A Spotlight Summer (Jack Gilinsky)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Jack POV

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Johnson waved his hand in front of my zoned out face. I snapped out of my daze and thought about making something up, but decided against it.

I shook my head and urged Johnson to repeat what he had previously said. I did my best to pay attention to his words, but found myself drifting off again.

How could she just leave?

Pack up all her things and leave without looking back. How could she do that?

Was all of this not enough for her? Was I not enough for her?

She threw it all away. And for what? Because I forget to text her back a couple of times? She ran the first chance she got. She ran right back to her privileged life in fucking New York City with her old friends and her old habits and her old boyfriend. My fists clenched under the table in anger as I thought of the asshole that broke Kelsey's heart.

How could someone hurt her?

Johnson angrily got up from the table and headed toward the fridge. He appeared to be biting his tongue and I wanted to hear him say it. I wanted him to yell at me and provoke a fight because I need to fight right now. I need to do something other than sit around and wonder how Kelsey left me. How I am supposed to go on without her here.

When Johnson turned around and saw that I was about to speak, he shook his head and warned, "We're not doing this right now."

I got up from the cluttered table and followed his moving form. "Come on, let's do it!"

Johnson, sensible as always, replied, "Kelsey left. You're fucked up. I get that. But I think you know better than to take your frustration out on me. Especially when it's about her."

"She could be doing god knows what right now!" I exclaimed. When Johnson didn't speak, I continued, "She could be with that guy Davis who I would so love to get my hands on-"

"Davis?" Johnson questioned.

"Some idiot who ruined things with her."

Johnson raised his eyebrows and although I could tell what he was thinking, I refused to acknowledge the irony of my statement.

If I admitted that I was the reason she left...I can't.

"Don't give me that look." I pointed at my best friend's current expression. "She left me."

I felt raw emotion bubbling toward the surface and I did everything to push it back down. I wouldn't allow myself to feel sadness.

"We were just adjusting to life on the road. So we had a couple of problems. What right does that give her to walk out on me? You're not supposed to walk out on someone who you love," I ranted to Johnson.

"I think you just need to accept that she made her choice and now you have to move past this," Johnson tried.

"I can't!" I exclaimed. "I am so angry," I spit out.

Johnson started to reply-probably with some bullshit claim that I needed to allow myself to 'grieve'-but his phone interrupted our conversation. He looked down at the flashing screen and by the look on his face, I knew it was Fiona calling.

His eyes met mine and I signaled him to take the call. "Go ahead, we weren't getting anywhere with our meeting anyway. I'll catch up with you later."

Johnson hesitated at first but he eventually exited our hotel room and went to talk to Fiona, who was now back in Omaha. For the first time in a week, I was completely alone. Johnson made sure to keep our schedule extra hectic and busy so I didn't have any time to stop and let my thoughts wander to the brunette who ripped my heart out. Everything has been so crazy that I can't even tell you what state we're currently in. I haven't been able to pay attention at all-I go through the motions: meet fans, smile for pictures, give off a rehearsed performance on stage, wave to those chasing us with cameras, come back to a new hotel room, shower, get to bed and repeat the next day. It was a numbing activity that required all of my attention and allowed for no self-pity.

But now, I was in solitude. And all the distractions I had employed over the past week were gone. There wasn't a group of girls to hug, a crowd to sing to, or any questions to answer during an interview. It was just me.

Alone.

In a hotel room that annoyingly resembled the one that Kelsey left me in.

A montage of the last month played in my head and I struggled to erase the memories. Kelsey in my flannel. Kelsey in my tent. Kelsey on my kitchen counter. Kelsey at the carnival. Kelsey screaming in the rain. Kelsey with her bags packed.

My fingers clawed over my face in agony and I refused to allow my mind to go there.

I wasn't ready.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket and shot out a text that I knew would distract me from my haunting thoughts of Kelsey-Party tonight. Room 203. Spread the word.

I was on my fifth shot when I realized my party was a little out of control.

Too bad I was too drunk to care.

It's amazing how much alcohol can be found in multiple hotel mini-bars. And then there's always that great guy that brings a bottle of vodka with him.

What a guy.

It was effortless. My mind wasn't bombarded by brown eyes or curved lips. My hands weren't longing to grab onto a person that wasn't there. My body wasn't craving hers.

That was after the first two shots. It was the bliss period of the alcoholic effects.

The time when you forget what plagues you.

By the fourth I started to have flashes of windblown hair and cherry red lips.

As I downed my six, praying that it would get rid of the echo of her laugh, it did nothing but make me more depressed. It did nothing but make me realize that I was the one who fucked up. I was the one who made her leave.

It was impossible not to imagine her in that pink dress she wore on the first night of tour. It was impossible not to remember her skin on mine every night. It was impossible not to hate myself for letting her go.

That's when I realized why the vodka was no longer putting me in a good mood-at two in the morning, surrounded by a bunch of people and overcome with ear-piercing music, my alcohol tastes like her.

I feared that everything from now on would taste like her or look like her or
remind me of her.

Because it's just her.

It's always going to be her.

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