Launi

My eyes open the second the first ray of light filters in between the thick curtains of the hotel window. My hand immediately rubs at the sore muscles of my neck as I unfold myself from the edge of the bed. I must have finally fell asleep last night against my will. My phone is on the ground at my feet and I can't get to it fast enough. Is he ok? Did they find him?

The phone unlocks by some miracle because I know I must look like shit from the events of last evening. Instagram is open, my feed refreshing as I gather my thoughts on who to contact first.

But that won't be necessary.

Multiple posts in a row tagging Free Pony litter my feed. The first is TMZ, with the headline "SEXY PHOTOS LEAKED OF RYE AND TINSLEY." Of course, in typical fashion, it's click bait, the actual photo blurred so you must go to their site. But the next, a viral post made by Tinsley herself, has over two million views and was only posted three hours ago. It's a selfie in which her face is glowing, a smile from ear to ear as she holds the phone up to capture what's behind her. And there in all his beautiful glory is Rye. He appears to be asleep, his eyes closed and his broad, naked back exposed as he sleeps on his stomach. There are faint scratches barely visible with his tattoos, but I'm not the only one to notice them. The comments are in the tens of thousands and growing. She captioned the post, "Sleep well Baby. You deserve it," followed by the kissy face and then devil and fire emojis to really drive it home.

I'd spent all night worried he was dead in a gutter or running from this tour for some reason and he'd been with Tinsley. Not a care in the world or a thought about me.

Parker: Have you been online yet?

ME: Yep.

Parker: What. The. Fuck.

My fingers freeze above the small keyboard. It's an excellent question she's asked—and I don't have an answer. What the fuck? What the ACTUAL fuck?

Parker: He's dead to us.

Parker: Again.

Parker: But I'm serious this time.

Me: Ok.

I trust her. She's right. She is my logic when I can't trust my own brain and feelings. He's dead to us. It's settled. But if I'm being honest, this hurts. I knew whatever was happening between us would have an end—it had to. There's no world in which the band would ever let this happen and he and I live in two very different worlds with very different goals for ourselves.

I roll my eyes. I can't even say that. I don't know his goals. I don't know anything about him now. This has all been a fun little tryst that had been a silly bucket list item, right? I can be cool about it. In my old age I will tell the story of my summer on tour with Free Pony and the rock star I slept with before he was famous. The summer I was a groupie. Yes, that's all this was. We're all allowed a wild and reckless summer.

Three dots pop up and then go away over and over as I imagine Parker trying to find some words to console the ache she would know I'm feeling. I think she's given up when the bubbles disappear and don't reappear immediately. Even my bestie has no words to fix this. I'll reassure her I knew it was casual—that we both agreed I should have a little fun and now that it's over I'll be ok. But the bubbles pop up again and this time they are followed by a text message.

Parker: Vegas Baby! Just got my tickets.

Parker: You, me, Vegas and a lot of bad decisions.

I love her. We aren't the mushy type though, so I reply exactly how she'll be expecting.

Me: Yes! No regrets.

Parker: Never.

Parker: Now go get yourself fixed up. Looking stunning today when you see him. Boobs out, chin up.

I laugh, but I'm listening. She's right again. I can do this.

Me: I'll text you later.

Parker: You better.

Maybe one day when I'm telling the epic story of this summer to the other old ladies in the retirement home, I'll be able to tell them, "And that's where it all started. The career of my dreams and the first in a long line of wild and amazing summers." 

*********Thank you so much for the likes and comments. Everything helps!*****