oh, anna [-hs]

hoax

"---isn't Harry here with you?"

"Quinn---"

---Ms. Bellini?"

"Do you expect---"

I feel dizzy. I pretend I'm not hearing his name. Slowly but surely, I move down the line, until finally I can see the entrance to the building and I know I'm close to the end. I wasn't expecting that much attention and energy spent on me. I'm not an Ariana Grande or Taylor Swift type. Having the public eye on me is still very new, and even then, I'm not the main event. Not at all. If we win tonight, I will not be the one giving a speech.

It's because of him. His star power is following me. Even now, not standing next to him, there's this heat radiating from the press, this hunger. His mere proximity makes them feral. Because of him, they care about me. They cared enough to learn my name.

I hate that.

I duck into the venue and find my table. Sydney, my go-to production manager for any project, is already in the chair next to mine.

"Quinn!' She gasps and stands up when she sees me. She looks incredible, raven hair tight against her head in a slick pixie cut. Big green gems cut into squares and dangling from her ears. A few small tattoos decorate her arms and collarbone. Her dress is simple, strapless, and velvety black. "So good to see you!"

"You too," I melt into my chair, my shoulders releasing the tension I held from outside. "It's been a while now hasn't it?"

"Little over a month maybe, I saw you at Harry's for New Years if you remember," she slips the last bit in, a teasing glimmer in her eye.

There's his name again, the fucker.

I grimace and nod, trying to plaster on a pleasant expression. It's hard to pretend though, especially with Sydney. "That's right, fun night."

Has it really been a month and a half? That's hard to believe.

But my brain starts to do the math. Two weeks with Emma in New York after we kissed. Two and a half weeks with Harry in Japan while we both lied about our fidelity. A week home, a therapy appointment, preparing for tonight. Yep, it's been a month and a half.

Jesus, time flies.

Sydney grabs my arm and squeezes my frame. "You look hot, girl."

"Thank you," I rub the back of my neck and chuckle. "So do you."

"Aren't you excited?" When she leans in a bit closer, the alcoholic scent on her breath hits me pretty hard. My brain feels itchy. I want that comforting warmth in my chest. I want the haze. My eyes greedily search the table for the bottle she got it from.

"Yeah."

"You don't sound excited," she frowns and pulls back a little.

"Where'd you get the drink?"

She reaches around the vase at the center of the table and reveals a bottle of silver tequila. "There's stuff at the bar too, this is just what I grabbed."

"Can I have some?"

"Yes ma'am," she feigns a salute and giggles, reaching for my glass.

Attending the Grammys is a lot more sitting around than I thought it would be. Sitting around and waiting. Getting drunk. Feeling lonely.

The camera never pans to us. We're in the back, unknown. Sydney's nice company, but I still find myself feeling so bored. Despite every chair being filled, I feel like there's someone missing at this table. I know someone is missing. I'm missing him.