AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I agree with you there,” she says. “But there aren’t many people in the universe in your position, either. You’re special.”
“And yet I feel the complete opposite of special,” I snark.
She rolls her eyes, and I pick up my spoon to tuck into my orange soup. After my meeting with Lydia, I pop onto one of my social media accounts to talk to my fans live, only to find a bunch of Lacie stans flocking to her defense for falling into her pool and ruining its fragile PH balance. People are wild.
Naturally, things get a little … heated. Snake emojis, death threats, and slurs are used. Stans will do anything if it thinks it’ll get them internet clout, regardless of who gets hurt, and it doesn’t help that Lacie ended up pleading the victim. Again.
Lydia is about to be up to her eyeballs with more work to do. But what am I supposed to? How doIstop people from attackingme? Just when I think things can’t get any worse, they do.
Before I know it, it’s the next day, and I’m sitting across from Luthor, Lydia, and Margot in one of Zenos’s hottest clubs. Up until a couple of hours ago, I didn’t even know this planet had any clubs, let alone popular evening spots. Also up until a couple of hours ago, I was blissfully unaware of the sheer magnitude of the media shitstorm brewing.
We ordered drinks and food, which came out quickly. Margot ordered me a salad again, of course, while everyone else dines on some sort of dark, juicy meat. It smells divine. This is torture.
“Unfortunately, someone over at HAHA published this cute little timeline of your life’s history,” Lydia says as she pulls up the screen. I sip on my mocktail while other well-dressed patrons rubberneck to get a picture of me. It’s a little aggravating that I can’t even have a single dinner without my picture being taken without my consent, but at least I look good, wearing a floor-length satin gown the color of blush wine.
“Huh. Someone really did their homework,” Margot says. “Look at these photos. I remember these,.” She points to a picture of me standing behind a beat-up old mic, wearing a pair of jeans and a sweater. “This was at that old saloon down in Texas. Aw, you’re so cute in this one.”
“This is a disaster,” Luthor says, rubbing his temples.
Margot lifts an eyebrow and laughs. “Really? There’s nothing wrong with these photos. These are from when she was just getting started. She and I used to fly all over the United States. Sometimes she’d perform a gig at seven in New York, then at eight down in Tulsa.”
I smile at the memories. Not so long ago, I was strumming my guitar and penning all my own material. Sitting behind the mic, singing for a small group of friendly faces, was sadly the highlight of my career, I realize. My smile washes away like writing in the sand carried out to sea. There’s no way I can ever get back to that happy place, now. You can’t close the lid on Pandora’s box, after all.
“You’re not writing any songs on the next album,” Luthor says. “I hope you realize that.” His voice sounds like rusty nails digging into wood, like he’s already gone through an entire pack of cigarettes. He slices through his roast whatever-the-fuck-meat and takes a bite out of a bloody piece.
Meanwhile, I have no idea what to order on this planet. The restaurant my team brought me to seems nice enough, with its quiet, spa-like music tinkling in the background and a mesmerizing waterfall in the center of the dining room. There are white linens on every table, and the wine has been flowing like water all night.
Even still, I stare down at the menu, completely lost. Eventually, I point to the gnocchi. That seems benign, right? Once the waiter leaves with mine and Margot’s orders, Luthor levels his gaze on me again.
“That little stunt you pulled at Lacie’s birthday party has thrown you right back to square one in the tabloids,” he grinds out. “It’s disrespectful, what you’ve been doing. Running around during your tour causes all sorts of drama that your team has to clean up. Not even Lydia can keep you out of HAHA’s mouths.”
My cheeks flush. Unlike last time, when I had Xav’s comforting presence, I’m left with only Margot for support. But the way she’s staring at me from across the table suggests she’s not in the supportive kind of mood. I sink down in my seat and grind my back teeth as he continues to berate me like a child.
“What are you, twelve? You’re not a child anymore, Kal. Act like the adult you are, and start taking responsibility,” he says as he leans back in his chair. I want to disappear. I want to disappear into the void and never be found. This is worse than I could have imagined. Being chastised like this … it makes my chest tighten and my breathing erratic. Like I’m back in that trailer with my father and he’s screaming at me for something I did, or something he thinks I did. It never mattered either way. He’d punish me regardless.
Margot must notice I’m shrinking beneath the tablecloth, because I see something suspiciously akin to sympathy flit across her severe features.
“What about a charity concert to benefit the LGBT youth on Terra?” Margot suggests, surprising everyone at the table, myself included. “Hear me out.”
“Go on,” Luthor says before taking another bite of his mystery steak.
Margot’s eyes find mine across the table. “Her image needs work. It’s been through a lot lately. Her raising relief funds for an LGBT cause would be perfect.”
I slam my palms on the table, making everyone around me flinch. “I’m sorry, but my ‘image’ has been through ‘a lot’ lately? HAHA wrote nasty articles about how I’m queerbaiting. People wrote dissertations about how bad I am for the queer community. It’s not me who needs to change!”
Lydia lifts an eyebrow. “You were photographed kissing a woman at a club. What else are they supposed to think?”
Luthor leans over to pat Lydia on the back of her hand and says, “Girls like to have fun every now and then. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Margot opens her mouth to argue with him, but when she sees the look on my face, she brings a hand to her lips instead. She’s ashamed. Ashamed of me.
Tears sting my eyes, and suddenly I’m no longer in control of my own emotions, my mouth, or what comes out of it.
“I’m bisexual, you ingrown pubes!”
The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. A moment later, I realize I’m standing, hovering over my agent and publicist, trembling so hard the table is shaking. My team stares up at me, stunned into complete silence. Good. Let them sit with that information for a moment.
Then the realization that I am still out in public, dining in a very fancy establishment, hits me, and so does the horror. I think I just outed myself to the entire club.
