I lied to Val.

Add it to the laundry list of my sins, but I couldn't bring myself to admit the truth. I heard from Andrew almost every single day.

It wasn't like we were extremely close. We still hadn't seen each other since the night I tried to make out with his cast mate, and I had no intention of changing that anytime soon. Hell, I didn't even respond to him when he sent me a text.

But he kept sending them. Every single day, without exception, I received a text from Andrew Shepherd.

I had a collection of them by now, most of them comprised of a single sentence, and each one sent a fresh wave of pain through my heart. Like shards of glass ripping their way through my body and lodging themselves into my chest, they tore away at the jagged remains of my soul. I wanted to beg him to stop sending them, to tell him that I hated him and never wanted to hear from him again, but I couldn't bring myself to tell that lie.

Not when, over the course of six months, I still hadn't gotten over him.

Funny how that works, isn't it? Only a week after I met him, my world went to shit. Tilted off its axis, it was all I could do to hold on for dear life. Within a month, I'd started down a path of self-destruction that led me directly to here. I should've asked for help, I should've done something other than what I did, but instead I was stubborn. I self-medicated. I clung to the belief that I was doing this for "what's best," whatever the hell that meant.

I hated myself for what I'd done to Andrew - what I was still doing to him - and yet I couldn't bring myself to stop.

I liked him, more than I cared to admit, and it got worse - not better - over the course of time. His daily text messages made me feel special in a way I was completely unused to feeling, and - even as I pushed him further away - he never turned on me. He never got angry with me.

Sometimes I wished he would.

Instead, I dealt with the deadly silence. I was forced to watch as he started seeing Danielle more often, overhearing tidbits of her stories at work, and seeing them pop up on social media and the news. The number of followers I'd gained from our short stint in the media dwindled rapidly, and the comments trickled down to a bare minimum. Only a few still stooped to mention me every now and again, mostly commenting on how I was the girl who 'almost' dated Lincoln Shepherd.

The paparazzi stopped hounding me as soon as Danielle and Andrew were seen in public together. After their first date, she was labeled 'America's sweetheart' with her large doe eyes and ever-present smile. She agreed to select interviews, probably hand-picked by Andrew's publicist Jazmin, and always seemed amiable and welcoming without giving off the vibe that she was in it for the attention.

I quickly sunk into the background, no longer worth mentioning, and I was glad for it. Less people to witness my descent into oblivion.

Andrew's texts were the final reminder of that portion of my life, the moment that disappeared in a blink of an eye, and - as much as I hated them - I was glad they hadn't stopped. Normally he kept it simple, asking if I was okay or telling me to have a good day. Sometimes he asked me what happened, why I stopped speaking to him, why I wouldn't respond to any of his texts. He told me that he still cared about me, as a friend, and that he wanted to help. He urged me to talk to Val, to Danielle, to my other friends, to him....to anyone. Other times he sent photos from set, gorgeous nature shots from the various locations he traveled to with his work, as well as silly photos with cast mates.

On my birthday he sent me a link to a playlist on Spotify, but I couldn't bring myself to listen to any of it. I saved it to my account, aptly named "Birthday Mix," but music was no longer the refuge it once was. I refused to even open the playlist to see the songs he had added to it, because I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it. Instead of a comfort, music had become a reminder of the pain I had suffered, the loss I had endured, and I couldn't listen to any of my old favorites without a sharp pang of regret stabbing through my chest.

I tried to text him back more than once, my fingers itching over the keyboard, but I didn't know what to say. Sorry I'm an idiot? Sorry I lost my sense of self-control? Sorry I drowned my sorrows in alcohol? Sorry I don't know what to do anymore? I couldn't ask him for help either, no matter how much I wanted to do so. Telling him would expose the secret I was carrying to the world, which was something I couldn't bring myself to do.

No, if I wanted to fix this, I would need to fix it myself.

Andrew's last text had ripped a hole in me, one I tried to fill with alcohol, but it wasn't working. Nothing was working. I'd finally come to terms with the fact that I was developing a problem, one I didn't want to have, and the only solution was to face my problems head on.

I miss you.

That's what he'd texted me. After six months - five months without seeing each other - I didn't expect to see those three words. His relationship with Danielle was going well, according to the tabloids and the gossip I secretly devoured online, and there were rumors of a possible engagement in the future.

Rumors that I couldn't stand to hear.

I knew he'd been engaged in the past. He'd dated off and on in Hollywood, but - in 2012 - he announced his engagement to his costar Alexis Van Heust. She was a sweet girl, known for her big blue eyes and burgeoning singing career, and the split was - according to all online reports - amicable. Andrew and I had never talked about his past relationships, but I'd spent a few intoxicated nights reading his Wikipedia page and pretty much every entry about him on Perez Hilton's blog, so I also knew that Alexis was now happily dating Tom Hiddleston, and the two seemed very happy.

Everything online said that they broke up in order to preserve their friendship, stating that each of them were at different stages of their lives but they would always be close, while some sources claimed that Andrew wanted to get married sooner rather than later.

If that were true, it would lend some credence to the rumors circulating now that his whirlwind relationship with Danielle might take the next step soon. Every time I read about it online, I felt nauseous - unable to stomach the idea that he had moved on so quickly - but I knew that I didn't have any sort of claim to him. We barely knew each other, having spent only a few weeks talking before it all went to shit, so what could I say? That I was in love with him? That he should be with me, not her?

Life doesn't exactly work that way.

Still, his relationship status continued to eat away at me more than it should. I shouldn't care that he was with Danielle now, that she had quit her job at Starbucks in favor of a potential modeling contract. Andrew was a grown ass man, and he didn't need me to protect him from anything - especially not when I had absolutely no right to speak for him. We were never in a relationship, and I wasn't even certain I could say we were ever friends.

I wanted to text him back. I wanted to tell him that I missed him too. I wanted to explain that it wasn't my fault, but I refused to be that girl. The girl who needed a man to save her. The girl who couldn't stand on her own two feet. The girl who texted a guy who was already in a relationship.

But as much as I lied - to Val and to myself - I couldn't keep lying to Andrew. It was eating away at me, every single day, and it was the thing that pushed me toward alcohol. It was the reason my life spiraled out of control, why I wasn't sure if I would be able to attend school in the spring and why I was on the verge of losing my job. I couldn't keep doing this to myself, being pulled between two lies until I felt like I was about to be torn in half, but I couldn't choose.

I had to tell him. I needed to tell him.

I couldn't.

I know the last few chapters have been tough to read, but Cait has officially hit rock bottom. (Unfortunately.) 

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