Fixated On You (Torn Series #5) (18 page)

Supply and demand that went off bonkers.
The serious actors took a backseat and watched Hollywood being overrun by people who were beautiful but lacked talent. Pretty enough? Sure, here’s a record deal. There was no essence of the quality that people used to be enthralled with. Nothing seemed to be of value anymore.

Most people of today thought that being disrespectful was the key to success, hence the lack of privacy.

I hadn’t minded the social media before, but now that they had played a major role in terminating my relationship with Emma, I really was seeing things crystal clear.

Before I had received the Greek’s text message, I was actually on a phone call with Barbara. Apparently, my agent did a little digging and found out that the drama-causing video had come from Nikki’s phone. Of course, like any reasonable person, she’d immediately contacted me. Was I shocked? A little bit, but then again, I knew Nikki was wishy-washy on that score, so I expected a little bite from her. A bite—maybe a tiny poison-induced nibble—but never had it occurred to me that she was willing to put us both in the open, exposing
me or her sexually. It was humiliating, but not as horrifying as how Emma was being portrayed at the moment.

Anger didn’t even come close to describing what I felt right now. Imagine consuming hate, fury, blinding rage and vengeance then shove them all in a furnace to cook them together until it exploded the goddamned planet; that was how I felt for Nikki.

Not even my parents could evoke such intense hate from me. I wasn’t a believer of hitting women, but for a second, the thought possessed me. It was in that instant that I knew that I didn’t trust myself to be around Nikki, nor did I feel that talking to her would calm my senses. No. What she had done was unforgivable. Even if she prayed a novena for an entire week, crawling up to me for forgiveness, I wouldn’t even dare acknowledge the pest.

So, just as I threatened, I filed a temporary restraining order, needing her to leave me alone. Under no circumstances was she to contact me
; physically or electronically. It was sad that it had come to this because I truly wanted to end this amicably, however the woman had completely made it impossible. All of the excuses I used to tell myself that she was hormonal and pregnant seemed to be beyond absurd now. Pregnancy or not, the woman was simply nuts. There was no excuse for that.

There was a difference between being in a dream and daydreaming. A demented woman wouldn’t know the differentiation.

Even though I was back in Canada filming, I felt like I was moving on autopilot. I could hear people when they spoke. I could see people move. However I couldn’t feel anything. Deep inside, I was as barren as the Sahara Dessert.

Mornings were bearable, but when the sky turned dark, the city asleep, and I was left with my own thoughts, my mind wandered off to Emma. Just like a broken clock, I could actually hear my heart beating again—coming back to life—but when dawn broke and the living awoke, my heart slowly died again, as if the reality of not having her in my life anymore was too unbearable to accept.

It was already five a.m. and I hadn’t slept a wink. All night, I had envisioned her, reliving her in my mind until she’d fully came to life before me. One thing I had learned for the last couple of nights was that the more you pictured things, the more your imagination came to life and would give you whatever you wished for.

My nighttime was bittersweet, but it was the only way I knew how to cope. If madness was the only way to be with her again, then I’d slip away into it in order to
devour  whatever I could.

Mad love was what I felt for her. And just like any other crazy man in throes of love, desperation took the front seat and common sense was nowhere in sight. So when I dialed her number, I killed whatever crap floated around my mind that would deter me from pursuing this phone call.

Voicemail was all that greeted me. I paused, not knowing what to do. Should I keep going and leave a quick message or should I hang up and pretend that I hadn’t cared that she might’ve forwarded me to her voice inbox? I didn’t have much time to ponder about the answer because the loud beeping sound came, prompting the caller to leave a message.

Stuck in between my broken heart and the hope of rekindling with my soul, I decided to leave a message. “Emma, it’s been over a week since—” I choked up, sounding as unmanly as ever. Right then and there, I was contemplating again if I should even continue this lunacy. Breathing heavily, I took three deep breaths before continuing on the path of a dire man with no shame, ego or pride left in his system. “I’ve been constantly fighting with myself over whether calling you would be worth it, or if it will just be a waste of time…” I trailed off, unsure how to go on.

Keep going, you little twit
, a voice popped in my head. “There’s a great chance that you might not even call me back, but I just want you to know that
if—
” I made a distinct emphasis on the word. “
If
this might just be a knee-jerk reaction after the video and that article and that maybe you might need time to process things—” I stopped because I was getting choked up for the hundredth time. Closing my eyes, I rested my fist on my forehead and slowly started to knock on my brain to function properly.

My heart was ruling away and I needed to get some brain functionality back because I was getting dumber as the seconds ticked by. With great effort, I went on, “I know it’s a long shot, but if that’s the case with us,
please—
please—know that I’m here. I’ll wait.
I’ll keep waiting
until you finally close the door on us.”
If that day ever happened
, I shut my stupid thoughts. “If there is a tiny chance that you might still love me after all of this… please, I beg of you, don’t trample on that tiny flicker of hope.” I knew the chances were slim, but I was still hanging on to bare threads, wishing that the woman I loved would have a change of heart and would come running back to me.

“I’m here, Em…” I whispered, crushed and very much in shambles. “I’ll keep waiting for you.” Cutting the call, I remained like a statue, unmoving and frozen on the spot.

It was embarrassing to have become this way, yet they did say that love knew no boundaries. Insanity became its excuse.

Chapter 21

Emma

With a heavy, drawn out, melancholy sigh, I leaned back against the couch, somehow hoping that my mind would stop thinking. Just for once, I wanted a moment of peace.

Listening to Bass’s voicemail daily was terrifying. Without fail, he called every single day—night time his time—ever since I landed in Europe. His calls were like little mementos. I listened to them when I was feeling like I could no longer go on from missing him, from living without him, or maybe if I needed inspiration to move forward. Whatever the case, those short voice messages became my ill purpose.

I felt like a seesaw. Each time I heard his voice, my heart would constrict and each and every time, memories of how much we used to love each other would annihilate me instantly, but the second the voicemail cuts off I would remember his photo with Nikki and that
rotten video
. That was when I wanted to hurl all over again.

It was exhausting. I was always on the verge of tears due to heartbreak and anger. Yes, anger, from feeling like I was being played like a fool
; like I would be insipid enough to tolerate such disrespect.

Google was not good for my health, either. I was my own worst enemy because I knew the video was going to obliterate me, but even if that knowledge terrified the daylights out of me, I still searched out that damning video. Not only that, but I watched it twenty times; replaying it over and over again, killing me a thousand times over. Yet, I couldn’t seem to stop. I would scrutinize the damn thing, studying it like I was searching for the Holy Grail in that grainy file.

However, no matter what angle, there was no room for doubt that the man in that video was my fiancé—
ex-fiancé
—being sucked off by that Russian cunt.

Cece had nothing on Nikki. Most people would agree that those women were a rotten, disgusting bunch, and yes, both were despicable beings, however Nikki had gone for the kill. Cece, on the other hand, only played the petty, typical, high school tactics.

After a little over two weeks of seclusion, I was back home again. It wasn’t a choice I had made voluntarily; Jacques had pushed me to go home and face my tumultuous life. He’d said, and I quote, “
If you keep running away from your problems, happiness will run in the opposite direction. Never fear pain because it will only make you a stronger person
.”

So, after that monumental lowdown, I had to put my crybaby panties on and hop back across the pond to live my shitty life. I didn’t admit to it, but I knew that I had run away from a lot of my problems. It was one of my things
; duck and flight. I knew this was one problem that would never go away, though. That was, unless I stood there amidst the storm, took whatever people hurled at me—let them try to hurt me—until that catastrophic part of my life was through. Yep, I was definitely growing up, much to my horror.

Be that as it may, times were changing and I had to get with the tide and try to float my way around to survive this world I had helped create for myself.

So as part of my “floating gear”, I let Amber and Trista persuade me to come to Carter’s Halloween party. I mean, this was our annual thing, so they hadn’t had to convince me that much to go.

Now, dressed in my unoriginal, saucy-schoolgirl outfit, I double-checked myself; giving another onceover at the skimpy skirt that sat just below my ass. It didn’t matter if I looked hot in this
outfit, I think Britney stole everyone’s thunder on that score. Nevertheless, the costume was comfortable. I didn’t have to suck my stomach in for the rest of the night, nor did I have to try to look provocative because the outfit did all the tempting for me.

Since Lindsey was still with Dimitris, thanks to online classes, I went with T & T and Amber. It was odd to celebrate Halloween without Linds, but the woman was
totes in love with her Greek. I think she was going overboard possessive with him, but then again,
this was
Lindsey Mason, after all. She didn’t do normal.

“So, my girl, Cami, is planning to get it on tonight,”
Amber announced the second we got outside Carter’s house, making me tense a bit.

Trista snorted. “Hell, no, my Ashley will bag and hump those thighs,” she butted in, excited.

I looked at both of them, speechless.

It all made sense now.
Just as I was remembering their faces, Trista turned to me, blue eyes full of curiosity. “What do you think, Em? Who do you think deserves Carter more? I’ve heard you met them, so I’m interested to hear your thoughts on this.”

Could I just say
awkward?
WTF?
I hated being put on the spot. How the heck was I supposed to know? I mean, I didn’t think any of them deserved Carter seriously. “No clue,” I murmured, pondering on Trista’s question some more.

Cami.

Ashley.

Hell to the NO!!!

When the girls started wagering who was going to slip and slide with Carter tonight, Taylor’s knowing eyes captured mine, catching me off guard. It was as if he knew what my thoughts were, disconcerting me some more.

The smart guy knew too much. Not only was he Bass’s best friend, the guy was also way too intuitive for his own good.

“Don’t say it,” I whispered, breaking our eye contact. He wasn’t technically a smartass, per se, but he would gladly dish it out to me if need be.

I wasn’t being a stuck up bitch or anything, but when Carter saw us from across the room, he merely nodded our way before resuming his “talk with Ashley”, hands roaming about him and all.

Um, what the fuck happened to Carter? I rattled on, frustrated as I looked away, pretending that everything was a-
oh
-kay and I wasn’t dwelling on the very fact that he didn’t even bother to come around and greet us. The man used to shower me with attention, and now that he wasn’t, I wasn’t all that sure I was happy with the
sudden
—very sudden—change.

So for another thirty minutes, I pretended that I wasn’t watching him like a stalker as I sipped on my sugar-rimmed apple martini glass. Amber and Trista were busy socializing, so I was mostly left with Taylor. Thank goodness he didn’t utter a damn word about Bass or that question that left me with no answer of my own.

When the newly transformed man finally came over to us, I had to gear up my best nonchalant acting skills, so I could give him a little taste of what he’d just done to me. However my plan took a nosedive when Taylor purposely excused himself to go get Trista. It was so obvious that he wanted to see how I handled this because, come on, I saw the look he gave me before parting himself from us. I wasn’t sure if that was good or not, but since he was Bass Cole’s best friend, I could only string so many theories. That aside, I now had Mister Mason, who didn’t seem too pleased to be left alone with me.