Page 58 of Hey Girl

“Mouse! Hey babe, what’s up?” He picks up after one ring, sounding jolly as ever and for once, I resent it.

“Wh- wh…” I begin. I’m not sure what words I’m even trying to get out, but I thought the struggle with my stutter had taken a seat at the back of the bus. I’ve felt so happy and relaxed these last few months I have barely given it a thought. But, right on cue, it’s back in full force just when I really need it not to be.

“Babe? Rebecca?” I hear his voice take on a more serious note. “What’s going on, are you okay?”

He doesn’t know…

“H - h - how… wh - … I …”

I can’t talk. I can’t talk to Chris. In both the literal and figurative senses, it would seem. I’m panicking more, now, my breathing getting even more shallow.

I hang up on Chris, hoping I can explain later and I leave my phone to buzz and ding like crazy on the table as I stumble to the kitchen and jerk open one of the drawers to retrieve a paper bag. My phone continues to go nuts in the other room as I sink to the kitchen floor.

Chris

“Rebecca?”I say into the phone but am answered with radio silence. “Shit,” I mutter, dialing her number back, my body stiff as a goddamn board as I wait for her to answer.

“Chris!” Matt shouts. “We’ve gotta get back to it,” he nods his head at my drum kit. We have our setup in a rented warehouse that we often use to rehearse for tours. I hold my hand up at him as Rebecca’s phone continues to ring. I hang up and try again and again with no answer.

“Chris!” Matt shouts with his arms out. “What the hell, man?”

I look up at him, trying to find a way to say that something’s not right with my Rebecca when my phone pings in my hand and I hear everyone else’s phones chime immediately after. The whole room sounds like the fucking Small World After All ride. I glance around, stunned, as everyone in the room seems to reach for the phone like this is some choreographed sketch. My eyes fall to my screen to find several messages coming in, mostly from contacts in my phone and some from completely anonymous numbers. One from Ron lights up my screen and I tap on it, my heart plummeting to my gut when I see a headline from Celebrity Dirt&Dish… with photos of my beautiful girl beneath them. My girl.

Someone might as well have stripped her naked and pushed her out in the middle of Times Square. So many goddamn thoughts flash through my mind, threatening to make it self destruct. My heart is ramming against my ribcage and I’m feeling lightheaded when I take a deep breath and force myself to snap out of it. I can’t lose my shit. Rebecca’s losing hers right now most likely and I need to keep my head screwed on straight so I can get to her and help her.

When the room stops spinning, I think fast.

“Don’t look at your phones!” I boom into the wide space and

I get several confused looks from my band mates and a handful of stage techs.

“Don’t look at your phones, please!” I shout again and I must have a deadass serious look on my face because no one dares todefy me. I’ll have to tuck that nugget away for later, I could really mess with people another time.

I bolt over to my drum kit, snatching my jacket off the stool, and checking to make sure my car keys are in the pocket.

“Chris, what’s going on?” Jack walks over, concern etching his features as I shrug my coat on.

“Just…” I look around, still trying to make sure no one has opened the link that probably got sent to the entire human population. “There’s a gossip story going around about Rebecca… with pictures.”

He lets out a stress-riddled breath. We’ve all had ridiculous, bullshit stories printed about us that don’t have an ounce of truth to them - well, okay, the ones about me are usually true - but we’re accustomed to it. We basically signed on for it. But not my girl. She’s not prepared to handle this and she shouldn’t have to.

“Can you please, just do your best to make sure no one looks at it?” I ask. I know I’m too late for the rest of the world, but if I can keep everyone in our inner circle from seeing these photos, I hope to save Rebecca the embarrassment of people she knows laying eyes on them.

Jack gives me a solemn look and a curt nod. “You got it,” he assures me. I give his shoulder a grateful slap before taking off towards my car.

The entire drive to Rebecca’s house, I’m seething. I never knew I could feel like this; so angry. Those photos were for my eyes only. They’re deeply fucking personal and no one has any right to go through my personal photos and then show them to the rest of the fucking world. I’m an easy-going guy - if you haven’t figured that out by now - so I don’t quite know what to do with these negative emotions. I just know I feel like I want to find what lowlife son of a bitch did this and put them six feet under. Too dark?

Sorry, not sorry, I’m pissed.

Taking it out on city traffic, I lay on my horn and the gas pedal, shouting at assholes to get the fuck out of my way so I can get to the girl I love and hold her, tell her it’s going to be okay and whatever the fuck else on earth she needs.

When I finally get off the freeway and zip and zoom my way through her neighborhood, I pull a screeching Tokyo drift into her driveway.

I fly out of my Kia, leaving the door open and trudge up her front steps to find the door locked. How the fuck do I not have a key? I’m her boyfriend, dammit. I should have a - nevermind. She needs to know I’m here and that wild horses won’t keep me away, and I start pounding away on her door.

19

REBECCA

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