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Royal hadn’t been anything more than uncomfortable. I didn’t turn him on. Maybe I was blind to his behavior because he’d always been good to me, and the skirts would be what broke us.
“So if he’s good to you, why does it seem like you’re having a pissing match?”
“I—” I started, but I spotted Royal leaning over the bar to flirt with a busty shot girl. “I need to go talk to Royal. I promise I’ll explain when I figure it out.”
Kingsley sighed but didn’t stop me when I pulled out of his grasp.
I walked over to the bar and turned on my charm. I wore my mask well. If I didn’t talk openly about my depression, most of the world would have never known. I came alive on stage; it was the in-between I struggled with.
“How’s it going?” I said to the bartender.
“Aspen,” she said, as her face lit up.
As the lead singer for Pale Pink Lips, I always had one up on Royal, and he hated it. I rarely used it, but tonight I had no fucks left.
“Fucks sake,” Royal groaned. “Double that.”
“Two shots of Goldschläger coming up.” She turned around, and I couldn’t help but notice Royal staring at her ass.
I downed the shot when she set it on the bar and looked between the two of them. “You know what? Fuck you.”
I couldn’t do this. Not tonight. I don’t know what I thought would happen, but my brain was floating after all the coke and alcohol, and I didn’t want to ride out my high in a place I didn’t feel like I’d ever be seen. I knew my feelings weren’t fair to Royal. He couldn’t help who he was attracted to any more than I could. The flicker of false hope would kill me. It was stupid. All of it was so fucking stupid; I just needed to get out of here.
I stalked off, leaving him calling my name. Since I was smaller than he was, fucking giant, I moved through the crowd easier and lost him. Making my way back to where I’d left Kingsley. He sat at our booth, so very different from how he’d been six months ago. Since getting with his boyfriend, he’d mellowed. I was happy for him, even if I missed my partner in crime some nights.
I grabbed Kingsley and one of our bodyguards. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere else.” I didn’t want to end up in a spiral here.
“This have to do with Royal?”
“I don’t want to talk about it tonight.” I wanted to forget. I didn’t like to discuss my depression. I felt like a broken record but I couldn’t hide it from those closest to me. I hoped he’d understand without pressing it.
“I’m going to make you talk about it tomorrow.”
“Fine. But not tonight.”
“Okay. Where are we going?” Kingsley asked.
I glanced between him and our bodyguard as we stood out in the cold. “Maybe you should head back to the hotel.”
But that would lead to another hole if I let it. I’d fall into days or weeks where it was hard to be awake or even to leave my hotel room. Sometimes I wished I could only do the songwriting and stage part of my job. It would make it so much easier to hide these parts I hated if I didn’t have to people.
After endless hours and interviews and having to pretend to feel human I began to wish I could fit into the life my parents had mapped out for me. The familiarity of Southie. How it used to be. How I could move there still and not be known. Or maybe it wasn’t ‘not known,’ but they left me alone. I could be a regular person there. No one gave a shit about my fame. They cared more about my dad and his legacy than any fucking thing I did. Because honor mattered to those people. It killed me that there was so little of the neighborhood left.
But there was no going back. Not if I wanted to be myself.
“Let’s go someplace else.”
“Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you fucking dare.” I didn’t even have to say it; he knew.
I started walking, and he followed.
“I’m not letting you go see her.”
“You’re not letting me. I’m a fucking adult.”
