"That guys been following us around the city for the past hour. I'm sort of freaking out."
"He's our tour guide, you moron."
Fem! OC x James Diamond
* includes social media type chapters *
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
In the six months Big Time Rush have been on tour, May kept herself busy. She had gone to New York City for a week, doing shoots for a brand that promised a billboard in Times Square.
She made appearances at events, walked a runway in Chicago, took a weekend yacht trip with a designer from Milan— it wasn't until the fifth week, when she was back at the Palm Woods, that she realized it was all a distraction.
May used to find joy in the little things, but work became a chore... Work became a necessity.
After James left, he didn't call her. Not the next day, not the week after, or the week after that. Not at all. And suddenly this silly waiting began to feel less like waiting and more like this was simply it: the distracting tasks she took on while the thing you are waiting for continues not to happen.
And though he didn't call her, things went on.
It was sad at first— the realization that maybe it had been a lie. Or maybe he had been so caught up in the moment that once he saw what the world had to offer outside the small Palm Woods, May didn't seem so great to him anymore.
She would feel dizzy when she got out of bed. She would feel empty with every step she took, like an unfinished poem.
Carlos texted her, even Kendall and Logan texted her... James did not.
It had been five weeks when she gave up. When she moved on.
May Lovat was on a billboard in Times Square, on the front page of Pop Tiger, and was given a permanent modeling job with Juicy Couture— she did it without James. And as much as she wanted him there, she didn't need him.
It was the sixth week when they were expected back, according to Carlos' text. They were landing in an hour, and even then, May wouldn't let herself be bothered by seeing him again.
Life went on, with or without James.
Her father took her out for breakfast this morning; one of her brothers played Football for the University of Alabama and he was set to have a game at UCLA this weekend. The last time the Crimson Tide played the Bruins, they lost embarrassingly, but her dad had hope that this time would be different.
May promised she would be there— her brothers were flying out too (and though May liked to pretend it was to see her, she knew it was for Jack).
Jack was the youngest of the boys, but still two years older than May. He was a freshman in College, and to be a freshman and play as a starter for Alabama meant he was really good.
He was a happy-go-lucky type of boy, but one that lacked much direction. May supposed it was because he had a lot to live up to, and instead of making his own way, he followed in the footsteps of his older brothers.
Above Jack was Stryker and Gunner, 18 months older, and they were twins. Gunner was coaching a prep school football team, and Stryker was a Junior at Texas A&M, their starting running back.
Gunner and Stryker were closer than close, for most of May's memories with them always had one surrounded with the other. They picked on her and Jack a lot, them being the youngest of the two, but it could have been because being the middle children meant you were forgotten about often.
Then there was Colt, four years older than May, he was drafted for the NFL last summer, and played for the Seattle Seahawks.
Colt was a smart boy, and though they weren't very close in age, May thought she might have considered herself closest to him. He always looked out for her— though May had a small inkling it was just so he could flex his muscle from time to time.
The oldest was Ian, almost eight years older than May, and he made a career out of commentating for ESPN. She saw him the least— Ian was married and had a daughter named Sasha, and the last May saw him was Christmas.
"Your brothers will be here on Friday," her dad told her, like she was supposed to be excited. But like everything else, it just felt like a big disappointment.
She knew what was to come— she knew she would get left behind. It had been a pattern since her mom died last year. Her mom was the only one who made it a point to include her, and with her gone, May was preparing herself to sit there and let the people who were supposed to support her care about something else.
"Cool," she responded dryly, not caring if her father noticed her tone or not.
He sighed, like he knew. Because he did know.
May's whole life revolved around football. And the things that were supposed to be uniquely hers never mattered. May had to hear it, all the time— "You're Colt Lovat's sister, right?," or, "Stryker did good at that game against Oklahoma." It was never about her, it would never be about her.
And with James coming back in a half hour, and her brothers coming to visit in two days, May wanted nothing more than to hide herself away, not to be seen or heard or thought of.
"May," her father says sternly, because he knows this. Maybe part of him felt guilty. But he didn't have the words— he never did. As he sighs, and she watches him walk away, May knows that nothing will ever replace that void her mother once filled.
Jo noticed her dejected stature, standing lonely in the lobby, looking lost as if she had forgot all direction. The blonde waves off her co-star and approaches May carefully, as though she might break.
May knew she wasn't supposed to feel like this. Like a burden, like a last thought, like she was nothing more than a corpse of a person she would never be. But how can she not? Everything in her life told her that she would never come first— she would never be someone's favorite person. She would never be the thought that infiltrated one's head when they heard a song on the radio. She would never be the name uttered when asked who is the person who means the most to you.
May Lovat was just a person, existing in this world, without any rhyme or reason to it.
Jo grabbed her fingers— May had an awful habit of ripping the skin around her nails. "May," she says softly. "Are you okay? What happened?"
And like always, May answers, "I'm okay. Honest, I'm fine." Because she must be okay. People who are not favorites must always be fine, because no one will care for them when they play their tiny violin.
