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I order my driver to follow her.
I have to explain. I have to fix this.
I can't fucking lose her.
Not when I've just gotten her.
She's my heart, my life, my soul.
* * *
Katie
I know Justin followed me home, but I order my bodyguards not to let him past the gate.
I can't see him. I can't talk to him.
I'm too hurt.
Fucking reporters were flooding my property when I got home. My security team got me in without me having to make a comment.
The crowds eventually dispersed once they saw that I wasn't coming out.
But not him.
Not Justin.
He's as relentless as ever, sitting right outside my gate.
Though what he possibly thinks he could have to say to me that would change anything I don’t know.
I don't know how long he plans to sit there, and I don't care.
I can't believe he would do this to me.
He promised me—promised me—that I wouldn't be labeled another one of his conquests. Yet the next morning, that's exactly what was plastered all over the papers.
Who did he tell about us? He had to have told someone. How else would the tabloids have known?
It doesn't matter. What matters is that he made me a promise, and he broke it. I can't trust him.
My heart stabs at the remembrance of him inside me, the possessive words he ground out into my ear while our bodies were one, joined in a way I've never been with anyone else.
But he has, hasn't he? Justin has been with plenty of women. Women who are no doubt way prettier and more experienced than me.
What if it was just sex to him? What if he was just saying what he needed to say to get into my pants? What if all his possessive talk was just that—talk? Things said in the heat of passion, quickly uttered and never remembered.
I cry like I've never cried before because this fucking hurts. It hurts more than anything else I've ever experienced in all my eighteen years.
Justin is nearly thirty years old. He's every woman's fantasy. How stupid was I to think that I, some barely legal virgin, would be able to lock a man like him down?
I don't know how long he sits outside my gate, silently begging entry. I stop looking out the window after the third day.
I don't know what I plan on doing. I can't seclude myself away from the world forever. I can't keep hiding away like this.
I do know I can't continue on co-starring next to Justin. I've never broken a contract in my life, but I call the director and express my apologies at having to pull out of the film.
He sounds unsurprised and surprisingly sympathetic.
