It’s embarrassing. It’s worse than embarrassing.
And now he’s gone, and that’s the last memory we’ll have of each other for the next who-fucking-knows how long.
God. Fucking. Damnit. The next few days are gonna be torture. And it bothers me to know that I’d have an easier timewith this whole situation if Young-gi would just stay, but he didn’t.
Whatever. I don’t need him anyway. I don’t need anything. And that’snota lie.
Chapter 14
Tommy
When I first signed up for this rich boyfriend gig, I liked the idea of pretending to be someone else. I thought it might be fun to be somebody who never struggled, never suffered, never murdered. Seemed like easy money to lounge around and eat good food and not have to lift a finger. No sweating in the sun or worrying about danger catching me off guard on my block. I should be happy, I should be grateful. I’ve got fifteen grand for my first week of “work” in my room, hidden in a drawer, burning like a hot coal in the back of my mind because what the fuck am I going to do with it? I wanted it, but now that I have it, the thought of getting more and more every week almost feels like too much pressure. I almost want to get rid of it. It’s making me panic.
Which is stupid as shit, I know. But I never claimed to be a genius, and my subconscious must think that I’m not supposed to have that much money, not ever.
I wish I could rip me out of my body and give myself a good shake; like, what the fuck is wrong with you? So what if you have to be someone else, so what if you can’t be yourself?! Aw, baby’s going to cry because he has to be on good behavior? Because he has to hold himself together without losing his temper or showing his true colors? Stupid bitch, just get it together.
This life is a dream. It’s a literal goddamn dream and people wouldkillto be in my place. A few weeks ago, if someone had offered this to me and told me I could have it if I killed my competition, I would have seriously considered it. Because fuck, on the outside, I don’t have a care in the fucking world.
So why am I feeling so fucking… so fucking… anxious and lonely and claustrophobic?
And angry.
A waiter drops off a coffee at my elbow and I flinch hard, which isn’t in character and I try to disguise it with a frankly pathetic sneeze. I’m on edge, so I’m having moments like this almost constantly now. I glance around this glitzy, gilded cafe, where all the so-called brunch food has edible gold on it for some reason, but no one seems to be staring at me like I’m an imposter. Instead, they’re all taking pictures of their food or eating off teeny-tiny forks, gossiping over caviar or whatever it is they’re eating.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m broke as fuck, but I’ve had brunch before and this is not it.
But the coffee is fine, I decide, gulping it down as demurely as I can since I’m supposed to have a modicum of class, but goddamn I need the caffeine. I haven’t been sleeping. I’m trying not to show it, not to the strangers in the cafe or the two girls sitting at the table with me.
Kira’s at my side, and we hold hands on the tabletop for everyone to see, our rings glinting in the light. She’d presented mine to me at dinner the night Young-gi left. She told me he picked it out for me while she slid on the dainty one she got, and I’ve had to wear it every time we leave the apartment. It feels weird. I hate knowing that he chose it for me. It’s a simple band of platinum, with some delicate etchings scrawling around the circumference. It’s not like he got me a collar with his name on it, but I think of him every time I see it and that’s annoying.
Lexie leans across the table, almost knocking over a small dish of assorted baked goods–all about the size of a nickel for some reason–to show us her phone screen. I want to look but the noise around us swells as the cafe starts getting morecrowded and I scoot closer to Kira, leaning against her side, overstimulated and overtired.
“What about something like this?” Lexie asks, and I glance at the photo of a couple of models in matching formal wear; the man in a floral tux and sleek designer pants and the woman in a deep burgundy dress with similar flowers stitched down the side.
“We could never have that made,” Kira laughs. “The fundraiser istonight, Lexie. Tommy and I already have outfits planned.”
That’s the first time I’m hearing about this, and I try not to scowl because Tommy Claremont wouldn’t be pissed about this. “We’ve got a fancy gig tonight?”
“Mm-hm,” Kira pats my hand, and I raise her fingers to kiss them absentmindedly, like a good fiancé, like I’m supposed to. “A gallery showing and fundraiser, at a museum. We pay to go, and buy art, and the proceeds go to children or whatever.”
“Or whatever?” I echo skeptically.
“It’s always children,” Lexie shrugs and tucks her phone away. “For a good cause, and all that. I always make sure to buy something. Do your outfits match at least? The rumor mill has been flowing with engagement news, and I’ve already seen pics of your rings circulating online. I think Tommy’s starting a trend for platinum bands.”
“Seriously?” I ask, sitting straighter, looking around like a hunted animal. “I’m not like a celebrity or anything. I haven’t seen any photographers.”
“We’re not that kind of famous.” Kira pulls me back down so I’m relaxed in the seat again–or at least, giving the appearance of relaxed, because I’m fuckingnot. “It’s more subtle, and it won’t be on any news stations or gossip magazines. It’s mostly on social media, and it only really matters to other people like us.”
People like us. Like us. Like us.
But I’m not like them. Is it warm in here? I’m sweating all of a sudden.
“It’ll be easy,” Lexie grins. “We’ll go, have a drink of champagne, and stand around for a while pretending to enjoy looking at paintings, maybe make some small talk, and probably go to an after party where we’ll do the same thing all over again but hopefully with a mixed drink instead of champagne, and no art on the wall.”
That sounds like… torture. The opposite of fun. That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. I know myself, and right now, I’m on a short fuse. I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this? I swallow hard, barely holding it together. It’s definitely getting warmer in here. And why does it feel like there’s less air than before?
“Sounds boring,” I manage.
