From the second I woke up I knew I had too much fun the night before. I couldn’t even open my eyes because I could tell with my eyes closed that there was too much sun shining in through the shades. All I could do was lay in bed, pulling the pillow from under my head and putting it over my face and moaning at how shitty I felt.

            The sound of someone laughing made it a hundred times worse, not just that someone was laughing but because of who that someone was. I know that laugh too well; it’s that cocky asshole laugh that Justin always uses when he’s making fun of someone. Usually I am the one who that laugh is directed towards which is why I know it so well.

            “Good morning wifey.”

            I figured if I ignored him he’d go away, or at least feel bad enough to be quiet since his voice is going through my--- wait a minute, what did he just call me?

            The laughter started up again, “Can you keep it down? You’re so loud.”

            “Yeah, sorry,” his voice did get softer and the laughter stopped, only for a minute though, “Do you need anything wifey?”

            “Why do you keep calling me that?”

            Here comes that laugh again, “Because… we got married last night.” There is one thing that I know for sure, and that’s that I know nothing about the night before. The only thing I do know is that I was drunk, too drunk to remember anything. My eyes shot open and I jumped up and looked at my left hand, no sign of a ring.  Justin laughed again, “We didn’t get a ring, it was too late.”

            He can’t be serious. We’re not even in Vegas and I think that’s the only place in the world that someone will marry you even when you’re fall over drunk.

            “I don’t remember anything about last night.”

            “I see that,” he stopped laughing and sat up.

            “We so did not get married.”

            “We so did get married,” he answered with a smile. I know I looked at him like he’s crazy; there is no possible way. It’s not possible. Is it? Seriously, is it possible? I heard his laugh, once again, “You’re really thinking about it, huh Dallas?”

            I put the pillow back over my head and took a deep breath, trying to remember just one thing about the previous night. “We could not have gotten married.”

            “Alright,” he answered sarcastically as I felt something fall on me, “Put your shirt back on.”

            I lifted the pillow up a little so I could look under the blanket to see I wasn’t wearing a shirt, no just my bra. I really need to stop with the tequila. “You took advantage of me while I was drunk.” I struggled to put my shirt on while staying under the covers and keeping the pillow over my head.

            Justin continued laughing; I don’t think he’s ever stopped.  To him this is the most hysterical thing that’s ever happened, “I took advantage of you? Are you serious Dallas? One of these days I’m going to videotape you so you can see all the shit you tried.”

            “The shit I tried?” I asked out of disbelief.

            “The shit you tried,” he repeated, “You don’t even know how hard you were trying to get in my pants.”

            “I was trying to get in your pants?”

            There was a quick chuckle, although the constant laughter has stopped, “You can repeat everything I say but it doesn’t make it go away Dallas.”

            “I am positive I was not trying to get in your pants,” I know that I shouldn’t be denying this because it’s pretty obvious, even to me, what happens when I have tequila.

            “Alright, you wanted to make out, then you wanted sex, then you wanted to get married. So I gave in, and now we’re married.”

            “Good,” I removed the pillow off my head so I could glare at him, “If we’re married we can get a divorce. That means I get half of your money, sounds good to me.”

            Justin laughed and threw a pillow at my head, “Nah, we signed a prenup.”

            “I bet.”

            “I don’t have that much money Dallas.”

            I had to laugh at that,”Sure you don’t.”

            “I don’t, I have a lot of bills to pay, insurance, my mother.”

            “Your mother does not cost you money.”

            “Sure she does, she’s got expensive taste. She likes her purses.”

            I laughed knowing that his mother does not have expensive taste. I know for a fact she never knew the difference between Prada and Chanel until he started buying her the bags.  She wouldn’t even care about that, but he’s the one that spoils her with the designer labels.

            The smile faded off Justin’s face and was replaced with a serious face that made me nervous, “Those douchebags tried to get you drunk.” He said seriously.

            “I’d say they succeeded,” I laughed although I’m not sure exactly who he’s referring to.

            “I’m serious Dallas.  They were getting you drunk, and then they were going to get in your pants.  If I hadn’t come along you’d be waking up hung-over in the asshole’s bed.”

            “Aww, my night in shining armor.”

            “That’s right,” he answered with a smile, “Seriously though Dallas, stay away from those clowns.”

            “They have names Justin.”

            “Oh yeah? And what are their names?”

            I shrugged, “I don’t know, but I’m sure they have names.”

            Justin laughed, throwing his head back, “Douchebag and Dumbass.”

            “I thought there were three of them.”

            “OK, Douchebag, Dumbass, and Doofus.”

            I laughed but it hurts when I laugh, or just when I do anything in general. “Can you get me your magic potion to cure the hangover?”

            Justin laughed as he reached for the phone calling down for room service.  I heard him ask for Gatorade, aspirin, Dramamine, bacon, eggs, and coffee. I threw the pillow back over my head and closed my eyes, hoping to get some sort of sleep or at least to get the room to stop spinning. That would be amazing.

            I think I did drift off for a little because the smell of bacon woke me up again.  I sat up, pulling a sweatshirt over my head and making sure the hood was covering my head as much as possible. Justin just laughed as I stuffed my face, giving him a dirty look.

            “Next time stop me.”

            “You’re a big girl Dallas, you gotta make your own decisions,” he answered with a smile, “Besides I was too late.”

            I gave him a dirty look as I continued to stuff my face. Why does bacon taste so good when you’re hung-over?

            “Was your girlfriend mad?”

            “She’s not my girlfriend,” he answered quickly.

            “OK… so was that girl you were with mad?” I tried to rephrase it in a way that wouldn’t offend him.

            He looked at me for a minute, his face in shock, “Shit.”

            “What?”

            “I think I fucking left her.”

            “You left her?”

            Justin nodded his head, “I told her I’d be right back.”

            I laughed, “And the award for worst boyfriend of the year goes to…”

            “She’s not my girlfriend, let it go.”

            OK, he’s getting defensive. “You should probably call her, no?”

            He nodded his head and licked his lips, “Yeah,” he’s just staring into space now. He stood up, “Are you alright Dallas?”

            “I’m fine, go take care of your business.”

            Justin nodded his head again; he’s acting really strange, “Are you just going to sleep?”

            I nodded my head; “We don’t need to do anything until the show right?”

            “Yeah,” he grabbed a piece of bacon as he walked away, “Later Dallas.”

            “Thanks for taking care of me, sorry I was so obnoxious.”

            “It’s alright wifey, we’re good,” he smiled before leaving me alone. I took a sip of coffee and took another bite of food before falling back onto the bed and replacing the pillow over my head.

            I walked past Rachael’s room and figured I should go check on her, I mean she was with Dallas and Doofus, Dumbass and Douchebag. I knocked on the door and she met me a second later with a smile, “What’s up Superstar? How’s Veda?”

            I laughed as I walked past her and into her room, “Fucked up. How are you feeling?”

            “Fine, just a headache,” she sat down on her bed, “So you just left Jess.”

            I made a face and she laughed, “I fucked that up huh?”

            “No, I got you covered. You’re so lucky to have me.”

            I rolled my eyes so she wouldn’t get too big of a head but she knows I know I’m lucky.  I’ve always found it’s good to have a “personal assistant” who is a family member or a friend. Sure, there are times that she tells me to fuck off and do my own shit but it’s worth it.  She keeps me grounded and helps me with the important stuff that some stranger wouldn’t give a shit about.

            “What happened with those douchebags last night?”

            Rachael shrugged, “I left after you did.”

            “They wanted to get in her pants.”

            “Yeah,” she laughed, “They were pissed that you came.”

            “Good, they’re fucking assholes,” I sat down on the couch. Rachael gave me a look, “What?”

            “Nothing J,” she smiled, “what are you doing today?”

            I shrugged, “Did they try to get with you too?”

            She laughed, “Are we still talking about that? Relax J, it was late, the drinks kept coming.”

            “The drinks kept coming because they were pouring them down her throat. Your throat, both of your throats,” I caught myself.

            “Veda wouldn’t have done anything,” she assured me. I laughed, it’s not like Rachael has never seen Veda when she’s had tequila.  “Why do you care so much?”

            “I don’t care,” I answered too quickly and got that look only Rachael has mastered, “I don’t want her to hook up with the douchebag when she’s drunk, sorry if that makes me a bad person.”

            I walked out of the room and slammed the door behind me. I honestly didn’t mean to slam it but I am pissed. I’m sick of everyone assuming that something is going on with us, or that I want something to be going on between us. Why does everyone assume I have these secret feelings for her when I don’t want her to get drunk and fuck a douchebag when I know she’ll regret it in the morning? Since when is that more than what friends do?

            When I got to my room I slammed my door shut and grabbed my phone, dialing my tour manager’s number before falling on my bed.

            “Hey Justin, what’s up?” he answered.

            “I want those douchebags off the tour.” The other end of the line was silent, “Hello?”

            “I’m here.” He answered after a few seconds of silence.

            “We can’t just get rid of them, why do you want to get rid of them?”

            “They’re fucked dude, they try to get all the girls drunk so they can get in their pants. That’s not what we’re about, I don’t want them here.”

            “Justin, we can’t just get rid of them,” he repeated, “Who are we going to get on such short notice?”

            I took a deep breath, “Don’t give me that shit we can find a hundred different people.”

            “OK, why don’t we sit down and talk? All of us?”

            “Fuck that shit, I want them gone. It’s my fucking tour, and I have control of this shit. I’m being a fucking diva, get rid of them,” I threw the phone down and continued pacing around the room. It’s about damn time I be one of those fucked up celebrities calling all the shots. It’s my tour and when I say I don’t want someone on it I should be able to get rid of them.

            I’ve spent so much fucking time letting everyone else tell me how to run my career and my life in general. I can’t take it anymore.  There’s a thin line, I’ve been close to it before but it’s never been crossed. These assholes just crossed it.