LEIGH

Fuck my life.

There's no better way to say it. No way of sugarcoating it.

I could lie and say that breaking up with Lottie was for the best. It wasn't in the stars. We ended up being ships in the night, after all, and we both got what we wanted out of the brief time we spent together.

I saved the camp, put on a fantastic final show that the kids will forever cherish and look back on fondly, and I know this was a summer to remember. Some of them met their idol. True to her word, Lottie promised she'd handle any expenses we needed and, if we're struggling next year, her team will get in touch. She thinks it would be easier for me if she doesn't get as directly involved.

I call bullshit. But I digress.

Lottie got her break. She got her inspiration back. She's writing again, and went back to Los Angeles with brand new songs under her belt—great songs. The muse(s) certainly helped, modesty aside. She rested, found a new light, and shattered my heart. That's fantastic songwriting material, is it not?

It's mean. I know it is. But it's what she does—she writes about her life, her experiences, and occasionally other people's. I know she wrote about me; if she wants the album to keep the essence she's been working on, nothing screams vulnerability quite like holding someone's heart in your hands while knowing you have the power to shatter it.

The only thing stopping you from doing it is your own heart. It's your decision. And she made her choice.

So, yes, I could lie. Everything will be okay.

But I don't lie.

Even though it's humiliating to feel so destroyed over a relationship that only lasted for a summer—not even the entire summer—I know I need to allow myself to grieve it. It was short-lived, but it was intense, and feelings that strong don't evaporate when I snap my fingers or sleep it off. I don't want to get ahead of myself and affirm she was the girl I was going to marry—I'm twenty-four, a baby all things considered, and she's turning twenty-four in September—but I don't date. I'm like a penguin—I mate for life.

Gross.

She never asked me for anything besides patience and honesty. I give her what she wanted and more—I gave her myself and my willingness to be an active part of her chaotic world—and it still wasn't enough. I wanted her, all parts of her, but she'll always put Lottie first. It's a disservice to Charlotte, the full human being, but it's no use telling her that.

She knows it. She just doesn't care.

I shouldn't either. She doesn't want me to care, and I can hear Chloe's voice in my head reminding me that this is slipping into borderline parasocial behavior, but I can't not care about her. My life would be easier if I could go on only caring about her as a celebrity, but I know her better than that. I can't go back to feeling about her like I used to.

When summer ends and I swallow my tears as I get into my car, Bambi safely held in her carrier on the backseat of my car, I convince myself that going home to Boston will do me good. It's a place untainted by everything bad that happened. Even my bike is staying in Evermere.

If I were a greater woman, I'd tell myself to reframe it. See the relationship for what it was—the good and the bad—instead of obsessing over what it could have been or why and how it ended. But I'm not. I can't do the mental reworking. Not now.

After a summer spent surrounded by people I've known my whole life, walking into an empty apartment feels like a punch to the gut. The whiplash hurts, but it only hurts if I think about it, so I immediately get to work so I can stay distracted. I even accept my neighbors' help when they offer to give me a hand with my luggage so I can carry Bambi with both hands. She gets the princess treatment.

Once they leave and Bambi gets reacquainted with the place where she'll spend the next nine months, I start unpacking. I procrastinated doing it when I returned to Evermere at the beginning of summer, but that was different. I had bigger worries. Now, I have classes to plan, bags to unpack, and a broken heart to nurse.

This place isn't as blue as my house in Evermere. I had liberties there I don't here—I can't paint the walls, for one—but I tried to make this feel like home with my trinkets and my plants. I love my plants dearly, especially the ones inked on my skin. Even the morning glories.

I think I'm doing okay. Not a single Lottie-centered thought has crossed my mind since I walked through the front door.

And then I find her clothes. The ones I borrowed from her and promised I'd give back despite knowing I wouldn't.

Rich people clothes are different; they're cozier, and I feel rich by osmosis. But these aren't just rich people clothes—they're Lottie's. They still smell like her, and some even smell like a combination of us.

If I were smarter, I'd put them away, and try to get in touch with her team to return them. I have Daphne's number, which would have to do. I'd even offer to wash them and have them ironed. She'd be free of my stupid smell. It'll be like I never existed. It's what I do; I slip in and out, and no one can catch me. I never linger in someone's life.

Fuck. I miss her.

I can't hate her. I can't stop caring. She might not be thinking about me at all, with everything she has going on in her life, but I'm stuck in that awkward period between the end of summer and the start of the school year where nothing happens. If I know her like I believe I do, she's already working. The label wants the album, and her fans want her.

She'll kill herself giving everyone what they want. There will be nothing left of her once she's done with the album, and then she'll have to promote it and go on tour. Rinse, repeat. She might enjoy the grind, the adrenaline rush of meeting deadlines, and the dopamine shooting up her nerves from the applause.

But there's no way she enjoys being so overworked she's seconds away from collapsing.

She might think she does. Hell, she likely does. I'm willing to bet it's a matter of pride, of wanting to prove herself to everyone who doubted she was unstoppable.

But she's not invincible. I don't want anything bad to happen to her, no matter how badly she hurt me, but I don't think there's another way out. It's a matter of when, not if.

I don't understand how she can not care about herself and her well-being—or how she can pretend not to care and convince herself of it—but I do. I have a different perspective. I love her.

I love her. It's a heart wrenching realization to come to now, made worse whenever I remember she said it first. She said she loved me too much to hurt me, yet she still did it. I don't know how to move on from that.

She'd tell me to worry about myself. Protect my heart. She would use my own words against me.

She'd also tell me to talk to someone—anyone—since my family is so far away and my Boston friends weren't around to witness it. They'll have to deal with the fallout, but none of them have witnessed a Leigh Flores heartbreak firsthand. I keep things to myself, not just love-induced heartbreaks, and I've learned to handle everything by myself. This is different.

I don't know who to talk to. I don't want to be a burden to my parents, and I know their reactions wouldn't help me. My dad, bless his soul, would scream bloody murder and run for the hills. My mom would give me hell for not fighting harder.

Then, there's Chloe.

Chloe, my best friend, who's been routinely apologizing to me for what she said to Lottie.

Don't lead her somewhere she can't follow. For fuck's sake.

I know that her heart was in the right place, but I'm a grown girl. I knew what I was in for, regardless of whether I was fully prepared for it or not, and it wasn't her decision to make. She doesn't get to make life-changing choices in my place, and she had no right to scare Lottie off. No matter what her intentions were, it's clear Lottie has been obsessing over it. She clung to those words like an anchor, and they dragged us to the bottom of the ocean.

There's no way she could have foreseen this outcome. I don't blame her for it. But I have to be pissed at someone, and I'm too big a coward to be mad at Lottie, so Chloe will have to face my blind wrath for now.

My friends text once they find out I'm back in Boston. No one gets into any details—no one else knows about the break-up other than my and Lottie's inner circles—but I know they saw the photos. If I'm unlucky, maybe they've seen rare photos of Lottie looking wrecked.

Maybe not. Maybe she's plastering a dazzling smile and charming her way through Los Angeles. Hiding the pain under lipstick, satin, and a beautiful melody.

GIGI
Let's go out for drinks tonight?? Pretty pleaseeeee

It's been months since we all went out and we miss you

TALIA
Aye aye

I chew my bottom lip.

Of course I want to meet up with my friends. Like Gigi said, it's been ages since we last got together, and I feel like I've lived a million different lives since then. It'll be good for me going out, seeing different people, but I'm worried about how much I can share with them. Although I didn't sign an NDA about the relationship, I know Lottie wouldn't appreciate me running my mouth.

It would've been better to have signed one. That way, I'd know what to expect and what I can do. The ambiguity kills me.

LEIGH
I'm not sure if I'm in the mood to go out tbh

I feel kinda yucky and maybe I won't be the best company

I'd probably just sour the mood or something

TALIA
Nonsense. You're our favorite grouchypants

EVE
What she said ^^

Girls night out is NOT the same without you, Miss Flores

SEAN
What am I? Chopped liver?

GIGI
Nobody cares, Sean

SEAN
Did you just quote Scrubs at me???

GIGI
❤️

This gets a chuckle out of me. Maybe it's not so bad being back home, surrounded by people who love me differently. My Boston friends are my big city friends, with different expectations and lives, and this might be exactly what I need after the summer I've had.

It was never supposed to be slow-paced—nothing ever is when there are kids involved—but it wasn't meant to be the whirlwind like it was. I was thrust into a world I didn't know I could face head-on.

Turns out I could do it. I just wasn't given a chance to prove it.

LEIGH
FINE

You had me at Sean slander

SEAN
Bro???

You know I hate it when you guys come together to bully me

GIGI
You're one of us, babe

SEAN
Awww

GIGI
I couldn't have been more obviously talking to Leigh

But we love you too, Sean

My friends, everybody.

☀︎༄.°

I'm swallowed by hugs when I meet my friends at our favorite dive bar.

We meet up for dinner and drinks, as we're getting too old to drink on an empty stomach, and I only realize how badly I missed Boston and everything it has to offer once I sit down. I even missed Sean and his stupid Red Sox baseball cap.

I met Talia and Gigi first. They were across the hall from me in college; I'd requested a single, so I didn't have a roommate for my freshman year, but then the FOMO kicked in with a vengeance. Enter Eve.

The four of us were inseparable, just us girls against the world, but then Eve met Sean at the Boston Pride Parade during our senior year, and we adopted a big, buff bisexual man as one of us. He and Gigi clicked instantly, matching each other's freak and sense of humor, but he's so smitten with Eva and the ground she walks on that no one ever batted an eye.

Not that we'd need to. This is a strictly no in-group drama zone.

"You don't look tan for someone who spent the summer on Cape Cod," Talia says, already sipping her espresso martini. My heart collapses.

It shouldn't matter. It's just a cocktail out of so many. But it matters.

It's what Lottie and I were drinking at open mic night immediately before she fed me those peanuts. Maybe I should swear off espresso martinis for the sake of my mental health. Peanuts as well while we're at it.

"I'm tanner than I was when I left," I argue, flagging a server walking past our booth. "I was out in the sun all day, but it wasn't like I had much time for sunbathing. Hey, can I get a mojito, please?"

"No, no, I know. Whoever does the social media thing for the camp was doing a great job documenting everything. Give them a raise. I was very invested. We all were. Right, guys?"

The nods everyone gives her are way too enthusiastic to feel natural. I lean back on my seat, mentally bracing myself for the inevitably awkward conversation that will follow.

"We want to address the elephant in the room," Gigi—Georgia—begins. "Are you okay?"

I scoff. "Sure."

"Leigh, we're serious. We really want to know."

"So am I. I'm fine. I'm great. I'm home. Bambi's doing great. She broke one of my mom's vases and then had the audacity to sit next to it and look like the world's cutest false victim."

"Aw," Sean coos, only to get elbowed in the ribs by Eve. "I mean, bad Bambi. Bad Leigh for trying to deflect."

"I'm not deflecting."

Eve leans forward across the table. "Look, I'll say it if they don't want to do it. We saw the pictures. Gigi talked to Chloe"—I need to have a serious conversation with Chloe about boundaries—"and she didn't get into much detail about what exactly went down, but we know the guy who leaked it was your friend."

It takes everything in me not to gag.

"He was. But he was also a backstabbing piece of shit who thought he was doing me a favor." I give her a wry smile. "I can't get too in depth about this, and I'm sure you understand why, but even though it didn't work out in my favor in the end, it wasn't his decision to make. If anything, he made it worse. But that wasn't the only reason things came crashing down. It was one out of so many. Some of them are my fault. Others were outside my control. But it sucks. It fucking sucks."

Their facial expressions soften. I don't want to be pitied, but part of me clings to the way they validate my feelings. It was a shitty thing to experience—still is. Everything from Olly's betrayal to the break-up itself and every catalyst has stained what should have been a fantastic summer.

"We're here for you, hon," Talia tells me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I sniffle like an idiot who can't keep her emotions in check. "If you need to cry, you can. If you need us to beat someone up for you, we will."

"You can't tell anyone about anything I say," I remind them. "I didn't sign an NDA, but I don't want stuff getting out unnecessarily. Things are complicated enough already; I don't need a cease and desist to land in my inbox."

"Was it that serious?" Sean asks, head tilted to the side. "More than just a summer fling?"

I hesitate. It was more than just a summer fling to me, and Lottie sounded genuine when she told me it meant more than that to her. But she has the luxury of moving on quicker than I do. So who knows at this point.

"I haven't dated anyone in forever," I croak out, "and thought I wouldn't date anyone until my late twenties, at least."

"How defeatist," Gigi sighs.

"I've been bracing myself for that, in a way. I never linger. I'm never looking for anything more than a short-lived affair. A paramour. I'm not available, and I make sure to let people know that. I'm a brick wall. And then, the one time I decide to be brave enough to give someone a chance and open my heart to them, this happens. All the odds were stacked against us, but there was an idiotic, lovestruck part of my brain that actually thought we had a future outside of the bubble. I wanted to." I still do. I can't lie and say that I would crawl back to Lottie with no hesitation if she knocked on my door, but I'd likely let myself be convinced. "I think she wanted it too, but she was too frightened. She couldn't let her life destroy me. Even when I told her I'd be able to handle it, that I would survive it because she was worth it, it still wasn't enough."

I wasn't enough.

I'll move on eventually. If I convince myself I've gone through worse heartbreaks and survived, I might make it out of this rut. Not unscathed, but alive.

And Lottie will too. She'll be fine.

I trust her. I believe in her. I can only hope she believes in herself.

☀︎༄.°

boston gang my beloved