F**k it, I love you. | Lana + Marina

Chapter Twelve

Lana and I break the kiss, and face each other again. Her eyes glimmer with the mid-morning sun.

"There. You stopped crying," Lana whispers, and grins.

"Marina!" Phillip barges out of the door, and stops in his tracks at the sight of Lana and I.

"I, uh," he stands there, awkwardly.

"Can you give us a few minutes, please?" Lana angrily demands. Phillip obliges and goes back through the door. Lana intimidates him, it's quite funny to me.

"Don't go back in there." Lana urges. "You're going to ruin your voice. Fuck the song, fuck the record, fuck the label, fuck Phillip. I'll work something out. But let's get you home. I'll take care of you today."

"But," I stutter, "I'm so close."

"Not another word. Let's let the guys know before we bounce."

She takes my hand, fingers intertwined, and leads me back into the studio. Phillip, James, and Joel watch us.

"We're leaving. I'm not letting her sing." Lana announces.

"I agree." James affirms, "She can't do it."

Phillip throws his head back, and sighs. 

"Okay, fine. This isn't good for you, Marina." He peers directly at me.

"She doesn't care." Lana argues, pulling me back towards the door.

"Wait, Lana!" Joel calls, rushing up to her. My insides start to turn.

"Before you leave, can you sign something for my fiancé?"

"Sure, hon." Lana replies, still grasping my hand. A stream of relief washes over me - I guess I forgot that Joel was engaged. I feel like a moron for being jealous earlier.

"Marina." Phillip starts, "I'll take you and Lana back to your house."

I nod. Lana finishes signing, and the three of us leave the studio.

. . .

I sit in the back seat with Lana, similarly to this morning. We examine the LA traffic around us.  My head rests on her shoulder and I begin playing with her hands again.

"So..." Phillip murmurs from the drivers seat.

"Yes?" Lana answers.

"I can't help but notice how close you two have become in such a short timespan." He remarks.

"Mhm. And why is it your business?" Lana rests her hand on my thigh, sending shivers through my body.

"Because I'm Marina's manager, her supervisor."

"Supervisor?" Lana raises an eyebrow.

"I have an obligation to know what's going on around her. Make sure she's taken care of when I'm not around."

"Why? Am I'm not up to your standards?" Lana agitates. Phillip stays silent.

"It's not that."

"What is it, then?" Her voice is still calm, but I can tell she's holding back.

"Nothing, Lana." I smile at his defeat - no one has ever been able to shut him up like this.

. . .

"I'll let you know what's going to happen with the label as soon as I find out." Phillip calls, and drops Lana and I off at my house before heading off.

I unlock my door and pull Lana inside, through the hallway, into my bedroom. I tug her onto the bed next to me.

"Finally we're alone with no annoying-ass managers," She giggles. I stare into her eyes. She's absolutely adorable. She gives me hope when I can't even bring it on myself.

We spend the remainder of the day together, just enjoying each others company. She takes care of me, fixing me tea, soup, and all of her other cute witchy things.

Lana puts on a film. We sit on my couch curled up within blankets and each other. 

"Lana?" I whisper, turning to face her. 

"Yes, love?" 

"Are you a witch?" 

She looks at me, entertained yet confused by my seemingly serious question,

"Because I'm under your spell," I finish. She laughs at my attempt of a joke and cuddles into me.

We then drift asleep while watching the movie, wrapped up in each others arms. 

. . .

The following day.

. . .

"This meeting is very important, Marina. So please let me do the talking. You don't want to make the situation worse than it already is." Phillip suggests as he escorts me through the building. I'm not sure if he's joking or not; I've barely said a word for days now.

"Marina. Phillip." Victoria greets us at the door. She gestures us to take a seat around the familiar conference table.

"Welcome back." Stanley eyes us, "Let's get started."

Every time I sit in this room I can feel the tension rise. I sink in my chair. I don't think I'm ready for what's about to happen.

"From my understanding, you haven't finished the 'Love' part of the album?" Victoria asks.

"That's correct." Phillip affirms.

Stanley clears his throat, "Well I can't say that I didn't see this coming."

"That's not very professional to say." I murmur underneath my breath. Stanley, Victoria, and Phillip all turn towards me. I immediately regret saying anything.

"What was that?" Stanley questions.

"Oh, I didn't say anything." I play it off, knowing damn well he heard me.

"Marina, since the moment you stepped foot in here, you haven't shown an ounce of professionalism." He claims.

I sink further into my seat.

"She didn't mean what she said, Stanley." Phillip attests, "She's just been through a lot this week and she's quite irritable."

What? Why is he trying to kiss their asses now? Where is this conversation even going?

"We truly wanted you to succeed, Marina." Victoria remarks, "But you've let us down. More than once, at that. From showing up late, to drifting off to your make-believe land and not paying attention, and not finishing your simple duty." Simple duty? Perfecting an album is anything but simple, especially with vocal nodules. How do they not understand this?

"Marina Diamandis," Stanley starts again, "We called you in for this meeting to let you know that, with regret, we're releasing you from your contract and letting you go from Atlantic Records."

I nod my head in dismay. Although I prepared myself for this, the fact that it's now real makes me incredibly anguished. 

. . .

I enter my house. This time I'm alone, and depressed as fuck. I want to call Lana but I refrain. She doesn't need to see me like this.

I stumble over to the bottle of wine Lana brought a few nights back. It's still halfway full. I take the bottle, swing it up to my mouth and guzzle it down. Making self-destructive decisions has always been my strong-suit. I'll simply drink the pain away. After finishing off the bottle, I rummage through my pantry to locate the unopened bottle of vodka. I take it out and pour myself a shot.

"I'm just a machine." I sing, "An emotional being." I hiccup.

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