Hey Girl (Turn it Up #9)

Chapter 18

18

REBECCA

I ’m spending the day wrapping up projects so that I can have the next month or so free to be with my man. For the first time, I’m going to get on an airplane and visit another country! While I don’t feel quite ready to join the band on the US tour - not to mention it’s longer, and I need to work sometime - I’m going along on their short stint in the UK for two weeks. And I’ve never been excited to meet people in my life, but I’m looking forward to meeting Leo and the rest of the Wishbone peeps. Even through emails, Leo and Sadie are so friendly and make me feel just so damn good. Like my drummer man, they put me in a good mood.

Chris and the rest of the band are rehearsing their setlist for the tour while I try to get everything in order with pet care and all my design jobs wrapped up.

I’ve cleaned the house from top to bottom and am now just relaxing with the design app on my computer, when a message alert pops up. I don’t recognize the sender, but it’s not uncommon for me to get messages from Reddit Randos, so I click on it, expecting it to be another sugar baby request or a foot fetish freak.

From: TTDiva99

Subject: You’re famous

What?

I wonder if they figured out I’m dating a rockstar - no, I’m not tired of saying that yet.

The message quickly loads with an image of some kind of gossip rag headline… with my photo underneath.

“Gibbering Groupie is Secret Goodtime Girl” it reads, and the photos beneath are of me. The ones I sent to Chris. The sexy mirror selfie and one of the boudoir shots. The ones meant just for him; that he made me feel empowered enough to have taken.

I’m frozen, in shock, I think. I feel the blood drain from my face and my stomach tighten up as my heart starts to gallop, pounding so hard it’s difficult for my lungs to take in air.

How did this happen? I don’t understand…

I try to read the words in the article, even though I know better.

Not as innocent as she seems - Risqué photos uncovered. It’s unclear what the sexy poses are for but clearly not to promote family values or Disney.

I don’t get any farther than that. It will crush me, I’m sure of it.

I slam my laptop shut, and I’m not sure why, but I pull all of the plugs out of it. I’ve switched over to some kind of robotic mode, my psyche trying to save my emotions for the impending meltdown headed my way.

The room is dead silent, save for my breaths that are coming out in short rasps. My eyes wander over to my phone. I should call him, I think. Oh my god, I feel so woozy. I try to focus on my phone as I reach for it, and I startle when it chirps with an alert… and then another. It’s beeping and buzzing like crazy, and I try to ignore it, clenching every muscle in my body as I find Chris’s contact number.

“Mouse! Hey babe, what’s up?” He picks up after one ring, sounding jolly as ever and for once, I resent it.

“Wh- wh…” I begin. I’m not sure what words I’m even trying to get out, but I thought the struggle with my stutter had taken a seat at the back of the bus. I’ve felt so happy and relaxed these last few months I have barely given it a thought. But, right on cue, it’s back in full force just when I really need it not to be.

“Babe? Rebecca?” I hear his voice take on a more serious note. “What’s going on, are you okay?”

He doesn’t know…

“H - h - how… wh - … I …”

I can’t talk. I can’t talk to Chris. In both the literal and figurative senses, it would seem. I’m panicking more, now, my breathing getting even more shallow.

I hang up on Chris, hoping I can explain later and I leave my phone to buzz and ding like crazy on the table as I stumble to the kitchen and jerk open one of the drawers to retrieve a paper bag. My phone continues to go nuts in the other room as I sink to the kitchen floor.

Chris

“Rebecca?” I say into the phone but am answered with radio silence. “Shit,” I mutter, dialing her number back, my body stiff as a goddamn board as I wait for her to answer.

“Chris!” Matt shouts. “We’ve gotta get back to it,” he nods his head at my drum kit. We have our setup in a rented warehouse that we often use to rehearse for tours. I hold my hand up at him as Rebecca’s phone continues to ring. I hang up and try again and again with no answer.

“Chris!” Matt shouts with his arms out. “What the hell, man?”

I look up at him, trying to find a way to say that something’s not right with my Rebecca when my phone pings in my hand and I hear everyone else’s phones chime immediately after. The whole room sounds like the fucking Small World After All ride. I glance around, stunned, as everyone in the room seems to reach for the phone like this is some choreographed sketch. My eyes fall to my screen to find several messages coming in, mostly from contacts in my phone and some from completely anonymous numbers. One from Ron lights up my screen and I tap on it, my heart plummeting to my gut when I see a headline from Celebrity Dirt so angry. Those photos were for my eyes only. They’re deeply fucking personal and no one has any right to go through my personal photos and then show them to the rest of the fucking world. I’m an easy-going guy - if you haven’t figured that out by now - so I don’t quite know what to do with these negative emotions. I just know I feel like I want to find what lowlife son of a bitch did this and put them six feet under. Too dark?

Sorry, not sorry, I’m pissed.

Taking it out on city traffic, I lay on my horn and the gas pedal, shouting at assholes to get the fuck out of my way so I can get to the girl I love and hold her, tell her it’s going to be okay and whatever the fuck else on earth she needs.

When I finally get off the freeway and zip and zoom my way through her neighborhood, I pull a screeching Tokyo drift into her driveway.

I fly out of my Kia, leaving the door open and trudge up her front steps to find the door locked. How the fuck do I not have a key? I’m her boyfriend, dammit. I should have a - nevermind. She needs to know I’m here and that wild horses won’t keep me away, and I start pounding away on her door.