Neon Red [Order The eBook] [Zayn]

6

(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)

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February 2017

Hollywood Hills

There was still the trouble of the luggage whenever I headed somewhere for an extended stay. They seemed to lose mine specifically. One time my big Vuitton duffel ended up in Maryland while I was stuck Vegas for an entire weekend, and that's when I learned it was better to buy most things wherever I was staying, as opposed to trying to travel with them. That would also explain why I thrifted clothes from my friends or wore the same grungy things several days in a row when I was away from home. It's how I got by.

Now I reached across the bed to grab my phone and check the time again. In doing so, I eyed the lock-screen of G and I sitting cheek-to-cheek in front of the crumbling fireplace in PA. Thankfully I remembered to switch it back before I headed home. Home...that was debatable. It was already 7am in LA, and the rest of the day needed to count for a week's worth of preparation that should have been done a month ago. My passport had been lost until a couple of days ago and I had to bow out of the trip altogether. G tore me to shreds when I found the nerve to tell her. She was apparently hoping to flaunt me among her fashion friends at multiple dinners and shows in the ensuing weeks. Thankfully, the maid found the passport wedged between a couple of shoe boxes in the back of the closet where it had fallen from a jacket pocket. When it surfaced again, I decided to the news to myself and surprise G by popping up in Paris unexpected. But first, I needed to make it back to NYC to see her off and put on a convincing performance that I'd be staying home.

I looked down at the bed with a growly exhale, rubbing a hand down my face and pulling at my beard. He had curled on his side facing away from the room, looking as pitiful as possible. It wasn't going to work. Not this time, Haz. "I ain't dealin' with this right now—" I mumbled to myself. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep all parties happy. One was aware of the other, though the other was ignorant that the one was back in the picture. It was a big mind-fucking mess most days that left me sleepless. What complicated things further was that I still hadn't had The Talk with her yet, to inform her of what was going on between he and I. I just couldn't handle the stress at the minute. Plus, it was easier to just keep quiet right now since she and I were super busy for the next 2 months and forced to stay in our own lanes.

He always picked a fight before I left to deal with her—whether he was on the phone or in person, like clockwork. Same old talking points. Never coming to any clear resolution. While I'd been spending time with him in the earlier part of February, she'd blown into LA unexpectedly after the Buddha racism scandal, sobbing and thinking her career was done. I dared to defend her on Twitter with a stupidly worded quip and was eaten alive for it (rightfully so; which is something I'd never admit to anyone.)  

But I drew the line at people accusing me of being racist when it went against the very fabric of my being. That accusation, of all the others lobbed at me and celebrity-kind, was nonsensical and unfair. I hadn't been the one to put the cookie to my face and squint. Even I knew that was monstrously disrespectful, and I imagine it had been done in the spur of the moment when she was a bit tipsy. Unfortunately for her, in this mindless day and age where we felt the need to record our every waking moment to upload onto the internet to convince he world how fun, luxurious, and enviable our lives are, that few damning seconds was caught on Bella's IG story and published to millions in the blink of an eye. Hard lesson learned, indeed.