There is definitely an image one has when they think about a Hollywood party. Secret back doors, dark corners, eccentric entertainers, drugs, top shelf alcohol, debauchery. There is something almost mystical about it, like a secret society that you have to have the password to to be a part of.

In reality, it was a little like that ... but mostly, it was just a party. Sure, the clothes and hair were better than your average New Jersey bar, the drinks were more expensive, the vibe had the expense I’d imagined. But ... it was just a bunch of people, who made more money than most, sitting around judging each other, drinking, and generally just being assholes as the liquor invades their blood.

“And then she had the gall to wear the same Dior shoes, I could have killed her.”

The girl sitting in our VIP area, a brunette with the longest legs I’d ever seen, rolls her eyes as she talks to two blondes across from her. I think I’d seen them all somewhere before ... as in, on television or a billboard in New York City.

“What a THOT!” One of the blondes cackles, moving her hair over a shoulder that was quite literally the size of my pinky.

Staring down at my own shoes, they’d probably die if they knew the cheetah-print heels were the most expensive pair I owned ... and that they were from Banana Republic.

“Have another glass of Dom.” Dean’s friend Neil passes me a glass of bubbly-looking liquid, and I take it cautiously.

It’s only my second drink, and I’m not even sure I should be sipping it. Although I am taking a liking to Neil, the down to earth drummer that Dean seems to hang out with the most.

“Thanks. So, you and Dean, you’re close?” I don’t really feel like talking to the women in the VIP section, so I might as well make allies with someone decent.

He nods his head, his expression shuttered by the massive red beard he sports. Neil looks like that quirky ginger bodyguard on Game of Thrones, only with a lumberjack vibe. I both am intimidated by him, and simultaneously want to be his friend.

“Go back almost to about the time he came out here. So … I’ve heard about you.” His pale green eyes hold some kind of … judgment? Maybe a secret?

When Dean had moved out to Hollywood, we were still together. In fact, we were together for two years while he slept on dirty couches and shopped his demo all over the recording industry out here. Two years of phone calls, miscommunication, horrible loneliness, wishing and hoping he would hit it big. Two years of me going to college parties alone, dodging guys when they hit on me, staying in on Friday nights to talk to my boyfriend who was across the country instead of making friends and experiencing higher education at its finest.

I would have done it for another five years, the separation, if it meant Dean was happy and chasing his dreams. But then he had to go and screw it all up.

“Oh yeah? So, you knew him before he was the Dean Jacobs. Not very many of us, huh?” I smirk as I sip some of the delicious bubbly.

“No, there aren’t. I guess that’s why he’s my best mate, we knew each other before these types corrupted us.” He points to the skinny girls cackling in our section.

The first time I’d heard Dean’s music on the radio, or shared on the Internet, I’d flipped out. Been over the moon happy. It was about a year and a half into him living out here, and he finally caught the eye of a label who said they could make him a star. And then they did. And the entire universe of our relationship came crashing down on my head.

“How are you enjoying your stay here? Do you like the job Dean found?” Neil has a way of making uncomfortable eye contact, and I squirm.

Even though no one besides Dean and I are supposed to know that this relationship is built on a lie, I’m pretty sure Neil is clued into the fact that we’re not doing the horizontal hula every night, or dancing under sunny skies during the day.

The music changes and some of the people in our section leave, going to the dance floor on drunken legs. Dean is still standing over in the corner, chatting with two guys he didn’t bother introducing me to. In fact, he hasn’t really bothered to pay any attention to me all night. We arrived together, he held my hand and posed for cutesy PDA pictures outside in full view of the tabloid photographers, but as soon as we got to the section assigned to us, he dropped my hand and his interest in me entirely.

I didn’t want to admit that after our shopping trip, I was actually enjoying spending time with him. And was disappointed that I was basically just a fly on the wall to him and his friends’ activities tonight.

It also didn’t help that he looked like Thor reincarnated. I had never really been into long hair on guys, and in high school that sunflower blond hair had been cropped close to his scalp. But this raggedy, tucked behind the ears, surfer look did things that were dangerous to the sensitive place between my thighs. The black T-shirt and jeans he wore stuck to every lean muscle on his body, and all of those tattoos I could never get close enough to examine showed in the dim lights of the club.

“It’s been good, getting some great experience at the hospital and the private practice I’ve been working at. And I love walking the beach in Malibu.”

That wasn’t a lie, I went for a walk almost every day on the beach right outside the back doors of Dean’s house. It was a private community, which meant no paparazzi, and I hardly ran into anyone while I walked past the coves on the white sand beach. It allowed me to think, to get out of my own way and de-stress from the day.

“Dean was telling me all of the cool work you do, can’t imagine being a doctor. If I ever need anything, I’m coming to you.” He tips his beer bottle in my direction.

I roll my eyes. “I’m a dermatologist, not a heart surgeon. I couldn’t save your life if it came down to it.”

Neil tilts his head to the side, eyeing me. “Yeah … Dean mentioned you always like to downplay your strengths. Did you ever think that’s why you doubted yourself the night he was photographed here? The night you broke up?”

The fact that he just came right out and spoke openly about the night of our demise shook me so hard that I almost couldn’t breathe. I could barely talk to my closest friends and family about how Dean and I had ended, and here was this complete stranger to me bringing it up so casually that he might as well be talking about his favorite kind of pizza.

And then another light bulb goes off. “This … this was the club he was at?”

I look around, trying to find something with the name of the establishment on it. I’d seared the name into my brain after reading so many stories on that night.

“Yeah, seven years ago he was here. Incognito, that is the name of the club. Not a very good place to hide your secrets though, apparently. Not that you listened to him about what actually happened.” There is a hint of disdain in Neil’s voice, and I’m confused as to why it’s directed at me.

I can’t focus on that anymore. My ears ring, my throat goes dry. How fucking dare he? Bring me to the club that he was with that whore in? The one place that I never wished to step foot in in my entire life … he brought me here? It’s got to be some kind of sick joke.

I march up to him, not caring who is around to hear or what conversation he is in the middle of.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit.”

And then I’m running.