Staring at the typical hotel art on the wall, I startle as Beau slams the door, his drunken footsteps heavy as he enters the room. Damn it, I stay facing straight ahead, I was really hoping I'd be gone by the time he got back. Maybe I'll wait in the lobby.
"Hey," Beau loses his balance as he struggles with one of his heavy black boots. I ignore him, checking my phone to see how far away my ride is. "Hey, why'd you leave?" He asks, flopping in a chair and giving up with his boots all together.
My brows raise at him as my mouth pops open in in shock. I stare at him, green eyes bloodshot and unfocused, skin pale and clammy.
"What did I do?" Beau sighs when I don't respond.
"What did you do?" I finally snap at him, my sadness morphing into anger. "I tell you I love you and you go on live TV and tell people I'm just a 'cool girl?'"
Beau leans his messy head against the armchair, tiredly running long, tattooed fingers over his face. "Emma, the girl was like eleven, why does it matter? The question was stupid,"
I shake my head furiously. "You know better than anyone that everything you do and say is watched by people all over the world. And you know what?" I feel my hands begin to shake. "It doesn't even matter because that's not the point. You made me look..." I take a deep breath and correct myself. "You made me feel like an idiot. Here I am thinking we're on the same page and well, apparently we're not." I glare at him, waiting for the perfect answer I'm sure he'll have at the ready.
For once, he stares at me wordlessly and somehow, that's even worse than his normal sarcasm. Stomach dropping as I realize he's not even going to try and apologize, I throw my hands up in defeat. "Fine, whatever. I'm done," I stand and grab the handle of my suitcase, ready to make my way to the lobby when he finally speaks.
"Done? What do you mean done?" His long legs bring him right behind me and I turn to face him.
"Done being hurt by you!" I shout, tears finally brimming over my eyes. "Do you know what it felt like, watching you downplay our relationship from backstage? I can't keep doing this back and forth. Not when every time I try to be there for you, you only push me away." I wipe furiously at my cheeks, removing makeup as I do.
Panic flashes in his eyes but is quickly replaced by mock disinterest. Not surprisingly, knowing it's fake doesn't make it hurt any less.
Looking me up and down slowly, Beau shrugs casually, reminding me of the jerk who I met at the cafe that first day. "Fine,"
I suck in a breath. "Fine?"
"Whatever, Emma. What do I care? We're just two strangers forced to act like we like each other, right?" He picks at his chipped nail polish, hair covering his eyes.
"Really? You really think we're strangers, after everything that's happened?" My eyes prickle with a new wave of tears at the thought alone. Nothing good will come from continuing this conversation and I know it, but I can't stop myself from asking him - from demanding that he give me some sort of answer as to why he took everything we had and crushed it to pieces.
Beau's eyes look completely dead now, no emotion behind them, and are underlined by dark circles and yellowing bruises. He turns away from me, his tone cold. "Just go, and make sure to add this to your resume. What do you think school will like better - paid escort or professional liar?"
His words like salt in my wounds, I let out a ragged breath, my chest tightening painfully. "I'll have to think about it," I snap. "But whatever I decide, I'd rather have them know the ridiculous deal I made than to ever think I'd go so low and actually be with someone like you." My own eyes widen at my words as soon as they leave my lips. Oh, God. I know I've gone too far even before I'm finished speaking. Even before the look in Beau's face twists into one I've never seen before, worse than any other - a look of pure betrayal.
Everything I knew would tear him up, thrown right in his face.
"I didn't mean that," I search his eyes for any sign of the Beau I know and find none.
"Get. Out." He seethes through clenched teeth.
"Beau, I'm sorry." No matter how bad this feels, no matter how hard it is to be around him knowing there's nothing left, I don't want to hurt him.
"Get out." He repeats, this time grabbing the door handle and nearly ripping the door from its hinges.
I stare at him for a few seconds, torn between wanting to help him and needing to take care of myself, before I finally grab my things and head to the lobby, waiting for my cab to take me to the airport.
The driver pulls up to the drop-off lane and I thank him softly, groaning inwardly at the large group of paparazzi standing at the entrance, eagerly scouting the area like a bunch of vultures. As I step out of the SUV, dozens of camera flashes blur my vision and I raise a hand to cover my face, blinking back any remnants of tears.
"Emma, Emma, is it true you and Beau Lewis are broken up?" How the hell do people already know? I halt in place, once again reminded that people are always watching. I can't wait to be home. The paparazzi crowd around me and I decide to face them head on, setting my jaw defiantly and tilting my chin up.
This is for you Fiona, I think to myself. "It's true."
More cameras flash and I turn to leave, but I'm stopped when a pap asks for my comment on the breakup. Shaking my head, I refuse to give them a story. "I have no ill-will towards him. I feel lucky to have gotten to know the real Beau Lewis and I love him. I'm not afraid to say that," I say confidently. "Someone has to." I just have to love myself enough to know when time's up, I remind myself silently, wishing more than anything that I could give us one more try. Memories of Beau's numerous temper flare ups and rejections cloud my mind, pushing the idea from my thoughts.
"Any chance of a reconciliation?" A small woman looks at me with beady eyes, eagerly awaiting whatever gossip will escape my lips.
I shake my head slowly, sadness threatening to overwhelm me suddenly. "No, no, there's no chance of reconnecting." I don't listen as they call my name, snapping shots furiously as I walk away.
Rushing through the airport, I pull my baseball cap lower on my head to shield my eyes, watery with tears. I don't make eye contact with any of the airline staff when they check me in or with the officer at security as he runs through the necessary questions, nervous I'll break down the second someone asks "How are you?"
When I've finally reached my terminal, I make my way to a bathroom, collapsing in one of the stalls and sinking my head in my hands.
Shaking silently, I press my hand to my mouth to keep quiet, the tears warming my cheeks. My stomach is sick, memories of Beau playing nonstop in my mind as my lungs struggle for air. Pulling my feet on top of the toilet seat, I wrap my arms around my torso tightly to keep myself from falling apart. Leaning my head on my knees, I listen to the steady beating of my heart, each beat sending shocks of pain through my chest.
God, I already miss him.
As if on cue, my phone rings and the picture of Beau I took at the charity dinner, the one in his crisp white button up, fills my screen. Staring at the devious smirk on his lips pulls my heart in two.
What was it that Nadine had said? That I deserved someone un-complicated?
I suck in another ragged breath as the call goes to voicemail, pressing toilet paper under my eyes and removing my smeared mascara. Collecting my things, I exit the bathroom and take a seat by my gate, far away from the other flyers. My phone pings with a new voicemail and I delete the notification, knowing that if I hear his voice, I'll give in and call him.
And if I call him, I won't be able to resist going back to him.
I shove my phone under my leg and wait for my flight to be called for boarding.
***
Grateful to have arrived during the late hours of night, I drag my feet up the apartment stairs, emotionally and physically drained from all of the events of the past couple of days. Between two plane rides and dozens of missed messages from Beau, I'm ready to crawl into bed and hibernate for a few days, maybe even weeks.
I grunt, bending down to grab the large package from my steps before unlocking my door and turning on my lights. Finally home, I sigh in relief, grateful to be in the familiarity of my tiny living room. Placing everything on my floor, I open the package first, not recognizing the return address.
As if the universe is playing tricks on me, kicking me when I'm down, I pull out a heavy guitar case, the charity auction guitar inside. The prize items must have finally shipped, I frown.
Closing my eyes tightly, my resolve crumbles finally and I let out a shaky sob, unable to hold back the tears any longer. As they flood my cheeks, I open the case and glare at the guitar, now nothing more than a reminder of everything that never got to be.
I groan, picking the guitar up and swinging it over my head into my coffee table furiously. The old wood of the table splinters down the middle, but the guitar is barely scratched. Unsatisfied, I swing again, my cries getting louder and louder as I crash the guitar into the wood again and again, barely denting it. "Ugh!" I shout, tossing it aside and sinking to the floor, my body shuttering even as my tears have dried.
Breaking me from my outburst, my phone rings beside me and I almost hit ignore before I see Fiona's name.
"What?" I speak softly, knowing what's coming before she even speaks.
"Miss Carter. This is Fiona." I roll my eyes at her stuck up tone and stupid statement.
"Yeah?"
"Given the circumstances, I think you can understand that we need to void our contract with you." She addresses someone in the background quietly while waiting for me to reply.
I blink slowly, her words adding another layer of finality to the situation. No more Beau, I sniffle. "Understood."
"We will pay you for the duration of time you joined MisFits on tour. You'll receive some legal documents shortly and once you return them, our partnership will be finished." I hear her typing furiously and I wonder if Val is around.
Instead, unable to help myself, I ask, "What's going to happen to Beau now?"
Fiona lets out a sigh and when she speaks, her voice sounds tired, probably a lot like mine. "Thankfully, Miss Carter, that is no longer your problem."