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)
My once-adoring fans had been split down the middle, and it had been a good year or so before I was able to go back into the studio again to do anything of note. That’s because my inspiration was gone. I hadn’t realized it at first; after all, I’d been making music long before we met, but it was as if the heart was gone out of me, and I had nothing of substance to offer.
I’d done my own hiding as well, too afraid to face the reality that I might never be able to do what I used to, what I loved, without her there by my side. I’d had to grow up real fast and had to accept that age was indeed more than a number.
The world that had watched me grow up expected better of me now. I couldn’t get away with doing childish bullshit while in the body of a man. They held me accountable for the first time, and it was brutal. Had it not been for the constant counsel of my spiritual advisor, I would’ve been completely lost.
He’s the one who’d gotten me on the right track, something he had been trying to do for years before the catastrophe. But sometimes I doubt even him, and though I’ve never said it out loud, deep down inside, I sometimes think that he has no idea what he’s talking about. Like a drug, it feels good going in, but the aftereffects are always dismal.
Some of his advice had been contrary to everything I believed, but I always knew that he knew better, that he had only my best interest at heart. It was he who had helped me get my head together when all I wanted to do was end it, end everything, and just fade away.
I looked down at my phone where I’d stolen an image of her from the interview, studying her face once again, seeing the pain and the hurt that was still there, and feeling my guts being ripped out all over again. I rubbed my thumb over her beautiful face and felt a tear in my heart as I fought back tears. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
I started to close my eyes to escape the trauma, but I felt my wife Janie’s presence before I watched her come into the room, and the guilt beat away at my temples. Here I was with this beautiful woman who would move heaven and earth to please me, and my mind was on someone else.
As always, when I look at her, I feel nothing. I’ve tried time and again to make sense of the situation, have even tried forcing myself to feel something, anything for her at all except antipathy. Yes, along with the guilt I feel for using her, there’s hate. I hate her for being here when the one I truly want isn’t. I hate her for being the instrument I’d used to hurt my love.
Chapter 5
*Ryder*
The anger I had felt when I made the decision to piss my life away was long gone. Some days, I even find myself doubting the rumored betrayal that had led me to make the worst mistake of my life, and that only made things worse.
I regret many things about that day and the time leading up to it. Most of all, the fact that I hadn’t talked to her about all this before going through with the wedding. I laid awake many a night wondering how things would’ve gone had I done that. But a mix of booze, drugs, and anger had spiraled me into a corner that I was finding it hard to get out of.
The one person who could’ve helped was the one person I didn’t dare face. Not that I could’ve even if I wanted to because she’d disappeared. Once the drug haze had lifted a bit, once I realized that she was gone, something I only realized because my heart was beating differently, I wanted to find her, longed for her. But she was gone.
I looked for any news, but all that was there were old pictures of the two of us together. Old articles that chronicled our romance from beginning to end, but nothing in the last few days. There was a huge write-up about the wedding and how I’d left her at the altar to marry my now wife.
The vultures had fed on that for days, weeks, and months. Everywhere I looked, it was there. The paparazzi, with who I’ve had a very contentious relationship at best, were all too fond of calling out those questions each time they saw me, which was pretty much every time I stepped out the door.
And each time I heard the words, “What happened with you and Elena, Ryder?” I felt sick to my stomach. I’d gone so far as to hire someone on the down low to search for her, something that was very sticky to do given the situation I was in.