[Chapter Twenty Three]

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Chapter Twenty Three 

It's an effort to move forwards, to drag one leg in front of the other and progress through the door of my hotel. I'm exhausted. I want to flop on the ground and ask Alex to drag me inside to my bed.

"I'm exhausted." I moan.

"This isn't even exhaustion Sienna." Alex chuckles.

"I feel like it." I frown, "Like I've been at a music festival all day and I'm just sitting down to notice the effects."

Plopping down on the couch, I stretch my body out and snuggle into the soft fluffy material of the blue couch cushion.

"I'm glad it's just five songs we have to write, only four more." I grin happily. I'll take these small accomplishments.

"Still four songs and plenty of late nights ahead of us," he says.

Glaring, I throw the cushion at him. Alex catches it in the air, and then sits next to me.

"You make it sound like a war strategy, not writing songs."

"You can choose how you want to see it, and I will myself." Alex shrugs his shoulders, "How can you be tired? We were just in the studio?"

"My brain is mentally tired," I huff.

"It's seven thirty." He pokes my shoulder, "Maybe you need to exercise more," he genially suggest.

Exercise, I'm not sure that word is equipped to go into the same sentence with me.

Before I am able to respond to Alex's comment, my phone rings. I have to muster up the strength to pull my phone out of my back pocket to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey Rils." The tone of his voice puts a damper on my mood, "I won't be home until late."

"Oh, okay," I respond.

"You also need to call your mother, she's getting worried about you," he sternly says, "I've given you enough time to settle in."

"Okay, I was going to do it tonight, I just got home."

"Don't give me attitude!" The line goes dead, and I let my head drop in annoyance.

Moving off the couch, I head to the bedroom and shut the door behind me. I throw myself on top of the bed, and my body bounces slightly when I land on the soft bedding. Somehow it's like a stress reliever. Being weightless for a second.

The door to my bedroom opens and Alex walks inside.

"What happened?" he asks.

I don't reply, I stare intently at the bedhead in front of me.

"Tell Alex what's wrong." He pokes side.

"Stress." I grab a pillow and burry my face into the cool material.

"You keep doing that." Alex removes the pillow from my grasp.

"It feels good." I pout.

"You need to get out more." He laughs.

"I do... for work."

"We went to the beach the other night," he points out.

Rolling over, I prop my head up with my hand and smile at Alex.

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