XPLR | Colby Brock

~127~

I should've known better than to do what I was doing that night, but I didn't care.

I had to know. I had to. After all, Colby was only my ex boyfriend of a couple weeks. I still have the right to care about him, don't I? Even if I didn't, I want to know what's happening with him.

I logged onto his instagram. I don't have one of my own, not anymore, but I logged on just to see his pictures. There wasn't much new since I left him, a few pictures of him and video announcements for Sam and Colby. Some scenery and abandoned places. Seeing him made the air hitch in my throat. Seeing him.

I clicked on a picture of an abandoned building, and I slid over to see the other pictures. There were quite a few, all the way up to the ten picture scroll limit. The last picture made me stop in my tracks.

There were five people in the picture. Sam, Jake, Aaron, and my ex boyfriend, Colby. I didn't recognize the fifth face. She was on the end.

She had long, blonde hair and brown silky eyes. Her skin was tan like she'd spent hours in the sun, and she was a twig. Her skin clung tight to her bones. She wore XPLR merch. A hoodie. She had a thigh gap. And she's beautiful.

And Colby's got his arm around her. His hand was nothing but a few visible fingers wrapped around her waist, keeping her close to him. Closer than any of the other guys. That's the way he used to hold me.

I felt tears wallow in my eyes. I sat up and immediately exited out of the picture and scrolled through his profile, looking for any lasting pictures of me. I knew exactly where they were, or correction- should be. But they weren't there.

"No way," I muttered. Does he have a new girlfriend? Did he know I would see this post? Why did he put it at the end of the picture train if he wanted me to see it? Did he want me to see it? Damn, why was he always so good at reading my mind when I can't read his at all?

I closed my phone and tossed it to the end of the bed, and I pulled the sheets over my head and closed my eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming.

How unfair is that? Was she tagged?

I immediately shot up and got back into my phone, looking. No. No, she isn't tagged. Therefore he doesn't want anyone to find her, right? Or does he not want me to find her?

I started to cry, but then I stopped. I won't dignify him with that, whether he knows it or not. I won't let myself stoop to that, I won't let cry over a boy no matter how much I loved (and love) him. I won't allow myself.

But laying here in bed isn't helping me feel much better.

So I called the one person who I knew could make me feel better, the only person I'm allowed to take solace in. The only person I can.

I called Logan.

"I can be there in twenty minutes," he told me. God bless him.

"What an asshole," Logan retorted as he handed me my coffee he stopped to get us. I sat criss crossed on my bed, and I held it with both of my hands and sighed, taking a sip. This brought back painful memories of Kai and Colby. "Tell me about it," I muttered.

"I'm glad he didn't tag her, actually," he said. "Why's that?" I asked, looking up. He shrugged. "Because then you'd have gotten so worked up over her I'd probably be dealing with a lot more than just a crying girl," he said. He nodded to my wrists. I know he knows. But I still subconsciously pulled my sleeves down and looked away, out the window.

"I still don't think that would be the case," I said. He raised and eyebrow. "Well why not?" he asked. He didn't say like he was trying to oppose me, I know he doesn't want me to self harm, but Logan doesn't miss a thing. "I don't know," I huffed. "Why do you think it would be the case?"

"Because, Rose. You obviously think she's way prettier than you. And..."

"And...?"

He moved closer to me.

"Nothing else. You're probably smarter than her, and I know for a fact she can't play piano like you. No one can do that. But still. You would've convinced yourself that she was better than you, which she isn't," he said. "I think you're prettier than her, if that's any help." His hand came up and brushed my hair behind my ear. I didn't look at him.

"Well, thanks," I said shortly. "Have you ever listened to his voicemail? When was the last one?" Logan asked. "Christmas," I said.

I took a sip of my coffee and pulled my legs up to my chest. "Rose," he said. I looked over at him now, and I was unaware of how close he was to me until we made eye contact. Our faces are inches apart.

"Don't let him get the better of you. You're strong. You know it too. So don't worry about it. Don't worry about him and mystery girl," he said. He made sure to keep his eyes locked on mine. "And," he continued, smirking as he leaned back and ended the tension between us, "I'm going to take you out this Friday. Not like that, but I know what could cheer you up," he said.

I looked away, cursed myself for having those kind of thoughts, and muttered, "What?"

"You're gonna come to my concert. At a club," he smirked.

"A club? Concert?"

"Yeah. A club. You know, flashing lights, parties. And yes, a concert. My band's concert. I play lead guitar," he snickered, leaning back against the wall.

Give it up, Rose. You might actually like it. A kind voice in my head said.

"That could be fun," I said. He smiled, that same pleased smile I've mentioned, and he nodded. "Sounds perfect," He said. It was getting late now.

"Well, I'll ask it every time I come here," he said, smirking. "I can stay the night, if you want. No funny business. No hanky-panky."

I looked at the time. It's much passed midnight. I thought for a moment. "You can stay if you'd like," I said, but I interrupted that gleeful look on his face when I said, "but you have to sleep on the floor."

The light in his eyes faltered only for a moment. "That works, I've done it before," he said as he reached behind me and took one of my pillows, tossing it on to the floor. He did crash on my floor after a night of packing, right after I caught Colby and Elena.

"I can still tell the guys I spent the night with a girl and still sound cool," he said as he rolled off my bed and laid down on the floor.

"Just don't tell them it was with me," I said as I pulled the sheets out from my covers and laid down. "I won't," he answered, "but I will tell them not to hit on you when they see you at the concert," he yawned, "because they definitely would," he smirked, laying his hands behind his head, then closing his eyes.