16. Why Should I Worry?

“Do you want to know what I hate more than anything in the whole fucking world?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me…” Trace voice fades away and I steal a look at him as I swerve through rush hour traffic. Its mid Saturday morning and I somehow let Trace talk me into escorting him to the William Rast warehouse in the fashion district of downtown LA.  He’s hanging onto the handle above the car door for dear life and I can just make out the whiteness of his knucklesz.

“I hate it,” I swerve into the next lane and ignore the blaring horns, “when stupid mother fucking drivers,” I slam on the breaks as the light suddenly turns yellow, “don’t use their stupid fucking signals to indicate when they’re switching lanes…”

Someone’s yelling at me out of their car window and I have half the mind to roll mine down and shriek something right back. But I know that Trace will probably die of embarrassment and I really don’t want to get either of us shot. The fashion district isn’t that bad, but you can never be too careful whilst downtown.

“And I hate it when you drive like a fucking psycho,” he retorts and he begrudgingly lets go of the handle, wringing his hands in the process.

“You know you love it. It’s this kind of danger you don’t get when you’re driving by yourself,” I fire right back. The light turns green and I lovingly ease Bentley Lexus forward. The driver I apparently offended zooms past, his horn bleating as he goes by. I respond by throwing a finger in the air and I laugh as Trace reaches out quickly and grabs onto my hand, yanking it down towards the center console of the car. “Lighten up, old man,” I laugh as I pull onto the freeway. Surprise. More traffic.

“I’ll lighten up once my feet are firmly planted on unmoving ground…” his voice fades away as Bentley melds into the hundreds of cars jammed on the motorway. God sometimes I fucking hate this place. “You know,” Trace begins and I can hear his thoughtful tone edging on his voice, “you didn’t always used to drive so recklessly, especially in your car. What gives?”

I’d like to add at this moment that I’m currently entering my third month of Justin free living and while I’d like to say I’m over it and ready to get on with my life, I’m still as hapless and lost as I was a month ago. The only plus in my life is the fact that Trace and I have been hanging out like we did back before Justin and I called it quits. He needs me because Justin still isn’t around and I guess I’m just that kind of familiarity that Trace likes to surround himself with. And me, well I need Trace because he’s Trace. He’s the only sane person aside from Elliot that I can call a friend and he knows me better than anyone…even my roommate, and I dare to think, even The GB. 

“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug, “I guess driving like a crazy asshole gives me some justification to come out of my whole hermit stage. Lord knows I’ve just been…”

“Comatose, dead as a doornail, lackluster, fucking pathetic,” Trace offers before I shoot him a scathing look, “Well you have!” he points out, “Ever since The Smack Down you’ve just been some kind of shell. Sorry to say but all the things you’ve promised to do you just flake out.”

I open my mouth to argue, but I have to admit that he’s got a point. For the past month I’ve promised to get off my ass and workout. I’ve joined a gym, I’ve been going at least twice a week, but I promised the personal trainer I hired that I would cut back on the tub of cookie dough in my fridge and start to focus on eating healthy…I call in sick and tell him I can’t make it to important workouts. I promised Elliot I would forget about The GB and move on with my life, but every time he comes home to tell me he’s found the perfect guy I’ve come up with an excuse.

I don’t go out, the only times I do are when Trace or Elliot practically force me to leave the house with them, or when I’ve got work. Bruno is enjoying all the extra attention and I’ve managed to shed off nearly all my weight by taking him on five-mile walks every afternoon when I get home from work.

“I know,” I start with a sigh, “I’ve been trying though, it’s just hard.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Lauren,” Trace says immediately, “You forget that I had a fiancée who I was going to marry and then I find out she’s been fucking someone I invited into my house behind my back.” His voice is laced with bitterness and I can tell that even three years after Elisha he’s still hurting a little bit.

So not much hope for me, then.

“Well you know what he did was just as bad…”

“How? He wasn’t porking Maura, he didn’t betray you, I’m sorry to tell you Lauren, but this whole pile of shit you’re in isn’t nearly as big as mine was.”

“So are we going to sit here in traffic and argue about whose story is more pathetic? Christ, Trace why can’t we just drop it?”

“Because you sit there and act like you’re the only person who’s ever had their heart broken, who’s ever felt betrayed. And I’m sick and fucking tired of you trying to milk the pity party for all its worth. You have to know he’s feeling the exact same way.”

I slam on my breaks even though the traffic is starting to thin out. We’re stopped dead in the middle of the road and I’m about ready to kick the little weasel out and make him walk his ass back home. I turn to look at him as I start to accelerate the car.

“I don’t care,” my voice is hard and I’m trying my best not to reach out and hit him. I’m reminded of the time almost a year ago when Justin was driving me home after Trace and a few other people practically caught us hooking up in a dressing room. We got into a screaming match then and I’m thinking we might just be heading in that direction now, “I don’t care how he feels. I don’t give a fucking damn…”

“Well you could have fooled me,” he states simply with a mere shrug of his shoulders. I bite my lip and decide not to respond to his reply. I refuse to fight with Trace even though the little bastard deserves it.

We travel back to his house in silence and we say stoic goodbyes before Trace turns around and knocks on the window. I pull down the window and lean across.

“Sorry,” we both say at the exact same time. He cracks a smile first and I return it before he promises that the spaghetti and horror movie night we’ve been planning with Elliot will happen sometime next week.

That’s the one thing I have with Trace that I don’t think I could ever have with Justin – the ability to put all the bad shit behind and start again. I thought I could do it, we even managed to pull it off for a bit, but then it all burst out in the open like an unwanted can of worms and both of us were powerless to stop it. And of course now there’s no way the damage can be repaired. He’s halfway around the world in Europe and I’m here in California, struggling every day to get over him and move on with my life.

But there’s that little part of me that wants to hold on for dear life and not let go, no matter how much other people insist I try to move on. It’s that stubborn part of me that won’t go out and seek forgiveness, but that’s the crux of the matter.

I don’t think I can forgive, or forget.

My thoughts are so plagued by this sudden onslaught of feelings that I hardly notice that my phone is ringing loudly in my purse. Reaching over, I fish it out and notice an unrecognizable number. Curiosity gets the better of me and I quickly answer it.

“Hello?” 

“Is this Lauren?” the voice is familiar but I haven’t heard it in so long that it sounds almost completely foreign.

“Marty?” I ask incredulously. I’m so shocked by this unexpected call that I almost completely forget that Marty is on tour with Justin and I’m currently trying to separate myself from the bastard and get on with my life.

“Oh thank God,” he sounds almost too relieved to get a hold of me, “How are you?”

I instantly know that something is up. For one, Marty and I have this unspoken agreement that we hate each other on principle. We don’t talk to each other unless we’re giving each other shit, and the last thing we do is call each other up and ask how the other is.

“What do you want?” I say and I surprise even myself with how icy my voice sounds.

“Look I wouldn’t be calling you unless I thought this was a big deal and it couldn’t be handled by anyone on our team but…”

I can almost hear his words before he speaks them and I’m praying to Jesus, Allah, Muhammad, or whatever deity that’s on duty in the heavens that I won’t hear the words in my ear.

“…He needs you.”

I don’t need to ask who the ‘he,’ is. There isn’t any other ‘he,’ in this world that concerns both Marty and I.

“Really? The last time we spoke I was under the impression that he didn’t need me anymore…that’s what his new and improved PA is for.” Marty sighs on the other end of the phone and I can practically see him rubbing his thin face with his hands out of frustration.

“Can you just get past that? He’s in bad shape.”

“Good,” I snort, “Maybe being in bad shape will make him realize what a stupid douche bag he is. Make him realize that he’s a complete asshole and should go sit in the corner of a room, shrivel up, and die.”

“If you don’t help him, that could very well be a possibility.”

I laugh coldly into the phone trying to ignore the seriousness that’s laced in Marty’s voice. His comment sounds like something reserved for the movies, but I can’t help but feel he isn’t fucking around.

Then again, I promised Trace, Elliot, and myself that I was going to give this up and turn over a new leaf.

“Look,” I bite, “you can tell that stupid little ass muncher that I don’t care if he’s sick, dying, or in danger of losing his dick. I. Don’t. Care. The last thing I’m going to do is fly halfway around the world to help out a man who has thought of nothing but himself since the time he learned what an ego was. You can tell him he can go fuck himself…” my voice fades and I’m suddenly filled with such empowerment that I’m actually laughing. The freest laughter I’ve experienced since all this shit happened.

“You know what?” I start, “Fuck you too, Marty! Fuck you for calling me, fuck you and your stupid ass boss who is such a complete fucktard he wouldn’t know honesty and selflessness if it bit him in the mother-fucking ass. Go have fun on your globe trotting adventures and don’t call me again. I won’t be picking up.”

And before Marty can get another word in, I’ve turned off the phone and have gone speeding off towards Elliot’s apartment. I have a date with self-improvement. I’m going to show everyone that I can be my own person and I can live my life without the shadow of my ridiculous ex-boyfriend and his buxom, slut-tastic personal assistant.

Watch out world, Lauren Mother Fucking Walters is back!

*~*~*~*~*

The pounding of the music is sending my headache to new heights and my leaning against a velvet clad column is the only thing keeping me from falling over. The world is spinning and the flashing lights of different colors are all blurring into one entity, causing the sensation that the world is turning upside down.

I groan and push myself off of my leaning post, almost falling completely on my ass. I would be on the ground if it weren’t for Eddie and Sky holding me up. They’re laughing at my misfortune and I can tell they aren’t too worried about my current state because they’re drunk, too.

Not as much as me, but then again it takes a lot to keep up with me these days.

I think we’re in Birmingham, which is some random city in England, but I could be totally wrong. All the dates and countries and cities have all melted into one big fucking place and it takes fervent whispering from Maura and the rest of my team to remind me of where I’m playing so I don’t accidentally call Dublin, Scotland by mistake.

Truth be told I’m a hot mess and I really couldn’t give a flying fuck who knows it.

After that one night in London where Maura and I almost jumped on the good foot and did the bad thing, I’ve come to realize that the best way to forget about anything and everything is to get together with a couple hundred of your closest friends and drink yourself into a god damned oblivion. I don’t do it every night because there are some times when management and my family put a firm foot down and keep me from practicing alcohol amnesia. And those nights are the worst ever.

Tonight, however, I’m not really feeling any pain and thankfully I’ve got my dancers to help me out with my current state of mind. Most of them, like the rest of the tour crew, are growing worried about what the fuck is going on with me, but I keep to myself these days. Not even Timbaland can get inside my head and that makes for some rather awkward performances on stage. We aren’t clicking, and I blame the extra shots I take whenever I go offstage during a performance.

I can’t help it if half the songs I sing remind me of her just like I can’t help that the only way I can forget about Lauren is if I become best friends with Jack, Jose, and Captain Morgan.

In the beginning everyone was excited that I was cutting loose, getting toasted, and having fun at parties. Now nearly everyone has jumped ship. Marty is so against me and my partying ways that he tags along with me and the rest of the dancers as a chaperone. He knows when to step in when I’ve finally crossed that line between coherent and too far gone. He’ll let me have my bit of fun, but he knows my limit and that’s when he steps in.

Much like he’s doing now.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel, buddy,” he says cautiously as he removes me from Eddie and Sky’s grip. I laugh loudly as I sling an arm around Marty’s shoulder as we begin to stumble towards the exit. The rest of the dancers are falling in line behind us and I laugh in Marty’s face as we finally get out of the club. I laugh even more when I see his face twist in disgust. I’m sure he can smell the mixture of alcohol on my breath and even I have no idea how much I’ve had to drink tonight.

All I know is that I’m feeling good, but I know I’ll be feeling like shit when I wake up.

But I have tomorrow night to look forward to.

I don’t remember how we got back to the hotel and I wave feebly at the other dancers as they begin to file off to their respective rooms. Marty is still keeping me upright as we stumble down the hall like some weird three-legged race entrants.

Words are coming out of my mouth but I have no idea what I’m saying or if I’m making any sense. I can feel the buzz starting to slip away and I want to turn around and high tail it back to the hotel bar where I know I can get a late pick me up before heading to bed.

The worst thing about everyone knowing that I’m starting to develop something of a problem is the fact that before I go into my room, Maura or someone else sweeps the room and removes everything containing alcohol from the mini bar. It pisses me off, but I know I haven’t gotten worse because I’ll drink during and after a show, but never before.

That’s just career suicide. 

But I’m scared shitless of my fading drunkenness because that means Lauren will make an appearance in my thoughts or dreams. I’ve been doing so well in trying to move on without her, but once that buzz is gone, I’m toast.

I have a feeling tonight is going to be fucking terrible.

“Here we go,” Marty mutters as he unlocks the door that will lead me to my room. He manages to throw me down on the bed unceremoniously and he steps back as I fumble around, trying to undo the sheets so I can get under the covers. I don’t even bother trying to take my shoes off. “Stop,” Marty says with a troubled sigh.

His words have an immediate affect on me because I cease my actions and look up at him stupidly. All I can do is lay there as Marty rips the covers off my body and looks down at my lax form. Rolling his eyes, he sits on the edge of the bed and begins to pull off my vans.

“You are just a sad sack of shit,” he chides mournfully, “Honestly if you weren’t one of my closest friends I would probably throw up my hands and leave this tour. I’ve never seen you act this unprofessional before in all my years of working for you.”

“C’mon Marty…you know you love me,” I slur and he responds by getting off the bed quickly and moving towards the door, “Aw, don’t go!” I cry out. There must have been something in my voice to make him stop because he pauses at the door.

“You know,” I start softly and I can feel my mind traveling towards a topic I try to stay away from at all cost, “You sounded like Lauren just then.”

“Great, just what I’ve always wanted,” Marty says sarcastically under his breath, but his intonation is completely missed by me.

“The world would do well with one more Lauren,” I mumble, “That way I could have one that isn’t pissed off at me.”

“Yeah well that’s not how the world works,” Marty explains sardonically and it reminds me so strongly of her that I want to cry. I guess my face betrays what I’m thinking because my choreographer’s face softens as he approaches my pitiful form on the bed. “You okay?”

“Can you go get her for me?”

“Who, Maura?”

“No,” I spit. Is this guy a fucking idiot? “Lauren. Go get her for me.”

“That’s a bit of a problem,” Marty explains, “Seeing as we’re in England and she’s in California.” I shake my head and lift my arm, pointing it towards what I think is the door to the hallway, but in all actuality it leads to the closet.

“No. You need to get her for me.” My eyes are growing heavy and I know in just a few minutes I’ll be completely dead to the world, “Go get her and tell her I want my Christmas present.”

“Justin, you’re drunk. You aren’t making any sense,” he sounds confused and if the bastard would just clean his ears out he’d realize that this is so fucking simple a third grader could figure it out.

“No. Go tell her I want my Christmas present. She promised me that she’d come see me if it was important. And it is important. I fucking miss her…”

“I don’t think I can do that Justin…

“Yes, you can,” I say back forcefully, “Tell her…no matter what, and Cooking for Dummies…” I know I’m probably not making any sense, but I need to get this out, as my eyelids grow more and more heavy. “Christmas. Please, Mary…” I’m not even calling him by his real name. All I know is I have to make sure she gets here.

Because I fucking miss her.

*~*~*~*~*

Five days since my memorable day with Trace and the phone call with Marty and I’m feeling freaking fabulous. I’ve hit my ‘I Don’t Need a Man’ phase hard and I’m not about to let up any time soon. I’ve thrown away all the junk food in the house and I’m ready to start fresh.

Elliot and Trace can’t believe the change and I think they’ve forgotten that I’m actually a girl and not one of the guys. Elliot’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when I showed up for our spaghetti and horror movie night in jeans, a nice shirt, and shoes that weren’t flip flops. Trace seems pleased although I can tell part of him doesn’t want me to give up on his best friend completely – you know, just in case there’s reconciliation.

But screw that. I’m over it. I’m done and ready to move on.

And moving on is exactly what I’m doing at six o’clock in the morning. I have a date with a wonderful machine called a treadmill and later I’ll be exclusively seeing stair master. But for right now I want to have a hearty breakfast before I go sweat off my nasty fat

Bruno greets me in the kitchen and his little tail is thumping like mad. I have no idea what’s got him so excited and it isn’t until I’ve put the eggs on the stove and turn to look at the kitchen table that I realize I have an unwelcome visitor.

“Hey, Lo…”

“Holy fucking shit,” I jump at least ten feet in the air, clutching my chest in the process. Marty is sitting at the kitchen table looking totally out of place in the sunny room. His five o’clock shadow is much more noticeable and he looks like he’s been awake for at least thirty or more hours. In short, the bitch looks like hell and I’d feel sorry for him if he wasn’t sitting unannounced in my kitchen looking like death.

“What the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Italy or something? Jesus, Marty!”

“I needed to see you in person.”

“And why? How the hell did you get in here?

“Trace gave me his key.”

Note to self; do not give anybody outside of your roommate an extra key. Trace obviously can’t be trusted and I’m going to kick his small ass into old age when I see him again.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him again. He sighs and gets to his feet, walking over to me with a grim look on his pinched face.

“I came here on behalf of a friend,” he states simply, “A friend who needs your help.”

“Obviously my phone call wasn’t enough of a hint. I feel bad because you had to fly all the way out here for me to tell you to go the hell away and leave me the fuck alone. I’m done with him and all his bull shit.”

I’m trying really hard not to lose my temper, but I’m getting close to letting it skyrocket to hysterical proportions. I’m trying to move on, I’m trying to get over him and become the better person. Let him have Maura and his career. Let me try to heal and live my life without him in it all the damn time.

But its almost four months later and I can’t escape him. No matter what I do, he always finds a way to come back into my life.

“Lauren, please. Justin’s in a bad place right now.” Is Marty pleading with me? Is he getting to the point of begging? The only other person who has a bigger ego than Marty is his boss and for the little peon to start pleading is big news.

“Well he’s a smart guy, he can use his connections and obvious talent to get himself out of it,” I say heatedly. I don’t want to deal with this. I want to eat my eggs, go to the gym, and sweat the pain out of me.

“I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation, Lo…he’s digging himself into a whole.”

“And I’ll be more than happy to use the dirt to cover the bastard up,” I retort, “I don’t give a damn what happens to him.”

“Now you’re lying to me and yourself,” he interjects and I look away from him to focus on my eggs. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away. “He needs you just as much as you need him.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I fire back, “I don’t need him anymore. If you failed to realize, I’m doing a hell of a lot better than he apparently is right now. So Marty, get the fuck out of my apartment and leave me be. I don’t want to be apart of his life anymore. Don’t you get that?”

His words have a ringing effect and his shoulders slump forward in obvious defeat. He turns towards the door and I feel a surge of victory. Thank God I managed to talk the schmuck into submission.

I watch him head towards the front door and I bite my lip when he pauses his head hanging in obvious defeat.

“This probably doesn’t mean anything because he was drunk off his ass when he said it,” Marty begins and he says it all rather quickly as if he’s embarrassed to be passing off the words of a drunk to an obviously sane person, “But he wanted me to tell you to about a Christmas present that he wants now, Cooking for Dummies, and ‘no matter what.’”

I don’t think I’m breathing properly and I’m sure my heart has stopped beating in my chest. Did Marty just say what I think he did? The fact that he was able to repeat a private moment between Justin and I, no matter how jumbled or distorted is huge. Justin is never one to go off and talk about personal business and the fact that Marty flew halfway around the world to mention Cooking for Dummies and ‘no matter what’ isn’t something I should overlook.

And then there’s the swelling of emotion that I’ve tried to suppress since our breakup that’s raising in my body. The thought that he needs me more than anything right now is almost sending me to the rooftops to scream out in adoration and joy. He needs me! Not just for a booty call, not to yell at me to my face, he needs me because he misses me, because he needs me.

Not Maura.

I look up at Marty to see that he’s turned around and looking at me expectantly. I know he’s waiting for me to spring into action, but I don’t want to jump too quickly. For all I know Justin could have told this story to Marty for a laugh and he thought it would be a good joke to see if I would fly halfway across the world to make a fool out of myself.

Then again, Justin isn’t one to display his private affairs no matter how much they could hurt someone else. The fact that he’s told Marty about this is huge in itself.

Besides, he needs me and I promised...

“Is he really that bad?”

“He’s a total wreck,” Marty responds quickly.

“Where is he right now?”

“We’re going to Manchester for a few days. I’m going back as soon as possible,” he adds.

I sigh heavily and turn off the stove, looking with forlorn at my half finished eggs. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about doing this. I swear to God if I end up getting hurt again I will kill him. Period.

Then again, if I go into this thing without hopes of getting back together or anything of that sort I’ll be okay. I’m not going to lose my temper no matter how terrible he is. I’m going in for Damage Control. I’m going in as Lauren Walters, Personal Assistant and not broken hearted ex-girlfriend/employee. If I approach this situation as professionally and unemotionally attached as I can, I’ll be okay.

I’ll try to forget, and I’ll try even harder to forgive.

“Let me grab a few things, make a few calls, and we’ll go,” I say quietly and I try not to smile at the look of extreme gratitude on Marty’s face.

Besides, the sooner I forgive and forget, the sooner I can come back home and really put him behind me.

This trip will be the last page of a long and complicated chapter to my life.