Stars in Your Eyes(75)

“Are you sure about this?” she says, her voice lowering. I can hear raised voices echoing behind us. “Vanessa is not going to be happy.”

I’m tired of being controlled by everyone around me because of my fear. I have to be willing to walk away from Hollywood if it means freedom. My dream has been acting—not this bullshit behind the scenes. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

But even as I say the words, anxiety drifts through me. I’d feel better about this if I knew I had Logan by my side to make a stand—to fight Vanessa and the rest of the team and say that we’re going to continue our relationship, no matter what they demand. But he hasn’t replied to me in weeks. It’s possible he broke up with me in his head before Vanessa even made this decision. I’m starting to feel twists of regret. What if I fucked up my entire career over this, and Logan doesn’t even feel the same way anymore? Maybe I’m relying on just a little too much faith.





Logan




Can we talk please?



Please give me a call. We can talk this through.



Remember what we agreed to, in the cabin? We said we would try to work through this.



We said we’d talk things out instead of pushing each other away.



I love you, Logan.



Please call me.



I think about it. But the idea of hearing Matt’s voice and fighting and straining and pushing against the thought that I hurt him is exhausting. It’s better to look at the messages and think—yeah, maybe this is for the best. Trying to change is impossible. He’ll go along with Vanessa’s plan for the promo tour. He’ll break up with me, and I’ll go back to the life I was living before. It’ll probably be harder to get work, now. I’ll probably have to stay in this apartment under my dad’s rule. It is what it is, right?

Another text buzzes. I check my phone from my spot in my bed. I haven’t moved in about a day, since Audrey came.

It’s Briggs. Let’s talk.

It’s almost a comfort, to see his name appear. I know Briggs. I know what to expect with him. Matt had on one of his podcasts, once, about how trauma rewires the brain—makes it feel safer to want what a person already knows, what they’re already familiar with, no matter how much it hurts. I think he was hoping it’d help me.

About what?



Let’s get lunch.



He probably wants to meet with me in public so that people can take photos of us together and the bad press he’s been getting will lay off. Obviously, he didn’t try to rape me if I’m with him. I don’t know. If that’s the story he wants, it’s not a big deal for me to give it to him. I’ve always been good at giving people what they want.

I get out of bed and take a quick shower and throw on some clothes from one of the many piles on my bedroom floor. Shades on to hide the bags under my eyes, keys in my hand. I speed through the city, sunlight too bright. I screech to a stop near the restaurant and park, turning off the engine. A few people recognize me on the sidewalk, stopping to whisper and stare. Nothing I’m not used to. The restaurant has wood-paneled floors and walls and giant booths. It smells like grease and cigar smoke. It’s the seedy type of place I usually only go to at three in the morning after a night of drinking and fucking. Haven’t lived that kind of life in a while now. My days have been so filled with Mattie.

Briggs is already waiting at a table in the corner. He stands when he sees me. Claps a hand on my shoulder. I flinch, and his grin fades when he notices, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Glad you came,” he says, sitting back down again.

I sit opposite him without speaking. I’m tense. I usually don’t give a fuck, being around Briggs. He treats me like shit all the time. There were moments when I didn’t want him to hit me as hard as he did, or draw blood when he bit me, or tie me up and fuck me so hard that I would feel sick and my entire body would hurt for days. I told myself I liked the pain. A lot of people like pain, right? Yeah. I thought I was one of them. But I’m realizing now I didn’t enjoy it so much. It felt better to pretend that I wanted someone like Briggs. Only difference between the last night I met with Briggs and all the other nights with him before was that I told him to stop and he didn’t listen. Pretty big difference, I guess.

It’s harder to breathe. I’m starting to leave my body again, and Matt isn’t here to put a hand on my cheek and ask me if I’m still with him. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Maybe I should leave.

“I’m surprised you agreed to meet up,” Briggs says. “We left things off in a pretty shitty place.”

“You claimed I attacked you.”

“You fucking did,” he says. He takes a breath. “But I’ll admit it. I shouldn’t have been so rough with you.”

Is that how he’s choosing to describe rape? Okay.

“I wanted to apologize in person,” he says.

“And hopefully get a few photos of us together to show we’re back to being friends?”

“You always were a smart one,” he says, grin growing. “But this will help your image, too. People are still pissed at you for fucking me up.” He raises a hand to the waitress. “What do you want? I’m buying.”