Or Is It Real?

Chapter 31: Or Is It Real?

I feel like a mistress trying to be content with whatever scraps my lover throws at me, pretending I'm happy because she says she loves me and that's all that matters, and blindly hoping that, in the future, she will give me the only thing that I needed from her - the right to be able to call her mine in front of the whole world.

Is that too much to ask?

The final straw happened when a bunch of us had dinner at Katsuya, and we all went there separately: me, with my manager Roger, and Lauren with her "just friend" (which is just another PR term for "low-key dating") Noah Benardfart or whatever the schmuck's name is. Paparazzis were swarming the restaurant's facade, taking all the pictures they could get through the glass windows where our table was, so Lauren sat beside her beard while I was told to sit across the table, light years away from them.

I was fuming. Every laughter, every coy smiles, every flirty touches Lauren gave him was like a slap to my face. Not only do I have to pretend I liked the food that was served (sushi and salmon which is yuck), I also have to watch them act all coupley and lovey dovey? Bitch, please. I knew Lauren was doing that on purpose because some pictures of me and Austin hugging, and him kissing me on the cheek, circulated, and even though we both know it was all friendly shit and was meant for PR, Lauren still couldn't let that one slide without one-upping me.

It has all become petty and spiteful between us.

But I kept my mouth shut. What I did was drink my sorrows away. I played a game with myself where I took a shot whenever she flirted with Noahumbug Pussyface: one shot of sake whenever she laughed at his stupid jokes (I mean, obvious much, Lauren? Laughing at his lame jokes that nobody else found funny. Not funny at all. Stupid corny ass bitch), two shots whenever she touched his biceps and complimented his hair. And a bonus shot every time she leaned in to whisper something and touched his thigh.

I lost count, and all I know is I was drunk. It's time for me to go, because drunk-Camila is a blabbermouth and I couldn't risk our already rocky relationship if I screw this up. So I got up. It was so sudden that all the liquor in my head went straight down my body making me hold on to the table for support, and everybody glanced at me inquiringly. I refused to look at Dinah, Ally, and Mani because I knew they'd look at me with those sympathetic expressions which I've found more annoying than comforting.

"I-I have to go guys, thank you for a lovely evening. It's been real." I plastered a smile and let Roger hold my hand to assist me. I couldn't keep myself from glancing at Lauren, because I'm simply weak like that when it comes to her, and saw that she was staring at me with concern on her face, her thick eyebrows furrowed with puzzlement, and my heart melted because all I wanted to do was sit beside her and celebrate whatever we are celebrating tonight... with her. I quickly looked away because my emotions were all over the place and my state of mind isn't very stable right now.

So I left. I saw Lauren trying to stand up to follow me but I shot her a warning look which immediately prompted her to sit back down.

When I got out, paps were snapping pictures of me, blinding me with the continuous and rapid blinking of their camera flashes, throwing questions at me, and my brain, already muddled with alcohol, could barely formulate a coherent sentence that's longer than "It was good" when asked how dinner was. After that, I kept my mouth shut despite their follow-up questions, because the thought of leaving Lauren with Noah-Balls gave me shooting pains straight to the heart, and I was afraid that I might start crying or blabber nonsense once I opened my mouth. I kept my eyes trained on the ground, ignoring the paps and their cameras, as I continued walking towards the car, concentrating on each step, hoping to god I wouldn't stumble or fall on my ass.

When I got inside the car, a surge of emotions threatened to break away, and I knew I couldn't go back to our L.A. quarters yet. I couldn't be there when Lauren gets back, because I wanted to save whatever little pride I still have, and I didn't wanna let her see me break down in front of her, beg her yet again to spare me a small bit of dignity and consider my feelings. I couldn't go back in there yet because I know when she gets back, I'll forgive her. It always has been the pattern. In public, we pretend to ignore each other and be happy in someone else's arms, but when it was just us, or with our trusted friends or family, Lauren is the perfect girlfriend. To be fair to her, I knew she didn't want all of this. She just thought it will be better if we followed management's decisions, to keep us away from the public's judgmental eyes.