Page 69 of Make Me Laugh

“What?” There are at least ten question marks floating at the end of the word. Am I okay?

I don’t know how to answer that question.

“Hex has a face.” West looks at me like I’m the only person in the entire world, and it scares the fucking shit out of me—almost as much as having a conversation about the post I made today does.

I texted Frankie to see what she was doing tonight right after it went live, needing some kind of distraction. Even though I told myself I wouldn’t talk to West until Friday, unless it was business, I texted him too.

Mostly because I wanted to see him, though I won’t fully accept that as the only reason, and tell myself it’s important to set clear expectations of what our friendship looks like moving forward. Especially when the world is going to have something to say about everything we do from this moment on.

I’m not the girl West is looking for. I’m something he feels he can’t have, so naturally he’s obsessed with trying to get it.

A shiny toy.

My newness will fade, and he’ll move on.

It’s better this way.

For me. For him. For everyone.

“Oh, that.” I roll my eyes and deflect. “It’s no big deal,” I lie.

West crosses his arms over his chest, and I can’t help my eyes dart down in hopes I’ll catch a glimpse of the muscles flexing underneath his LOLondon hoodie.

No luck.

“You’re a shit liar,” he scrutinizes.

“I am not.” Staying strong under the knowing stare West holds on me is impossible. “It’s just a video. It’s not like they hadn’t seen my face already.”

West sighs and lets his arms fall to his sides. He flexes his hands like he needs to give them something to do. “You can talk to me, you know? I’m in this with you.” I think he might reach out and touch me, but he doesn’t, and I’m only mildly disappointed. “I might not be in the exact situation you’re in, but I am the other half of this fake relationship.”

The words hang between us, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to say back. He’s right. I should confide in the one person who’s going through this with me, but that means opening up and ripping my broken pieces out to put them on display.

I can’t do that.

I’ve done that before, and it took me too long to stitch myself back up.

Before I can get my brain to process words to speak, West interrupts. “Other than money or a new job, what are you hoping to accomplish by the end of this tour?”

My ponytail brushes over my shoulder when I tilt my head to one side, opening my mouth to tell him I’m only interested in money, but his eyebrow raising cuts me off.

What do I want?

I catch my bottom lip in between my teeth and look down. Early leaves falling from trees scatter around my feet. I used to know what I wanted. At every stage of my life I had a goal and a clear plan on how to achieve it.

For the first time, I have no idea what happens next.

I know I need to get a job.

I know I need to make money until I find something long-term.

But outside of those two things, I don’t know what I want next in life.

I’m almost a month from turning thirty-two, and I’ve never allowed myself to go with the flow. What would happen if I loosened the reins enough to see where life can take me without big, structured plans?

When I look up from the invisible hole I’ve stared into the ground, I take a breath and catch West’s comforting gaze. “I’d like to get to know who I am when I let go of everyone else’s expectations and stop trying to prove I’m good enough.” I’ve been living under the weight of what others expected me to be all my life, with a preconceived reputation brought on by a mother who’d grown up in the same boring hometown.

I might have been young, but they weren’t quiet when they whispered about the strip club I’d end up at when I grew into my hips—again, their words, not mine.