Stalk Me (25 page)

“
Mom
! James!! Why didn’t you tell me all this?”

“We didn’t want to worry you, honey. We’ll tell you if you need to worry.”

“Okay, so what about this summer? About our plans?”

“I just don’t know, Keatyn,” Mom says.

“Mom, I don’t want to face my friends. And I might as well tell you now. I’ve been thinking about not going back to school. Like I might decide to be tutored again. Or do online classes or something.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to go back to school?”

“Just everything that’s happened. It’s not just what happened with Cush. It’s Vanessa and RiAnne. It’s just everything.”

“I don’t think you should run away from your problems. You need to be tough and work through them,” Tommy says.

Jeez, he sounds like Brooklyn. 

Mom makes a
hmmm
sound, and I hear everyone whispering in the background. I hear something about the creeper and not having to worry about me. Mom finally says, “If it weren’t for what happened with Brandon, I’d probably make you come home. I miss you. But I think I might agree that putting a little distance between you and your friends isn’t a bad idea. So, if you promise to check in twice a day and email us an itinerary, and
always
answer your phone when I call you, I guess the answer is yes.”  

“Yay! Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“Keatyn, I’m serious. I’m giving you an awful lot of freedom. Do not disappoint me.”

 “I won’t. I promise. Tell the girls I love them, and I’ll Skype them soon!”

“Be safe!” everyone says. 

“Love you too,” Mom says. She’s quiet for a couple seconds. “I still can’t believe you slept with Brandon and didn’t tell me!”

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Wednesday, July 27th

My horrific ends.

2pm

We got back yesterday from our tour of some of Europe’s greatest surfing spots. We really had a great time. We surfed some killer waves, many of which were way too advanced for me, but Brooklyn had no problems with them. He just seems to keep getting better and better. On the water he is in his element. It’s like he belongs on a wave, and it’s really where he seems happiest. 

And I’m happy too. We’ve relaxed and chilled.

There’s nothing like surfing and lying on the beach for a month to help you forget about reality.

But now that we’re back at the house here in France, I’m really pretty excited to get back to the real world. 

At least to dress up again. To do my hair all up.

For the beach, I packed very light. Bikinis, sweatshirts, and a few sundresses that I could roll into a ball and fit in a backpack. We stayed at a couple nice resorts, but overall, it was very casual. And I literally lived out of a large backpack.

For a month!

Which I need to check into, because that just might be some sort of fashion record.

For hanging with Damian on tour, we’ll be in bigger cities, which means I need good clothes, fun clothes. 

So as soon as we got back to the house, I excitedly hit the swag closet. 

Brooklyn finds me surrounded by clothes. 

“What are you doing?”

“Finding some cute outfits to pack. I wasn’t planning on being here all summer. I didn’t really bring very many clothes.”

He eyes the three pieces of luggage I have sitting on stands, and he cringes.

“Do you have to take the Vuitton luggage?”

“Yes. When you travel with good luggage, people treat you nicer. You should always dress nice when you travel. It says something about you.”

“Like I waste my money on conspicuous consumption because it makes me feel better about myself?”

I joke around and flip him off, but his comment irritates me a bit. 

“You did fine for the last month with just a backpack.”

“Yeah, but we were casual at the beach. Now we’ll be in cities; it’s different. And what about you? You know that we’ll go to some nice dinners. Don’t you think you should take some other clothes?”

“If I need stuff, I’ll buy it there.”

“So you want to spend money on clothes when I could give you some for free?” I come back with.

He just shakes his head at me.

Later while we’re riding to the airport, he says, “What are you doing?”

“What?” I say.

“You’ve been sitting there for the last twenty minutes doing nothing but looking at your hair.”

“I’m not looking at my hair, B. I’m looking at the ends of my hair. I think I found a few split ends.” I lean my head closer to him. Show him my horrific ends. “See?”

“I see hair.”

“You have to look at each strand. See how a few of the ends are broken-looking? It’s not healthy. I need a haircut. I can’t be seen on Damian’s tour with split ends.”

“You know, you worry a lot about how you look.”

“Well, of course I do. I always want to look nice. This summer, I’ve been totally slacking in that department.”

“You’re pretty without makeup. Without your hair all done. You’ve looked fine all summer.”

“Well, thank you. But I like the way I look when I wear makeup. When my hair is done. What’s wrong with wanting to look your best?”

“I don’t know. Just seems superficial. You need to chill.”

“FYI, Brooklyn. Hair is not supposed to look chill. It’s supposed to look pretty. Chill hair means bad hair, and I refuse to have bad hair. And I refuse to have split ends.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes at me.

“I’m calling Kym.” I grab my cell and hit Kym’s number. 

She answers, “Hey, girl. What’s up?”

“I have split ends and I’m going to be in Berlin tomorrow. Can you help me?”

“Of course, I can. Hang on. Let me look up a contact.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Okay. Let me make a call, and I’ll text you with the information. What time do you want to be seen?”

“How about two? That will give me plenty of time to get ready.” I look down at my toes and frown. “Honestly, my toes are really sad looking too. I’ve just been painting over them.”

“I’ll get you set up. What about Brook? Does he need anything?”

“B, do you need a haircut?” I ask him with a smirk. I already know the answer. 

He shakes his shaggy hair at me. 

“No, he’s good!”

Friday, August 12th

Hands all over your ass.

11:15pm

We’ve been following
Twisted Dreams
on tour for a little over two weeks now. And although our summer has been amazing, Brooklyn is starting to get on my nerves. 

Or maybe I'm getting on his nerves; I’m not sure. 

We didn’t fight all summer. Our time at the beach was perfect—easy and carefree. 

We’d get up at dawn, surf, and then come back and eat breakfast. We’d lay in the sun until late afternoon, then go back to our room, have sex and take a nap. Then we’d hang out with some of the new people we’d met, have dinner, and go to bed early. It was perfect.

But now, he keeps getting mad at me for no reason. 

Damian grew up like I did. Lots of traveling and visiting movie locations. Some of the places we've been have been gorgeous and opulent. Other places, not so much. I think we've both learned to function in any type of environment. Following Damian on tour, we've stayed at a wide variety of hotels, from modest ones in smaller cities to an opulent, modern one in Berlin. 

No matter where we went, B complained. 

Complained about my luggage. Complained about the food. Complained about the crowds. Complained about my clothes. Complained about my shopping.

So maybe I went a little crazy buying leather goods in Italy. I mean, it's Italian leather! Where else am I going to get it? So I bought a few pairs of Italian shoes. And so what if I maybe splurged on a gorgeous handbag?

When I told him it was okay to splurge on it because it’s a classic style that I’ll totally cherish forever, he laughed at me in a haughty way and told me only diamonds last forever. 

I grinned at him and told him he had a good point, and that we should start shopping for diamonds immediately. 

It shut him up for a while.

Now we’re in London, which is our last stop before B and I head home. It was also one of the biggest venues
Twisted Dreams
has played. 

I was so excited for them!

I dressed appropriately for the concert last night. 

I wore an adorable Dolce & Gabbana black mini loaded with spangles. Gorgeous black leather motorcycle jacket. Hot pink band t-shirt with huge letters that spell out ABBA and VOULEZ VOUS, which is the start of the French lyrics in one of their songs asking if you want to sleep with me tonight. And killer hot-pink glitter platform wedges.

I looked totally like a groupie. 

 B complained that my shirt was suggestive, my skirt was too short, my hair was too big, and my makeup was too thick. 

Fine. 

So he may have been right about that. The hot pink glitter eye shadow and the thick fake drugstore eyelashes may have been a bit much, but it looked so cute!  

And I didn’t look out of place at all. I fit right in. If anything, with his khaki shorts and Billabong T-shirt, he’s the one who looked out of place.

Tonight we're at a disco. A real European disco with raging techno music, crazy lights, and glow-in-the-dark splatter paint. Troy is the guest DJ and later the band is going to “surprise” the crowd with a three-song set.

I asked the concierge at our hotel where to buy club clothes. He said that wasn’t a typical request, so he called in a young bellman, who sent me to a store full of sparkly spandex and cheap club clothes. 

I found a black and acid-green tutu that was love at first sight. The sales girl with multiple piercings and tattoos assured me it would look awesome under the lights. She paired it with a tough-looking black corset. The corset has leather straps criss-crossing the front, which makes it look like something a dominatrix might wear. She suggested platforms to go with it, but I had snagged a pair of YSL black platform ankle boots from the swag closet for the trip and knew they would be perfect.

I thought B would compliment me on my bargain shopping. I was shocked at how cheap the whole outfit was! 

Troy whistled at me when I walked out of our room, which pissed Brooklyn off right away. And as moody as he’s been lately, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be a good night. 

It all started to go downhill when he decided he didn’t feel like dancing. 

How can you
not
feel like dancing at a place like this?

I decided not to push the subject, but I was still going to have fun and dance. So I went and danced with, well, everyone, because that's what you do at a club. You dance. I mostly danced with the guys from the band, until they had to go get set up.

I’m dancing with a cute guy who has an adorable British accent when Brooklyn marches out on the dance floor, grabs my arm, and pulls me away. 

I think something is wrong, so I go with him. 

He pulls me over to the table where he's been pouting and says, “That’s it. We're leaving." 

“Why? It’s early. The band hasn’t even played yet.”

"I'm not gonna sit here and watch some guy put his hands all over your ass!” 

“Then come dance with me, and you can be the guy putting his hands all over me.”

"I hate this techno shit."

“Well, I love it, and I'm having fun. I've missed going dancing with . . ." I stop. I almost said Cush. I realize that I do miss dancing with Cush. 

“With who? When did you go dancing?"

"I dance, B. I take classes. It's just what I do."

“Guys have their hands all over your ass in class?"

“Don’t be stupid. Just dance with me. You can't leave yet. It's just getting going. Troy will have this place in a frenzy pretty soon. It’ll be awesome.”

He gives me a mad face. “I’m not stupid, and since when do you know so much about Troy?"

“He used to DJ at a club. I went there to dance. It’s not a big deal.”

“Well I’ve had enough, and I’m leaving. You coming with me?"

“No, I'm not. We came to listen to the band. To have fun. Maybe you should try it."

"I'm out of here. When you're in places like this, when you dress like this, you kinda turn into a bitch." 

He might as well have slapped me across the face. I recoil.

I take a deep breath, turn my back on him, and walk my ass back out on the dance floor.

Saturday, August 13th

Our room feels very empty.

2pm

I didn't get back to the hotel until nine this morning. Brooklyn didn’t speak to me when I walked in our room, so I shut the curtains, crawled into bed, and went to sleep. 

When I woke up, he was gone. 

Our room feels very empty.

Kinda like my heart. 

I took a shower and cried the entire time. My emotions have ranged from really sad and hurt to really pissed off.

I don't understand how he can think I'm a bitch. I've been nice to everyone. I love him, but I'm not happy sitting on the sidelines. What's so wrong with wanting to experience life? I think he was being a dick for not dancing with me. 

I get the tears out of my system, dry off, put on a fluffy white hotel robe, and order room service. 

I'm sitting on the bed eating when Brooklyn walks through the door. 

I don't say a word to him. I can play the I’m-not-talking-to-you game too, even though I really want to tell him what a jerk he was last night. 

He sits on the bed gently. 

“You look beautiful. That's how I like you. Hair wet, no makeup on.” 

“I’m glad you like me with no makeup on, but if you love me, all of me, you have to like me when I wear makeup too. And I appreciate your sweetness now, but last night you were a dick."

This immediately pisses him off. 

“Well, maybe if you weren't letting guys put their hands all over you, I wouldn't have been a dick."