Categories > Original > Drama > Goodbyes Are Never Good.
The Day After
0 reviewsThe day after the phone call, short chapter just to keep those interested... interested. Leading up to a talk show interview with the author, stopping there to keep anyone who likes this in suspens...
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When he finally woke up the urge to call her was nearly overpowering, to hear her voice again. To beg her to come back to him. To ask her why. To blame her for everything. To tell her he loved her. To tell her he hated her. To ask why she bothered to stay with him if she was just going to leave. To ask her whether she ever loved him.
He laid in bed, thinking too much and yet not enough. On some level, past the visciously fast racing of his thoughts, he knew he had to get his ass moving. Hop in the shower. He knew he had a long day ahead of him. He stretched, rubbing his eyes slowly, and got up. A year too young to drink, yet old enough to write a book that made millions, printing in more languages than he could name. Ten? Something near that.
The author walked into his private bathroom, the only way in through his own room, and checked his face in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, swollen, red lids; the signs of crying. A long shower should do the trick. He turned the hot water on, giving it a few moments to heat up. He used the short time to inspect the scars on his wrists. Botched suicide. What would She say if she ever found out? Would she be happy he lived? Sad? Indifferent?
What is she doing right now? were his last thoughts before he forced himself to think of nothing but getting ready.
In the same country, in the same state, in the same town, she was slowly waking up to the blare of her alarm in the single bed hotel room. Once her mind cleared just enough to remember the date, she fully snapped awake, completely unsure wehether she was happy or sad about today. All she knew was she was nervous, completely and utterly nervous. Nearly nervous enough to forget everything and roll back into bed, but she knew she could not. She had to do what she had to do.
She rolled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Turned on the hot water for a long bath. She had time to waste. It would help her ready herself anyway. She mentioned only one thing to herself as she slipped into the steaming water: "Way sooner than you think, Love."
Hours later, he was flashing himself a smile in the mirror, backstage of a talk show. He had to make sure it looked believable, looked real, even when it was not. The Celebrity Smile. Everything and everybody here in Celebrity-ville was, to an extent, a fabrication; some more than others. It all depended. He, personally, refused to buy into most of it. He refused any make-up; the shower had preformed admirably in washing away the aftermath of the phone call.
Satisfied with his smile, he walked out on-stage to cheers and claps from the small audiance. He looked out at them and smiled, tossing them a little wave. The host of the talk show was hyper, happy, bouncy, taking his hand in her own and shaking it as she told him congratulations, welcome to the show, and thank you for finding time within your busy schedule to talk to all of us.
More coming up soon! Keep coming back to find out what happens next - who knows how this talk show will go?!
He laid in bed, thinking too much and yet not enough. On some level, past the visciously fast racing of his thoughts, he knew he had to get his ass moving. Hop in the shower. He knew he had a long day ahead of him. He stretched, rubbing his eyes slowly, and got up. A year too young to drink, yet old enough to write a book that made millions, printing in more languages than he could name. Ten? Something near that.
The author walked into his private bathroom, the only way in through his own room, and checked his face in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, swollen, red lids; the signs of crying. A long shower should do the trick. He turned the hot water on, giving it a few moments to heat up. He used the short time to inspect the scars on his wrists. Botched suicide. What would She say if she ever found out? Would she be happy he lived? Sad? Indifferent?
What is she doing right now? were his last thoughts before he forced himself to think of nothing but getting ready.
In the same country, in the same state, in the same town, she was slowly waking up to the blare of her alarm in the single bed hotel room. Once her mind cleared just enough to remember the date, she fully snapped awake, completely unsure wehether she was happy or sad about today. All she knew was she was nervous, completely and utterly nervous. Nearly nervous enough to forget everything and roll back into bed, but she knew she could not. She had to do what she had to do.
She rolled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Turned on the hot water for a long bath. She had time to waste. It would help her ready herself anyway. She mentioned only one thing to herself as she slipped into the steaming water: "Way sooner than you think, Love."
Hours later, he was flashing himself a smile in the mirror, backstage of a talk show. He had to make sure it looked believable, looked real, even when it was not. The Celebrity Smile. Everything and everybody here in Celebrity-ville was, to an extent, a fabrication; some more than others. It all depended. He, personally, refused to buy into most of it. He refused any make-up; the shower had preformed admirably in washing away the aftermath of the phone call.
Satisfied with his smile, he walked out on-stage to cheers and claps from the small audiance. He looked out at them and smiled, tossing them a little wave. The host of the talk show was hyper, happy, bouncy, taking his hand in her own and shaking it as she told him congratulations, welcome to the show, and thank you for finding time within your busy schedule to talk to all of us.
More coming up soon! Keep coming back to find out what happens next - who knows how this talk show will go?!
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