Page 86 of Breaking Hollywood

The screen fills with links and stories. I go to Recent News.

At the top is Radar Online. Always the first with a story.

I click on the link, and the headline says something about Gabe appearing to have a broken leg.

Broken foot, dipshits.

They need to do better with their so-called journalism. And then it goes on to say how he’s been hitting up the bars all day.

So much for his meetings.

There are pictures of him from earlier. In one picture, he’s in a booth with a bunch of people I don’t recognize, and next to him is a pretty brunette, his arm around her.

Someone’s been busy tonight.

Fury rains down on me.

I just can’t believe him! The fucking asshole!

He was out partying with other women while I was feeling crappy all day, sitting and worrying about him when he hadn’t come home, thinking something had happened to him.

Going out and getting drunk isn’t the smartest thing to do when you’ve got a broken foot, but obviously, he doesn’t care.

So, why the hell should I?

Because you have feelings for him.

Ugh! I hate that I like him. The big fucking jerk.

It’s clear that he doesn’t give two shits about me. He’s up there with another woman, doing God knows what with her right now.

The thought of him with her makes me feel physically sick.

At least I know he won’t be having sex with her because of his foot. That’s the reason he wouldn’t sleep with me.

Or maybe he was just saying that. Maybe he just doesn’t want you, my insecurities scream at me.

This morning, he acted like last night never happened, and then he went out partying and brought people back to his apartment. And he’s currently cozied up on the sofa with that blonde.

So, yeah, clearly, it’s me he doesn’t want.

Well, fine.

But, when I do go back up there, if he’s in his bedroom with that woman, then I’m going.

I’ll pack my stuff and leave tonight. Because there is no way that I’m sleeping in that apartment while he fucks someone else in his bedroom.

He might not care about me, but I do have feelings for him, and I’m not putting myself through that.

I shove my cell in my pocket and look over at Gucci. She’s running around, jumping in and out of the bushes, looking happy.

Well, at least one of us is happy.

I let out a long, sad sigh and stare up at the sky, trying not to think about what’s going on up in Gabe’s apartment right at this moment. Or what he might be doing with the blonde. If he’s touching her like he touched me last night.

Instead, I force myself to think about what I’m going to do tomorrow when I’m once again homeless and jobless.

Gabe