Hot Mess | N.H. (discontinued)

s e v e n [ 7 ]

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Hot Mess:

c h a p t e r : s e v e n [ 7 ]

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"Better to write for yourself and have no public than to write for the public and have no self." -Cyril Connolly

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Emery

Everyone has had one of those really awkward moments in their life where you just don't know what to do at that moment, right?

Yeah? Well, mine happened to include the Irish drag I had left behind in my trail of dust—more like trail of water—about ten minutes ago on my walk-slash-run back to the Mullingar Park Hotel, which took me a good twenty-five minutes to walk from there to downtown Mullingar in the first place.

But who needs to stop and smell the blooming roses when you've almost got your true colors shown by a popstar you've been assigned to personally stalk?

It took me no more than a solid fifteen seconds filled with an awkward silence after the cheeky blonde boy decided to say something dramatic and truly emotional—to me, really—before I mumbled something awkwardly along the lines of, 'good day, sir,' and speed-walked the hell out of that place.

And I swear to God, I don't think I've ever been more happier to be locked up in my hotel room than right now.

After I had managed to let out a scream that had been muffled into my un-fluffed pillow in my slightly deranged state of insanity and confusion, I rolled over to lay on my back on the heavenly-comfortable king sized bed, fluttering my heavy eyelids shut and heaving to fall asleep to let all my problems drift away for the day. But the intense tick-tocking of the clock situated on the wall in front of me decided for me, reminding me of the jet-lag that was slowly but surely sinking its way back into my system and how it would be difficult to.

But it wasn't just the clock that was giving me sleep trouble.

It was those saddened pair of baby blue eyes that were iced over with hatred—but not at anyone in particular (besides me, if he knew), just in the shitty way life plays out for a twenty year old celebrity, whom I think is far too early to have to be dealing with the media.

But the media isn't exactly one to play by your rules.

Take Miss Walker, for example; although she wasn't entirely known to the world and wasn't considered a celebrity, her name was casually thrown around the streets of Hollywood as the 'Head of All Heads' when it came to the world of writing (well, gossiping, I should say) and magazine work. She doesn't exactly play by the rules of the industry—hell, no one who works at a magazine company or secretly takes pictures of celebrities for a living does.

Excluding me.

No, Elizabeth Walker has her own set of rules to live by, and even she tends to break them every once in a while, too (she's not as perfect as everyone thinks she is). Plastering fake 'news' stories about breakable Irishmen on magazine stands around the country so the whole world can know what's not real about that boy? Yup. Doing things that could hurt her business as well as others around her? Definitely. Sending her barley experienced intern halfway across the globe by bribing her with a new job just to get 'good publicity' out there?

Hell. Yes.

I snap my eyes open surprisingly when the all-to-familiar vexatious ringtone brings me back into reality. Groaning and rolling over to my side closest to the nightstand where my phone lays vibrating on the wooden furniture, I snatch it into my grasp and bellow a raspy and annoyed, "hello?" into the speaker.