Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Maybe the black latex opera gloves were overkill but this was exactly what The Violet Dame was. She was a gimmick wrapped up in a stunt and all done for promotion.
Last week, Connor posted the photo of my stageside outfit from the Vixens’ last show. The cameras followed us everywhere, even more so now that Connor’s InstaFotto obsession had begun. This sucked for me because it meant I always had to be on my A-game, makeup and hair flawless and my outfit strategically chosen for the occasion.
Wearing a pair of latex pants that were so tight Cherry had to baby powder my legs before helping me into them, I decided on a pair of black six-inch-high pumps. The pants were such a tight fit that I could barely breathe but the girls insisted I looked hot.
And I finally understood why some men opposed condoms.
Pearl talked me out of wearing a bra, instead placing black tape over my nipples in the shape of an x. The photo showed me on my phone, walking into the Palace Nero Theatre, and the flash had caught me in a way that revealed exactly what was under my see-through white button-up shirt. Connor had simply written, #GotMilk.
And I couldn’t figure him out.
What was he doing? And, more importantly, why was he doing it?
They say the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior and I firmly believed that, which was why I was on edge the way I was.
Connor had spent weeks with me, building me up in private, until…
Well, we all know what happened.
I had a bad feeling about what was going on here and everything in his conduct pointed to betrayal.
I wasn’t sure of much but I was sure of this. Connor was building me up to knock me down. Again. I felt it in my bones.
He was close to publicly revealing that I was the poor little schlep from “Virgin Tears,” and I was starting to feel sick from the anxiety that built with every day that passed. Part of me wished he’d just do it already.
So when The Vixens and I arrived home from a show, at LAX and predictably the paps were waiting on us, I decided to give Connor the fuel to light the bonfire he would eventually throw me into.
I mean, better for it to come out sooner rather than later, right?
A familiar pap approached and I kept my eyes down in the uninterested manner the girls had taught me. He had his video camera in his hand and, smiling, came at me.
“Miss Violet! Wait up!” But I kept walking. Once he caught up, he said, “So, everyone wants to know. What’s the deal with Connor Clash?”
Avoiding the camera, I uttered a bored, “Connor who?”
“Connor Clash.” He laughed, knowing full well I knew who Connor was. “Ooh. You shady, Miss Vi.” My smirk was real, and when he asked an amused, “You got anything to say to Connor?” pressure built in my ears. My palms were sweaty, and my heart began to race.
This was it.
“Yeah, I got something to say.” I’d been listening to a lot of rap lately and that was probably the only reason I decided to quote Big Sean. I lowered my oversized sunglasses and spoke directly into the camera. “I don’t fuck with you.”
The pap let out a shrill whoop before turning the camera on himself and laughing hysterically. “Damn. She bad. Oh, Lord.” His laughter continued. “Connor, she murdered you, bruh. That bish cold.”
On the outside, I was icy and indifferent. However, on the inside, memories of how I felt when that god-awful song was released played in my head, over and over again.
I guess it was just a matter of time before round two. I just hoped I was ready for it this time around.
The next morning, I woke to find I had been tagged in a post from @ConnorClashOfficial, and my stomach rolled in on itself.
Whelp.
Here goes nothing.
I was still in bed, a little sleep dazed. My jaw tight with anticipation, I clicked on the notification, and…
Umm…
I frowned when I saw the post.
Huh?
That frown deepened when I read Connor’s caption.
The video from the day before, at the airport, had been edited to show only my responses to the questions asked. My finger hovered over the video and, in a mild state of confusion, I clicked on it a second time. The clip replayed.
“Connor who?” followed by my deliberate smirk. The video skipped straight to my intense stare. “I don’t fuck with you.”
My cheeks flushed with disgrace. Was this the person I’d become?
It was Connor’s caption that confused me.
One crying face emoji. Two laughing emojis. The hashtag #SLAYED, followed by three heart-eye emojis. But what he wrote underneath that humbled me.
Love me a strong woman.
It also perplexed me.
I thought hard about the last few weeks.