isla, lydia's bedroom

"I can't believe you didn't go to the airport to say goodbye," Lydia mumbles, head tilted in concentration as she gathers her copper hair into a tight bun. She turns around, trying to look at it from all angles. "Is my hair alright?"

"Luke didn't want me to," I shrug, as if it's nothing. As if I don't feel disappointed or let down. My eyes wander to Lydia's perfect hairstyle. "You hair is fine. Anyway, it's a job interview, not a beauty pageant."

As if I know anything about job interviews. I landed my bar job by pouring too much vodka in a cocktail that wasn't meant to have any vodka in it.

I suppose I should have never got the job in the first place. Lydia is still convinced it's because Alex, the manager, is a creep and because I have a great arse. Doesn't matter now, I got fired for getting drunk and going home with a blonde birthday boy from Sydney. I guess Luke got his birthday wish in the end.

Who would have known I was that easy.

"Luke didn't want you to?" she says, her blue eyes narrowing as she repeats my statement. "Why wouldn't he want you to be there?"

"He just. . ." I debate whether or not to tell the whole story. "He just didn't wanna cry in public."

I guess it makes sense. Luke has an image to keep up, and if he acts as sappy as he does when we hang out, he could never be a rockstar. Ever.

"Do you reckon he would actually have cried?"

"Yeah. I saw him last night. He broke up with me."

"He broke up with you? You said you weren't dating." Lydia sits down on the bed, obviously making herself comfortable for the rest of the story.

"Well, he broke off whatever was going on. It's done."

"So, no sexts on the road? No risqué pics from the top bunk? A cheeky post concert conversation?"

"Oh, shut up." I reach for the nearest object - a hairbrush - and throw it in her direction. It hits the wall behind her. "I wouldn't want his dick pics anyway."

"Guys still send them!" Lydia shakes her head in laughter, "It's like a present but it's not your birthday and the gift is disappointing even though you expected nothing."

"You're insane."

"Aren't we all? Especially you, going through pictures of him."

She's caught me. I've found the pictures from the airport.

I told myself I wouldn't look. But I've managed to find the tag with all of the photos of him meeting fans this morning. Bad idea.

Luke is wearing expensive brand sunglasses. They hide his reddened eyes pretty well. In the ones where he's taken them off, he looks absolutely crushed.

"He looks like he's on drugs."

"His eyes are sensitive," I say, repeating what Luke said last night while I was wiping the tears off his cheeks with my shirtsleeves. As if it's hayfever making him cry.

"That's such bullshit and you know it."

"I'm only protecting him from trolls like you, saying he looks like he's on drugs when really he's upset. Give him a break. I bet touring is tough enough."

Lydia just laughs at me. "It's kind of sweet, though. I guess he's not really as carefree as he would like everyone to think."

Apparently not. In the public eye, he's the perfect example of happy-go-lucky. If they only knew he was crying hysterically into my pillow last night.

The image of Luke flickers through my mind; he's sat in bed, completely distraught, hair in all kinds of directions and dark bags under his eyes. Duvet wrapped around his pale, naked body. I don't think anyone has ever looked so sad.

I slept through him taking his suitcase and leaving me in the early morning hours. When I woke, he was long gone. No text or note. Nothing. The only signs of him ever being there were the crumpled sheets on his side of the bed and the necklace he always wears left on the bedside table.

I don't even like airports. There is something about someone else deciding when it's time to go. Arrivals and departures are nothing but scheduled hello and goodbyes.

So when Luke said he'd rather end things the night before, I was relieved. It would mean a clean break.

I just didn't expect him to start full on ugly crying all over me.

He's usually so pretty; I didn't know where to look as the snot mixed with tears and smeared over my shirt. Well, technically his shirt. I just wear it when we sleep together cause I feel less exposed. He doesn't seem to mind. I'll be the one washing it.

Maybe I'll sell it off eBay. Some fangirl somewhere might buy. Preferably in the same price range as rare unicorn tears. Expensive as fuck.

Eh, I'm not sure how I'd feel about them owning the infamous shag shirt.

I should probably just wash it and give it back to Luke.

"I get that he's emotional and that," Lydia brings me back to planet Earth, "but isn't it the dumpee who should be crying?"

"I don't cry."

Luke said himself he'd never get emotionally attached. Not sure why I believed this. I guess in my head, Luke was perfectly good at letting things go as the tour moved from city to city. It made sense, thinking he'd meet girls along the way he'd never see again. And that he'd be fine about that.

I might have got that wrong.

-
i didn't leave you guys
i'm back

i hope you'll love this story

~lauren