PART EIGHTY NINE
A few days later and I was down in London with Aston staying at his for a few days before heading back to New York on January 2nd. The original London plan had included a fair amount of clubbing and going around town, but with my injury things started to get mysteriously cancelled.
“I’m going out tonight whether you want to or not!” I declared after two nights in a row had turned into me and Aston watching DVDs in his house while eating take away meals.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” stated Aston, a worried look on his face.
“It’s a tiny fracture!” I protested, “I’m not dying!”
“But Jess… the doctor said to rest!”
“Yeah well I’m fine, seriously Ast!” I argued.
“Fine,” said Aston, “But if you make your back worse it has nothing to do with me, and I’m not dealing with your whining and crying the rest of the time you’re here.”
“Fine,” I huffed. To be fair I was a bit pent up, sitting around and resting my back. It was pretty much my definition of torture. I really couldn’t sit still for more than a few minutes as it was, so this imposed rest was driving me absolutely crazy. And I did feel quite guilty that it meant Aston was holed up too.
That night I cooked for the pair of us and then went off to get ready. I was excited to see Aston’s band mates again, and ready to get out on the town.
I wore a tight purple dress with my hair down and attempted to get out of the house in tall black heels, something Aston was not having either.
“Take them off,” he warned.
“No,” I said, “I’m wearing them. You’re not my dad, I can wear whatever I want.”
“Jess...” he sighed, clearly not in the mood to argue with me.
“I’m wearing them,” I repeated.
“You’re really going to fuck your back you know,” said Aston. “If you insist on going out, just put some flats on. Please?”
“I’m wearing them,” I said for a third time, sitting down on the sofa in a huff. I was well annoyed with him at this point. Who was he to decide what I could and couldn’t wear? If I decided I wanted to wear heels it was my decision. I knew how bad my back was, not him.
“Ready?” mumbled Aston after a few more minutes. I looked up to see him in a pair of beige colored pants and a shirt that was only half buttoned.
“Yeah,” I said shortly. He was insisting on driving, another thing that was irking me. I knew if he drove he wouldn’t be drinking that much so he could get us home. And I knew it was because he was trying to keep an eye on me.
“Get in,” said Aston, holding the car door open for me.
“Fine,” I sighed, not in the mood to fight about this.
It was a twenty minute or so drive to the club, and by the time we’d gotten there both of us were slightly more relaxed, until we spotted the wave of paparazzi waiting outside.
“Shit,” whispered Aston, "Jess, please just leave them alone."
I climbed out of the car, ignoring his statement completely. The second the paps saw us we were hounded, the news story of the prior week still fresh on their minds. We got thrown all sorts of horrible questions, and every second they blocked our way got me a little more riled up.
“Which of you thought that up?” I inquired, referring to the article. Aston grabbed hold of my hand after I'd spoken up, squeezing it tightly in an effort to get me to shut my mouth.
