the sun.
I feel like absolute garbage.
The entire time I was packing to leave L.A. I’d been glued to my phone. It was like I couldn’t go five minutes without stumbling onto another pro-Geesha Riley stance from a prominent music reviewer, some of them even outright refusing to give our album a chance on the grounds of the fraught nature of its creation. Even Harrison’s attempts at spinning the situation didn’t seem to be going anywhere, with Geesha’s hold on the scene effectively keeping me an outsider within the industry itself.