While Luke has me on a low carb diet, Megan apparently is on an all coke diet.
“You look… great.”
Another lie.
They come easily to me now too.
I just want to be alone.
Megan is over the top about literally everything. She’s the Regina George to my Wednesday Addams. After the show, Luke snagged us both for his label. It seemed like the right choice at the time, but I quickly realized not everything that glitters is gold.
Megan trots off, and Luke flares his nostrils when she approaches.
She’ll get a mouthful about it later, but right now I’m too tired to care. The conversation lasts for all of five minutes before Luke moves it to a more private setting and Megan returns to the sofa where I’m currently parked.
She plops down beside me with a dreamy expression on her face. She wants me to ask, but I don’t.
“You can’t say a word if I tell you,” she says.
Her excitement is one hundred percent false. This is the same girl who used to ridicule me backstage for the way I dressed. The girl who referred to me as Goth Girl and spread a rumor about me practicing the occult. I’m also pretty sure she was the one behind some of the online terror campaigns during the show, but I don’t have proof of that.
I trust Megan about as much as I’d trust a chunk of cheese in a mouse trap.
Pretending is exhausting. But I learned a long time ago to go along with it. In this business, it’s better the enemy you know.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I assure her.
She peeks over her shoulder to see if we have an audience- probably wishing we did- and then leans in to whisper in my ear.
“Luke thinks he can get me in on a collab with Lana Cruz.”
Even if I did believe it, I couldn’t find the energy to care right now.
A smirk twists at Megan’s lips, and she thinks I’m feeling jilted.
She doesn’t know I don’t feel anything at all anymore. My life is a series of robotic events. Travel, sleep, write, sing. Rinse and repeat.
“We have to go shopping,” she insists.
I blink at her.
And the level of her ignorance- her coldness- shouldn’t come as a shock to me anymore. But it really does.
My father is missing. Possibly dead. I haven’t eaten a full meal in two months. I can barely manage to get out of bed or wash my hair.
And she wants me to go fucking shopping with her.
“Hey, Megan?”
“Yeah?” she perks up.
“Tell Luke I went to bed.”
Ihidein my room for the rest of the night and search google for any piece of news I can find.
There’s nothing new. Nothing but speculation. Speculation I can’t stomach to read.
So I call Art.