Page 17 of Wild Eyes
There’s something deeply earnest in her words, and it keeps me from saying anything more. Instead, I honor her wishes and back away slowly.
“You need anything, knock on the door. Anytime. I’m just up the hill, all right?”
Her head bobs delicately as a tear tumbles from her lower lashes and lands right on the apple of her perfectly bronzed cheek.
She swipes it away as quickly as it falls.
I want to walk back in and hug her. But I don’t. I’m well acquainted with the fight-or-flight response. Right now, this girl looks ready to pack up and fly away. Which I can’t stand because I get the sense she needs this place right now.
And for some inexplicable reason, I don’t want her to leave.
CHAPTER FIVE
SKYLAR
“This place is a dump,”I mumble as I do some semblance of unpacking.
“This place is a dump!”Cherry calls out from where she’s perched on my shoulder, making me wonder if she’s the one with legendary shit-talk or if I’m the problem.
I attempt to shift my way of thinking. “This place is charming.”
Cherry makes no such attempt. “This place is a dump!”
My phone rings, and when I pick it up to check it, I’m not at all surprised to see that it’s my dad. My “Dad-ager,” as we’ve jokingly referred to him my entire life since he’s practically managed everything about my existence. My career. My money.
My relationships.
I click the call off again. Not ready to speak to him. I know he’ll gaslight me and make me question everything I think I know about myself. And my agent, Jerry, will support him quietly by giving me jobs or advice that meet my dad’s goals.
The text messages that continue to pile up tell me as much.
Dad:
You can take time away. But you’re overreacting by refusing to talk to us. This kind of erratic behavior just gives the press more fuel to call you crazy.
Jerry:
I’m going to release a statement saying that you’re hard at work in the recording studio. Be back by next week and I can get you seen out at Nobu with someone even hotter than Andrew.
I scoff.Back by next week my ass.
Now that I’ve left, there’s this little part of me that doesn’t want to go back at all. Ever. The constant exercise, primping, practice…it all exhausts me. Sure, it makes my performances better for the fans—and I do love my fans. But I miss just singing. For fun. In the shower. In the car. As I tidy my house. I’ve lost the simple pleasure of those moments.
Music used to bring me joy; it used to put a skip in my step. But now I dread it. I dread stepping out onto the stage. And even a sea of happy faces and young girls singing my songs back to me doesn’t make a dent in my melancholy.
My gut drops as I toss my phone onto the mattress below me. The realization that my parents have managed to ruin my one passion in life makes my stomach turn and my blood boil.
I’ve been furious with them for weeks, but yesterday’s humiliation was the final straw. Thinking about it makes me sick, so I don’t. I focus on settling in and instead get lost thinking about tattooed hands and golden skin.
Unpacking goes quickly as my mind drifts and soon I find myself wanting to wander down to the lake. I place Cherry back in her cage with a fresh dish of food and then leave the bunkhouse without a backward glance. I don’t tell anyone where I’m going, and there’s no deadline on when I need to return. No obligations.
There’s something about having nowhere to be and no one to impress that is profoundly freeing. I might even sit by the water all night and sleep under the stars.
I’m not sure yet. All I know is the world is my oyster in a way it never has been.
I scramble down the short drop from grass to lake in the least ladylike fashion anyone could ever muster. I’m like Bambi on ice, all limbs as I tumble down onto the pebbled shoreline.
There’s a massive tree straddling the lake’s edge, held strong by thick roots on one side that grip into the soil behind it. The other side’s roots go straight out before dropping a good three feet at a gnarled right angle into the rocks and silt lining the shore.
