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Stupid inner voice.
Stupid heart.
Stupid, stupid girl.
My finger hovers over the missed call from nearly three days ago and in my drunken stupor, I think it’s a good idea to tap it, which everyone knows, calls the number back.
It’s too loud to really hear anything, so when I press the device to my ear I can’t even tell if it’s ringing.
“Well, that’s what you get for drunk dialing,” I scold myself aloud. “And now you’re talking to yourself which is likely being documented on his voicemail. Great. Just great. Freaking fantastic, Clarke. Just awesome.” The girl in front of me turns around, giving me a weird look.
“It’s okay, I’m just leaving a message for Treyton Tyler,” I announce openly, my words slurring together.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She laughs. Like straight, throws her head back and cackles like me talking to someone like Treyton Tyler is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.
Stupid twenty something, fake Barbie. I have half a mind to rip a handful of her extensions out just to wipe the smug look off her face.
“Why is that so funny?” I needlessly and stupidly ask because, come on, apparently I’m glutton for punishment on this fine, drunk filled evening.
“You.” She gives me a quick once over. “A man like Treyton Tyler wouldn’t giveyoua second glance. Trust me, I would know.”
“Oh yeah?” Now my blood is boiling. “And how’s that? Because you were one of the many random women he fucked and doesn’t remember? Wonder how many other Treyton’s there are in your life. You know,” I cluck my tongue on the roof of my mouth, “spreading your legs kinda loses its effect when you do it with half of L.A. But hey,” I shrug, “if you’re into the sort of thing.”
I have no idea what’s gotten into me.
Ineveract like this…Ever.
I’m all about women empowerment and lifting each other up, but here I am standing in the longest bathroom line of my life about to throw down with some random woman becausewhy? Because she implied I wasn’t pretty enough to garner the attention of a man like Treyton. Is she even wrong?
“Do you want me to rearrange your face, bitch?” She whips her hair so violently it hits me in the face, strands of it going into my mouth.
I spit and sputter, trying to get it off my tongue, and that’s when I hear him…
“Clarke, where the fuck are you?”
Wait… He answered?
Has he been listening this whole time?
My stomach turns and for a brief moment I wonder if I’m not going to be sick.
Deep breath.
Then another.
Thankfully, it passes.
“Treyton?”
I totally forget about blondie in front of me, until she barks out another laugh, clearly thinking I’m saying his name for show.
Never mind the fact that he’s actually on the phone and has heard god knows what…
What were we talking about again?
“Where are you?” he repeats, his voice strained as he has to talk extremely loud for me to hear anything at all.
“Um, I can’t remember.” I look up at the blonde, completely forgetting our almost fight moments ago. “Where are we?” I ask her.
