Aaron
I toss my bags in the back of the limo, not waiting for the driver to help me.
“Fuck!” I cry out in aggravation.
Why am I so fucking pissed right now?
It’s not like me to get this agitated over a fucking fling. I left it how it should’ve been left—without any explanation and no strings attached. I should feel nothing but satisfied.
But it’s Macy.
Like the idiot she turns me into, I thought it would be an easy getaway.
I should’ve assumed this type of goodbye was in the cards and prepared accordingly. It’s obvious to me, now, that leaving the resort—and going our separate ways—would be just as eventful as the day I met her.
As I’ve learned quickly, nothing is simple with her. And arguably, that’s what made it all the more tempting and fun. But fuck, I was seconds away from running to the airport, leaving everything at the resort and making a quick exit.
That’s how badly I need, and needed, to get away from her, from the whole damn thing.
But I don’t do that shit. I’m better than that.
If anything, this is yet another reason I don’t do this shit—this fucking relationship shit.
She’s worse than my worst school teachers—nagging, asking irrelevant questions, and then fucking accusing me of something I didn’t do.
Something that had no bearing on our relationship in the first place. Ugh…fling, not relationship.
Christ.
Sliding into the back of the limo, I run my hands through my hair, nearly pulling it out.
Why does she always have to be so damn aggravating? And more importantly, how in the fuck does she have this power and the ability to get under my skin like this?
Fuck it, it’s all over now, anyway.
But this is not how I wanted it to end.
Though I doubt she’ll admit it, she cares. She cares too much.
And that’s the number one thing you’re not supposed to do with a fling, a vacation fling.
We fuck—and fuck some more— then stop, never to see or hear from each other again. There are no feelings involved, so no one gets hurt.
But she confirmed my worst suspicions.
She accused me of lying to her. What the fuck?
Yeah, I might not have told her about Anna. But I wasn’t lying to her, my past relationships were not pertinent to our relationship.
Fuck—our fling.
An irritating ache of guilt punches me in my gut, and I lean over, resting my elbows on my knees, rubbing my temples.
Fuck, I feel like I’m going to throw up.
No. I have nothing to feel guilty about, right?
But then, why am I here? Contemplating if I did something wrong or to warrant that type of reaction.
Despite my better judgement, I’m worried about her, and how I left her—confused, shocked, and hurt.
“Ughhhh…”
I’m fucking confused.
When did she...no, when did I let this happen?
How did I not see it coming? So that I could prepare for and against the feelings that were obviously brewing in her.
I know though, I’m not technically lying my way out of this. I’m not fucking running away from problems.
In all reality, I’m running straight into a shit storm. Willingly.
“Airport, now,” I shout to the driver.
Manners are the last thing on my mind—getting myself out of here and away from Macy is the first.
I need to get away from her as quickly as possible. The more time I spend mulling over my guilt, contemplating what happened, the more likely I won’t leave.
If I do stay, I’ll...no, we’ll both regret something.
I shake my head, replaying everything I said to her.
What did I do wrong?
I clearly stated, in bold fucking letters, that I don’t believe in love. right?
And I was under the impression that she doesn’t either.
Her curt way of making fun of romantic comedies, and romance just in general, had me believing we were cut from the same cloth. But just like every other maddening woman, she fell for those Hollywood endings and tales of fairytale romance.
Her reaction to Anna said everything, and it contradicted everything she said she believed in. I’ve seen these arguments before, where the boy loses the girl.
Fuck, I made these arguments happen.
But unlike Hollywood, this isn’t going to have a fucking happily ever after.
It’s over now.
I should’ve stopped this…whatever this fucking is long ago, before feelings got involved.
Fuck.
I search for my phone, losing my patience. I don’t find it in either of my back pockets.
Ugh…where in the hell did I put it?
I roll my eyes in exasperation, purely exhausted over everything. This bullshit isn’t making it any better.
I stop looking for a second, throwing my head back on the seat.
“Goddamn it!” I yell, not worried about the driving hearing me.
I better not have fucking forgot it in the suite. I won’t do that shit again.
On my second attempt, I find it…in my front pocket.
Fucking. Idiot.
This is my fault. I should know better, but I let myself get thrown for a serious loop.
I dial the studio head’s number.
He’s been waiting to hear from me, so why not get my shit together and focus on what I need to—my fucking job.
I do have to let them know like right fucking now, as the email so politely spelled out.
Holding my phone, waiting for him to answer, my heart starts to race, and my palms sweat.
Anxiety spirals through me, rapidly, overwhelmingly.
I don’t understand this sudden reaction…I have nothing to be nervous about. This is one of those movies that will elevate my career even higher.
Okay, so maybe it’s a big deal and being nervous comes with making big decisions.
But I’m fucking Aaron Michaelson, I don’t get nervous.
I just do. And I do it confidently.
But now, after today, I’ve realized that some doing can fuck me over.
He answers on the first ring.
“Michaelson—where the fuck have you been?” he yells at me, forcing me to move the phone away from my ear, avoiding the possibility of him blowing out my ear drum. “We need to know—are you in or are you out? Yes or no?”
He is straight to the point as studio heads always are. There’s no beating around the bush with Gene, which I’ve always appreciated, but now, it’s freaking me the fuck out.
I try to force the yes out of my mouth, but my anxiety intensifies, and my chest tightens.
I gasp for air, finding it hard to breathe.
What the fuck is happening?
Sweat forms at my brow, and I feel bile creep up my throat.
Shit, I’m going to throw up or pass out—or both.
I clutch my stomach, and my body starts to shake.
Ughhh…
Trying to steady myself, I inhale and exhale, using my mediation skills.
I’ve done yoga before—thanks to LA—and I think I can get myself down or up to a level of Zen or whatever the fuck it’s called.
But this feels like a panic attack or an anxiety attack—I’m not sure. I’ve never had anything like that before.
“Gene! What time is it there? Why are you answering your phone so fast? Are things that critical?”
I’m mumbling, working through this sudden state of panic, trying to avoid answering.
But Gene isn’t having it.
“Cut the shit, Michaelson. What is it?”
Fuck, here goes nothing.
“Yes…it’s a yes,” I rush out, holding onto the little bit of dignity I have left at this moment.
I’m thankful I didn’t end up doing this in person. If he would’ve seen me like I am now, I’d have nothing to stand on.
“Good. We’ll set up a meeting for tomorrow morning. Is seven good for you?”
Fuck, this is quick. But I don’t know why I am surprised…this shit happens all the time. Hollywood moves at a fucking rocket ship pace, and if you can’t handle it, then you’ll be quickly and easily dismissed.
“I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
He hangs up even though the word has barely come out of his mouth. I lean back on the cushion, breathing erratically, and settle into what just happened.
I know I made the right decision.
I was going to say yes regardless of what happened with Macy.
This project is my golden ticket.
So why am I reacting like this?
It’s unnerving. And I hate that this conversation alone is bringing out weird, new facets of me with on onslaught of feelings that I’m not familiar with.
I don’t need this shit, especially right now.
I have to admit it though, she fucking rocked me. And now, this whole thing is making me question everything. Things that I would’ve said yes to or have done without a second thought.
I don’t like it, and I don’t fucking need it.
Reaching the airport, I reassure myself that it’s done.
Macy is gone, and my project is green-lighted.
Things are right in the world again.
With some relief trickling in and the tension gone, I laugh at myself. I can’t believe that I almost let myself give in to all that bullshit again.
Hopefully, once I land in LA, I’ll be able to shake this aching guilt still gnawing at me.