"So you're trending on Twitter . . ."
"And good morning to you, too, my dear manager who really knows how to start my day."
I couldn't help but let a smile appear on my face when I hear Jesy scoff at my remark. "Don't even."
I pause to yawn before letting my free hand rub the sleep off my eyes. "What is it about this time?"
There was a pause at the other line, before I hear her sigh, "About you and Steve. They're bashing the both of you. You, especially."
My hand froze, and I settled it back down on my stomach, clutching the fabric of my shirt.
I'm not surprised.
Exactly a week ago, I have discovered a picture of me and him kissing on the front of a magazine while I was waiting for Caitlyn to decide on her birthday present (or presents, plural form). And though it might sound narcissistic, I'm certain that the picture won't just be shown in the magazine, but instead will be uploaded in almost every website. In fact, I'm also pretty sure it's been trending the moment the picture was out of the open worldwide.
That's just how it goes in Hollywood.
"I saw our photos in a magazine, by the way," I tell her. "I was in a store and I saw it in the magazine stand."
"Photos?" Jesy repeats, and I could sense her typical protective tone which is something I love about her. "What photos? And what magazine? Why wasn't I informed by Derek? What kind of publicist is he, really?"
"Go easy on the guy, will you?" I chuckle. "He's new. And besides, isn't this what McKinley wanted? PR for the movie?"
"James McKinley is a selfish prick," Jesy comments, and there's no mistaking the acid dripping from her voice as she says his name. "He doesn't care about you, Jade. He only cares about the stupid label and his money."
"But he's a friend of Mom's, so I have to trust that he has good intentions . . . ," I point out, glancing at the clock on the wall.
Eight thirty, it says. Perrie should be at work by now. I should probably go now as well.
I swing my legs off the bed and sat up on the edge. "Just tell Derek to do the usual stuff — release a statement that although we kissed, it was just a fling — blah, blah, blah . . ."
"Jade, you don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?" I question absently, ambling toward the closet.
"This is going to ruin your reputation."
My hand stops reaching forward and hover over the hanger that has my favorite peach sorbet colored sundress, flowing freely as it suspends on its shoulders. Jesy's words rang in my head, reverberating in every corner.
This is going to ruin my reputation.
My fucking reputation.
But since when have I ever cared about my reputation, anyway?
"Jade?" Jesy calls out, sounding worried from my lack of response. "Did you hear what I said? This will destroy you."
"They can talk shit about me all they want." I shook myself from the stupor, will my hand to grab the hanger and drop it along with the sundress on the bed. I sigh out, "My image has been ruined since the get-go, Jes."
"Jade, you shouldn't even care about your image, you should care about your own dignity for crying out loud!" Jesy snaps.
I had to blink twice before letting the words sink in. And the weight of those mere but meaningful words, the impact of every single letter, it was too much that it felt like a wrecking ball had punched me in the gut so hard that it knocked me out of my breath abruptly.
A whirlwind of unclear emotions had overwhelmed me that I needed to take a seat on the edge of the bed to try to wrap my head around the gravity of the situation, clenching my hand around the bedsheets — anything real that could reel me back to reality. It felt like an eternity before I could muster up the energy to respond, and when I did, my voice devolved into something hoarse.
"D-don't . . . Don't do that," I croak.
I mentally reprimand myself at how weak and vulnerable I sounded all of a sudden. I sink my teeth into my lower lip as if it could preclude me from feeling crestfallen.
I hear her sigh out, "Jade, I'm so sorry. I'm not saying that you don't —"
"Stop, Jes," I plead, feeling the first tear drop at the corner of my eye. Quickly, I swipe it off. "Sorry. I'm just feeling . . . pretty bad right now."
"Jade, I just care about you."
"I know."
Silence reigned, and I can imagine Jesy opening and closing her mouth because she wasn't certain of what exactly she needs to say. And I remained silent because I didn't want to talk anymore.
Then she asks in a soft voice, "Why did you go with Steve, Jade?"
I clench my jaw, feeling under the spotlight in the middle of an interrogation, and speak with my teeth gritted, "I just needed to confide in someone. And he was coincidentally available, so . . ."
I hear her scoff, "I don't know why I even bothered to ask you that question. I knew you were going to say that."
I furrow my eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"I mean — seriously, Jade? On your mother's death anniversary?" she says incredulously.
Something in Jesy's tone lit up some flame inside me, and I abhor how judgemental she suddenly sounded like as if we had just met just now. Like as if she doesn't know all the things that I have been through.
"You're being condescending now," I remark, suddenly feeling defensive. I glance at the clock again. Exactly eight forty-five.
Jesy's voice booms from the speaker, "Jade, I'm not being condescending, I'm just trying to figure you out. You're . . . not yourself ever since —"
"Ever since my mom died?" I supply, cutting her off.
"N-no," Jesy hesitates.
"Jes, let me make it clear for you," I start, "I am totally fine. The reason why I needed this vacation is because — yes, I don't feel like myself anymore. And yes, because it's the death anniversary of my mother three weeks ago and I needed to forget. I needed a distraction."
"And I bet Steve's a good-enough distraction for that?" Jesy scoffs. "Steve — the fucking director of your movie — Steve? Out of all people?! Jesus, Jade, people are asking me if you're using him because you wanted the movie! Your fans are going against you now. You know how many times I've seen some derogatory comments, claiming that this is how you commemorate your mother's death — screwing other people!? And to think that you've been MIA in social media for almost a month only to surprise them with this . . . this madness?"
Tears threaten to spill at the corners of my eyes, but I will myself not to break down. Not anymore.
"Who cares what they think?!" I yell, throwing my free arm up frustratedly. "If they're my true fans, they'll accept me for who I am."
"Jade, this isn't even about them anymore, it's about you and the huge hole you've dug yourself into!"
"I don't even care anymore, Jes."
"You should care because it's your fucking life!"
"Oh, fuck you, Jessica Nelson," I seeth and hung up the phone before throwing the device on the bed. It tumbles along the mattress until it hits the wooden headboard, and I stand up and propel to the bathroom to freshen up.
XXX
"Jade Thirlwall, since you look cute in your dress today, this is for you."
"What?" I look up from my phone to find a can of Coca-Cola in front of me. Bewildered, my gaze elevates to meet Perrie's. "I didn't order a drink."
She offers a small smile and a shrug.
"Did some douchey guy buy me that?" I swivel my head and look around, my eyes scanning every corner of the room.
"Uhm, what guy?" I hear Perrie inquire.
"The guy that ordered you to give me that," I answer, squinting my eyes at every human being in the same room as me.
There seems to be no suspicious guy at the bar. In fact, now that I've surveyed the room, the restaurant is filled with women. No guy at all! Behind the bar, only waitresses are found. Even Harry, that bloody annoying waiter friend of Perrie's isn't around. My brows furrow deeper.
"Did a girl buy me a drink?" I think out loud.
Perrie chuckles but doesn't give an answer.
"Where are all the guys?" I ask, mainly to myself, marveling at the peculiar situation.
There was a snort coming from Perrie behind me and I peer back at the blonde woman again, who seems to be watching me in amusement.
"I forgot to mention — every Friday is Girls' Day," she informs me, nodding her head over my shoulder.
With a raised brow, I swivel my head again to discover a wooden sign ensconced literally beside the entrance.
Girls' Day! Men, Back Off!
I guess it's safe to say I was too preoccupied to notice it. And it actually makes sense that I have known this just now. I don't think I have ever visited Perrie's restaurant on a Friday until today.
"So you gave me the drink?" I ask as I face her again.
"What drink?"
With an eyebrow raised, I point at the can of Coca-Cola.
Perrie squints at the beverage, and I can almost hear the whirring of the wheels in her head, clearly trying to remember. Then she looks at me, puzzled. "I gave that to you?"
At that moment, I felt grateful. Perrie Edwards actually managed to make me smile and laugh just by being her forgetful self.