Bad For Me (My Forbidden Rockstar) (2 page)

My mom’s enthusiasm makes me wince as I realize how crummy a
daughter I've been lately. I haven’t seen my mom in two years and I haven’t
even met the infamous Sheldon. My mom is notorious for her many boyfriends, but
Sheldon has been around for a year and a half and my mom actually seems happy
with him, so he must be special.

“Well, maybe I can come out for a visit first, and then
decide.” I say.

My mom would love that, and actually I would too. Now that
I’m free from the vicious stranglehold my relationship with Sid had on me, I
can go wherever I want.

“Yes, I would love that! You’re welcome any time! As soon as
we hang up, I’m going to look at airfares!”

I laugh at her excitement. “Okay, Mom. Sounds good. I’m
going to go now.”

“Okay, baby. Love you! Bye-bye!”

The line goes dead.

I shake my head and can’t help smiling at my mom’s
infectious personality. I remember how I used to be like her until I became
jaded, thanks to Sid and all the record executives' assistants I've met here in
California.

I spend the rest of my drive home thinking about Sid.

The moment I met Sid, I was a goner.

I met him last year while working at one of the best jobs I
had ever gotten, at a music bar just outside LA proper. I would wait tables
three nights a week and then I would sing a set afterwards. I even had a couple
bites on potential record deals, but that was before I ruined everything.

Sid headlined twice a week and he always brought in big
crowds.

I knew better. I knew Sid was trouble just from looking at
him. His dark tan complexion and velvety mocha eyes were dangerous. Sex appeal
rolled off him in heavy waves. He had a gritty charm that made him seem raw and
otherworldly at the same time. Both of his arms were covered in various
tattoos, and he always knew how to show off his body just enough to make the
girls swoon.

I tried to resist him, honestly I did.

But once he took the mic, I was just as bad as the groupies,
practically ripping off my panties and throwing them at him.

You would have thought I had learned my lesson from the
dickheads I had dated before, but I just couldn’t ignore Sid and his smoldering
eyes and firm ass.

It didn’t take Sid long to notice me either. He was around
one night during one of my sets, and I could feel his eyes on me from across
the room. I may have overdone it that night, touching myself as I sang, and
throwing my dark hair back and forth more than usual. I couldn’t help it
though, something about Sid brought out the animal in me.

That night I found myself pressed up against a dressing room
mirror, my skirt hiked up, and Sid banging me from behind. I tried to make it a
rule not to sleep with guys right away.

It never worked.

We were inseparable after that. Sid said he wanted no one
but me, and that I was
The One.

I didn’t believe in any of that crap any more, especially
after what I saw my parents go through, but Sid made me want to believe.
Although looking back now, I realize that I missed all the warning signs. The
way he kept his phone so guarded and secretive. The nights he forgot to show up
to my apartment and claimed he had another gig. The random clothes I found at
his place.

I was such a fool, blinded by a love for someone who did not
deserve it.

I let my own music career ambitions slide as I let Sid
dictate my life. I told myself that he would never cheat on me, that the sex
was too hot and our bond was too strong. We talked about making our own record
together and getting a place of our own.

One night I showed up at work unannounced to pick up my
phone charger. I had left it there by accident but the timing couldn't have
been better. I noticed that there was a woman I had never seen before waiting
in Sid’s dressing room.

She was refined in a way that I could never be, her long black
hair was smoothed down perfectly into a tight chignon, she was dressed in a
slimming black blouse and well cut black pants, and wore pricey heels. At first,
I thought she was an agent or music executive, but she laughed as soon as I
walked in the room, as if she were waiting for me to come in and discover her.

It was a cruel laugh. The kind of laugh you hear from
someone who knows they are better than you. She had to be in her thirties, and
I could tell she knew she was smarter, prettier, and better than me in every
way.

“Did you think what you had with Sid was special?” she had
purred, standing up to her full height. Her legs had been miles long, it seemed.
“I give Sid his space, because he needs it. But he always comes home to me,
Sugar. He knows a
real
woman from a little girl.”

She was mean, beautiful, and mature, and I knew I couldn’t
compete with her. We were worlds apart.

I couldn’t even speak; I was so shocked and upset. Instead,
I ran on stage while Sid was performing and tore out the wires from his
electric guitar, before screaming at him like a lunatic.

Sid looked surprised, but not guilty.

That night cost me my boyfriend and my job.

So, for the past two months I’ve been struggling, alone now.
And I’m not stupid. I know that word spreads fast in the music scene and people
now know me as the “crazy girl” who went nuts on stage. Which is probably
another good reason to get out of town and head to New York.

I pull up to my apartment, and park my piece of junk. I walk
inside, not even looking at my surroundings as I trudge through. My apartment
is quiet, which means my friend and roommate, Elle, isn’t back yet. I strip off
my clothes and go straight into the shower. I let the cool water run down my
overheated skin, washing away the embarrassment I felt today. I then turn the
water to as hot as it will go. The water scolds my skin, but I don’t care.
Sometimes I like just
feeling
. I feel the pain of the hot water, and I
focus only on that, nothing else.

I stay in the shower until the water runs cold again, and
then I step out onto the fluffy mat and wrap myself in a towel. Since I’m home
by myself, I do that thing that girls do when no one is around. I take off my
towel and examine my naked self in front of a full-length mirror.

I know my self-esteem is damaged thanks to Sid, and I’m
working hard to repair it. I try to look objectively at myself. I have long
auburn hair streaked with natural honey tones. It hangs wet down my back, and I
examine my tits, pushing them higher, as if giving myself a breast lift. I
don’t need it though. They’re a perfect size C, and perky enough by themselves
– perhaps my best asset.

My stomach is flat and taught, and my legs are long and
shapely. I hold up my arms to see if I have any jiggling skin, and I’m happy to
see that I don’t. I step close to the mirror to examine my face. I pull at my
skin, giving myself a temporary face-lift that makes me look like an alien. My
cheekbones are high and my eyes are a piercing ice blue. I bat my eyes a few
times, and I decide that if I do go crazy one day and decide to get any plastic
surgery, I will get lip injections. My lips are pouty, but I secretly wish they
were fuller.

I’m bored with dissecting my body, and it’s been a rather
successful session, considering, so I walk back to my room and pull on my
favorite purple lounge shorts, and holey gray tank top.

Now I need to get myself that vodka.

I grab my phone and make my way to the kitchen. Rummaging in
the cabinet, I find a bag of Twizzlers, and I mindlessly chew on one as I
search the cabinets for vodka.

“What the hell?” I mutter. I know that Elle and I have half
a bottle somewhere.

Then I remember the party Elle had thrown two weeks ago when
I had a show. Shit. The vodka must have been used then.

I settle for wine, and I pour myself an extra large glass of
Merlot. For kicks, I bite off both ends of a Twizzler, and stick my candy straw
in my wine glass. I sip the Merlot through the Twizzler and stare at my toes.

I need a pedicure.

I decide right then and there I will give myself a pedicure,
because I’ve earned it.

Singing to myself, I refill my glass, pop my Twizzler back
in, and take my liquid snack back to my room.

I feel better already.

Just as I find my pedicure kit, my phone rings.

It’s my dad.

“Hey, Daddy!” I say a little too brightly. Hmm, maybe I
should have eaten before drinking. This wine is already hitting me.

“Hi Annabelle,” he says.

My dad is the only person who calls me by my full name.

“You sound happy.”

More like drunk.

“Just relaxing.” I say casually.

“Tough day?” He is too perceptive.

“Hmmm,” I say noncommittally. I’ve already had one parent
feel sorry for me today, I don’t need two.

“So, listen, Annabelle, I really need you to do a favor for
me.”

“Sure, Daddy.”

Crap. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed so quickly.

“I’m having a little dinner tonight, and I want you to come
by and meet Roxie.”

Crap. Crap. Crap.

“Gee, Daddy, I don’t know,” I say, trying to back track.

“You agreed,” he reminds me.

Daddy and Roxie have been an item for all of three months.
Oh, and they’re already engaged.

And their wedding date is set…it’s really soon.

“Annabelle,” he says rather sternly. “You’ve been avoiding
meeting Roxie. It’s getting ridiculous. The wedding is only a few months away.”

“Daddy, I know, it’s just-”

“You’re hurting my feelings, she’s very special to me and I
want you two to finally meet,” he admits.

I cave.

“Alright, Daddy. I’ll be there.”

I hiccup a little too loudly.

“Annabelle, have you been drinking? What time is it?”

“Umm, I maybe had a glass or two of wine.”

I can practically hear my dad roll his eyes over the phone.

“I’ll send a car for you at five. Be ready.”

Oh, hooray.

“And Annabelle, wear something other than your rocker jeans.”

Ouch. That hurt. I’ve been practically living in my rocker
jeans.

The ones that Sid gave me.

If I’m honest with myself I still love him.

Bastard.

Chapter Two

Annie

Ten of five rolls around, and I am dressed and blow-dried to
perfection. My dad will be beyond happy. My hair is soft and wavy, thanks to
the diffuser on my blow dryer and Elle’s handiwork with a large barrel curling
iron.

I’m wearing acceptable makeup, meaning no heavy black
eyeliner, and I even put on my old favorite Berry Kiss lip-gloss. To complete
my girly ensemble, I’m wearing a teal and white tunic dress, with matching
white sandals.

“You look beautiful!” Elle says happily. She bites her lip,
unsure if she should continue.

“Go ahead, and say it.”

“Well, I haven’t seen you look this good, since you know.”
Elle’s voice trails off and I hear everything she doesn’t say.
Since you and
Sid ended things. Since he ripped your fucking heart out.

I suddenly feel much older than twenty-four.

World-weary.

How at twenty-four can I feel so jaded against men? Against
life?

I hiccup again.

“How much wine did you drink?” Elle asks, narrowing her
eyes.

I shrug. “Not enough to help me get through this dinner.”

I hear a horn beep and look outside to see a sleek black
limo.

Holy hell, my dad is embarrassing.

He can’t just send a town car; he has to send a freaking
limo.

Sometimes he can be so ostentatious.

Elle bursts out laughing. “Is he happy with you or mad at
you?”

“I have no idea,” I sigh, giving her a quick hug and heading
out the door.

Sometimes I really can’t understand my father. I wonder if
he sent this ridiculous limo to try to please me - or to embarrass me for
taking so long to meet Roxie.

Either way, I get the point.

The driver rushes out of the vehicle when he sees me coming,
opens the door, and gives me a little bow.

Oh,
please
.

I grimace and climb into the limo.

I immediately decide that I need a drink. Perhaps I will
find my much-needed vodka in the back of this limo.

I search through every shelf and drawer, but only find Cokes
and water.

I push the button to send down the partition between the
driver and I.

“Excuse me, but is there any alcohol back here?”

I see the driver grin sheepishly in the rearview mirror.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but Mr. Winterford made it clear not to
have any alcohol in the limousine.”

Of course he did.

I snatch a Coke, and pull the tab back a little too hard.

Driving my beat up car around a bit longer seems a lot more
appealing than going to this dinner tonight.