Page 2 of Hey Girl

Ohh, Tatiana.

When you live the wacky kind of life I do, you tend to get mixed up with some questionable people and wow, is Tatiana her own brand. I asked for some space when she got a little too clingy - and by clingy, I mean tattooing my name across her ass, bulldozing her way past security at VIP parties, and scaring the shit out of me by breaking into my laundry hamper - and she did not like that at all. It only made her up her game, and it’s been a steroid level game of cat and mouse ever since.

I pick my phone back up and swipe to answer as I cautiously step through the bedroom door of whoever the hell’s mansion this is.

“Tatiana! Hey!” I greet the psychopath on the other end as I drape the boa over my shoulders. “How are you doing, sweetie?” Gotta use kid gloves with this one.

“CHRIIIIS!” she wails into the phone on a sob. Oh yeah, she’s off her meds again. “Where ARE you?!”

“What?” I nervously chuckle as I look every which way I can as I tromp down the stairs. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re around here somewhere, motherfucker!”

Fuck. I hate it when I’m right.

“Around where?” I play dumb as I gingerly crack open the massive front door to this party pad. I peek my head out slowly, looking both ways. She could be anywhere, lurking in the shadows, ready to strike. When the coast looks clear, I fully emerge from the house, phone still to my ear.

“Don’t play with me!” She scream-cries again between sobs.

“I’m not playing with you, sweetie,” I try to placate as I start walking down the driveway on this beautiful morning. “Hey, you sound tense. Do you want to do some breathing?”

“Fuck you Mr. Fancy Rockstar! You know what I need!”

“Uh, no. What’s that?” I ask coyly again as I reach the end of the nicely paved drive and step onto the street.

“I need you to get your head out of your ass and come back to me and repair the remaining shards of the heart you broke, you ASSHOLE!”

She’s so poetic. That’s one of the things I liked about her. Before she showed me she was really cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs and her nasty side made itself known.

“Now, now,” I chide, trying to sound like the voice of reason. No, the irony is not lost on me as I keep a soothing, placating tone. “We’ve been over this, Tatiana. We were getting along great until you started to have an issue with space in all of its forms. I tried to tell you it’s healthy for a couple to maintain separate space, to grow individually so that-”

“Shut up with that bullshit!” She interrupts sounding like a scorned harpy. “I gave you EVERYTHING! Every single piece of my heart and you told me you needed space and that I needed to chill! Who says that?!”

I roll my eyes, starting to get fed up for the zillionth time this year. It’s not that she’s crazy; like Norman Bates said: we all go a little mad sometimes. It’s that she’s spiteful and dangerous with a mean streak a mile wide. This one time she got pissed thatshe couldn’t reach me, she decided to throw a dead rat at Mayzie backstage, convinced I was having an affair with her. Poor rat.

“Tatiana, my name in a small calligraphic font inside a cute heart or something would be one thing. But you got my name in giant bold caps across both cheeks. It was a little…” I trail off when I hear a familiar rumbling.

Oh…no.

In case I needed confirmation, I hear the tell-tale rev of a giant engine with seven hundred horse power that belongs to an even more giant lifted black monster truck.

I slowly turn, phone still up to my ear even though it’s pointless.

She found me.

Sure enough, I’m face to face with the aforementioned truck; a raven-haired beauty with a few screws loose behind the wheel, mascara streaking her cheeks and determination etched in her eyes. She looks pissed. So does the truck, actually, with its wide chrome grill.

Welp. No good’s going to come from just standing here.

I turn and bolt in the opposite direction, looking for any kind of life-saving detour. I hear the engine gunning behind me, a proverbial hound of hell snapping at my heels. It’s obvious my legs, powerful and toned as they are, are no match for this beast.

I need reinforcements.

I bring my phone back up and dial one of the band’s drivers.

“Where the fuck are you, and what have you done now?” Wes answers on the first ring and I can imagine him shaking his head.

“Some rich neighborhood in the Hills, and nothing!”

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