Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 135517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Where is he? I should go ring that bitch’s doorbell. She knew this would happen; that’s why she sang that stupid song. Now everybody’s going to be talking about how they used to be together, how they should still be together….” I screamed and slammed my newly manicured hand against the steering wheel before starting to dry heave, which quickly became hyperventilation.
Some days I wish I could die, just let it all go and leave this mess behind. But then I would be letting her win, and I can’t do that. I’m going to win Ryder’s love if it’s the last thing I do.
Chapter 9
*Elena*
“Oh no, that’s too much. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” Baby steps, people, baby steps. In three, two, one, I’m going to absolutely freak the fuck out. “I can’t do a live show right now, especially not an award show where everyone who’s anyone in the industry will be there.”
I felt sick panic kicking in and had to hold my breath to keep myself from blacking out. What they were offering was both amazing and terrifying at once. To be on that stage is every entertainer’s dream, but there was no way I could make it my comeback venue. Are they insane?
The song was doing well beyond my wildest imagination, beyond anyone’s, I’m sure, and that’s no doubt why they were offering me this chance but had everyone forgotten what I’d been through? The whole damn song spells it out, for crap’s sake.
It was hard enough putting those words to paper, then singing them to the melody that played in my head each time I read them, but to actually perform that song in public, in front of a live audience? No fucking way. Breathe, Elena, breathe.
“Think about your fans; they’ve been waiting for this, and they love you. It’s the perfect timing.”
For you, maybe, but it feels like an invitation to hell for me.
“You don’t have to give us an answer right this second. Why don’t we give you a couple of days to think it over?” My manager was still treating me with kid gloves, which I sort of appreciated, but the look on Sydney’s face, that subtle hint of disappointment that she was trying so hard to hide, I felt to the core. I know that none of this would have even been possible without her pushing me to begin with.
It was that look more than anything else that made me want to give in, but something held me back. Not something, someone. I knew for sure that he would be there, he’s been riding high on the charts for more than a decade, and though I’d kinda, sorta heard that he hadn’t been putting out any new material either, there was a better-than-good chance that he would be there that night.
In this industry, no one really thinks about mental health and the effect certain things have on people, so some enterprising jerk somewhere would definitely think it’s a good idea to have him in the audience, front and center, for my big return. How better to sell tickets to that shit or up the viewership? Oh hell, I’d rather die.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough; put your head between your knees, Elena; now breathe.” Sydney rushed to my side on the couch and pushed my head between my knees, rubbing my back as she sent the others away. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s that as much as she wants me back on the stage, she cares more about me as a person. That there’s no avarice or hidden agendas attached to our friendship.
“I can take care of her. You probably have lots to do. You can go.” Rachel tried to take over, and I can only imagine the look Sydney gave her that shut her up so quickly before I heard her footsteps walking away as she left the room hastily.
“It’s okay; they’re gone, hon.” They might be, but their words still lingered. Just when I thought I was doing okay, that I was getting better or at least a lot better than I had been, this had thrown me into a tailspin. All the old terror came rushing back, and not even the pomp and excitement of the last few days could bring me out of it.
I almost wished I hadn’t stepped foot back in the studio. How had everything become a two-edged sword? The one thing that had given me an ounce of pleasure in the last three years was the very same thing that was now a threat to my sanity. The sanity that I was barely hanging onto by a very weak thread.
I stayed that way, with my head between my thighs, while my best friend rubbed my back soothingly as my mind raced. Then she started singing my song, and it was like I was hearing the words for the first time since I had written and recorded them myself.