“Logan,” I hiss under my breath, “calm
down. For the first time in my life, I’m doing something for me. To make myself happy. I can’t worry about your happiness as well. That sounds selfish, but it’s true. I need to do this alone.”
“Selfish?” He shouts. “It’s not just selfish. You think you’re better than me, is that it?”
“Shhhhh, please. You’re making a scene.” Now other patrons have turned their entire bodies in our direction to watch the show—and lucky me, I’m the star.
“Making a scene? You know what, Kate… I’ve been waiting patiently for you to get over yourself and this narcissistic streak you have. Go. Go to the Olympics and worship yourself in the mirror everyday since you love yourself so much.” He stands up, his cheeks red and his eyes glassy. He tosses a few bills down on the table. “I’m out of here.”
Choking back tears, I focus on breathing in and out steadily. He’s wrong. So wrong. I’m not doing this because I love myself. I’m doing it because I need a reason not to hate myself.
I’ve got to prove to myself that I was good enough for Dax Davies and still am. That I’m not a nobody from Hackney who hasn’t done a single useful thing with her life.
My mobile rings from somewhere in the hotel room, the sounds of Katy Perry belting out a line about California Gurls pulling me from a deep slumber.
After faltering for a moment, I find the offending device in my luggage.
“’Lo?” My voice is thick with sleep.
“Have you seen the news?”
“Abby?”
“Kate,” she huffs impatiently, “have you seen it yet?”
“Seen what?” I yawn, climbing back into bed and burrowing under the duvet. January in Sweden isn’t cold, it’s downright arctic.
“Oh my god, you haven’t!”
“Abby, it’s three in the morning,” I complain. “I’ve got a game tomorrow… sorry, today, and need to be rested.”
“It can’t wait, so get up and turn your computer on,” she demands.
Grumbling, I toss back the covers and shiver violently. “I hate you right now. It’s below freezing out and you’ve got me walking around my room nearly starkers, hunting for my laptop.”
“Put on a sweater and suck it up,” she laughs. “You’ll thank me when you see what I’m talking about.”
“Fine.” I open my laptop and boot up the computer. “What do I do?” I ask once my search engine is open.
“Go to E! Online.”
“Abby…” I warn, not liking where this conversation is headed.
“Trust me. Would I want to psychologically scar you?”
Of course she wouldn’t, she’s getting her doctorate in psychology so she can be a counselor. “No, you wouldn’t.” I type in the web address. When the front page comes up, I gasp.
“Told you. Enjoy it, Kate. You deserve to savor every single word. Love you!” She hangs up before I can respond.
Another full body shudder has me convulsing from the cold. I scoop up the laptop and climb into bed with it.
I skim the article, my mouth gaping in disbelief. I have to read it two more times before it sinks in.
Dax Davies Speaks Out
Notoriously tight-lipped guitarist for the multi-platinum Sphere or Irony, released a statement today via his public relations manager. In it, he accuses socialite Lila Griffin, of using her father’s position as producer for the band’s first three albums as a reason to In it, he alleges that she manipulated events, photographs, and film clips from her television show in order to portray them as a couple, when that has never been the case.
The statement from Rachel Whatley at Accessible P.R. read as follows.