The Publicist's Plight (Book I in The Harrison Inc. Series) | ✓

Chapter Fifty Two: Schoolgirl Lingo

SEBASTIAN

This is going to come out as a complete shocker, but I'm horrible at talking to girls.

Yes, I said it. I'm fucking terrible at talking to girls.

Before you get all confused and all, "Sebastian, are you really that hungover?" on me, let me break it down for you a bit.

When I say I'm terrible at talking to girls, I mean that I'm terrible at talking to girls that I care about. Throughout my life, I haven't had many girls that I truly cared for. There was Sonya, but she was one of my best friends. There was Gloria, but she was a mother figure to me. I cared about Ingrid, but not the way that she cared about me; I didn't love her like she loved me. Regardless, I always thought that I was going to say the wrong thing to them, making them leave or see me as some fucked up guy who has way too many problems and voices in his mind. Now, talking to girls that apply to any other category? That's easy. Why? We're both looking for one thing—sex. And if it's more, then it's commonly her wanting more out of our "relationship," not me. Therefore, sweet talking a hot girl at a bar into bed with me is fucking easy.

But these past three weeks have made me realize that I care about Leslie more than I like to admit. And as weeks have progressed, it's become hard to talk to her like I used to. I'm always so worried about saying the wrong thing or looking like a complete idiot. She knows a lot about me; that's collateral damage on my end.

Shit, I'm going soft, aren't I?

Reading Gloria's letter and seeing her family made me realize what she wanted the most for me: to be happy. How would she feel knowing that I haven't been happy since she died? How would she feel knowing that I've been trying to make myself happy by buying things that don't mean shit? Snorting crack or downing whiskey to try and ease the goddamn pain?

No, she wanted something more substantial; something that matters. And the first thing she'd want to see me have is a nice girl that can make me happy. And I want that too, I guess.

But every girl I get close to in my life ends up leaving me.

Gloria, Sonya, even Ingrid. All gone because of me. I know I shouldn't blame myself, but I can't help it—I could have given Gloria a ride home; I could have let Sonya help me when I needed it; I didn't have to lie and humiliate Ingrid the way I did. So when Sarah asked me why I won't allow myself to tell Leslie how I feel, the answer is simple:

Every girl I become too attached to in my life leaves. So I refuse to become too attached to Leslie, because I don't want her to leave.

**

On top of that heartfelt testament I just gave you filled with rainbows and candy-hearts, I'm overthinking by brain to shit.

Patrick, like the asshole he is, talked down to Leslie like she was beneath him when we first got up here. It's crazy how much he reminds me of our father.

Hearing the words he was saying to her come out of his pompous mouth made me remember exactly why I hate the thought of being around my family. Long story short, I defended her (quite angrily if I may add). And despite Patrick apologizing, she was rattled enough that she said she needed to get some air.

And then she left.

Loretta is as confused as I am. And if I'm going to be Sherlock-fucking-Holmes here, Leslie has been acting weird this whole morning. I figured it's because of spending the night in someone's house that she doesn't know. Or maybe it's something that she insists on hiding from me?

You probably did some stupid shit when you were piss drunk last night, I think to myself. And after that thought, I sigh and rub my eyes; I really don't remember anything from last night after dancing with Cecil.