Under the Texas Sky

CHAPTER 27

KIAN

Note to self: never invite your boyfriend to a very important party with you when he’s an attention whore. I shake my head, watching Klaus rant and rave to anyone who will listen to him talk about his endeavors.

At first, it was charming to know how many different places he’s traveled to. How many different experiences he’s had in life. I loved it and so did Willow.

It was easy with Klaus. We both knew the score when he came down last year and spent the week with me and Willow. I was not going to hook up with him, and I was not going to film content with him. Two very basic rules.

Somehow, even with his charismatic self, I didn’t end up doing either of those, but I did agree to one date. One. We had fun, and that was something that I wasn’t used to while I was dating. Sure, me and Satan's reincarnation had fun times, but they’ve all been tainted for me.

Long distance wasn’t the best option for me and Klaus. With him being too clingy and me wanting to be independent, it would never work. So, the next time he came to visit, he took me on a date every night he was here. Expensive wine, beautiful flowers, decadent chocolate. It was perfect.

When he told me he was moving to Arizona full time, I was ecstatic. But by the time his stuff was moved into his high rise apartment in the city, I was over it. I was over him.

I don’t think he’s ever seen me for me. He sees me as a benefit, someone who he can have on his arm to show off to everyone.

And like an idiot, I’m still dating him, because for some reason, I’ve formed a minor emotional attachment.

The party around us is in full swing. Bottles of alcohol, little white lines spread on glass tables with hundred dollar bills beside them. It’s any other person’s dream. Not mine, though. The only reason I’m here is because it’s my house.

Willow thought it would be a great idea to throw a party to celebrate my twenty-fifth birthday, and what was only supposed to be a few of our close friends instead turned into a rager. Willow had to call her dad and ask to borrow his security team. Because of course her rich father also has his own team of thirteen men who look like they curl cars in their free time.

“I’m going to your room,” I whisper-yell into Willow’s ear. I want to spend the rest of my night moping, not surrounded by people who don’t actually give a fuck that it’s my birthday.

She shoos me off, and I know that she’ll take care of everything else tonight and there will be nothing for me to worry about.

I maneuver my way through the crowd to get to the hallway that leads to Willow’s room, and there’s a security guard standing at the entrance.

“Um, hi? Can I get by you? This is my house.” Even after all these years, I still don’t have the confidence to tell someone to let me go wherever I want in my own house? Jesus Christ.

He nods and steps to the side, letting me by.

Lying in her bed, I turn on the TV and scroll through the different streaming apps until I come across an old TV show I used to love. One that brings back memories of fingers running through my hair.

Tears burn the backs of my eyes as I click the play button. Bright pictures flash across the screen, and my phone burns a hole in the pocket of the sweatpants I put on. The temptation to unblock his number is there.

What if he texted me a happy birthday?

What if he didn’t?

The second thought is the one that keeps me from doing it. I would much rather live in a world where he doesn’t exist. And he doesn’t. He hasn’t. I’m going to keep it that way.

“Happy birthday to me,” I say out loud to myself, as I pretend that the tears streaming down my face are happy tears for living another year.

???

“I really am sorry, Kian. Last night was not supposed to go like that,” Willow says.

We’re sitting at the island in our kitchen, surrounded by the mess of last night, and it stresses me out to see the disarray. Bottles, cans, plastic wrappers. There’s shit everywhere.

I pinch the bridge of my nose to fight away the headache that is still hammering at the back of my skull. My eyes are swollen and the ice roller is not helping them. It’s irritating me worse, because I am supposed to have a photoshoot today, but I can’t show up looking like this.

“It’s fine, Willow. Just leave it alone,” I bite out, harsher than I intend to. Because good intentions can only get you so far. I wanted to celebrate my birthday by relaxing at home, nothing insane. Last night was insane.

The thought of what Trent was doing yesterday also niggles my brain, and I want to cry in exasperation. Of course I’m still thinking about him. I’m just in an emotional state right now, and that’s totally normal. I’ll go back to not thinking about him in no time.

Willow stands up, leaving me alone to wallow in self pity. I should apologize to her, because I’m not a mean person who’s unappreciative of their friends, but if I try to talk to her right now it will do more harm than good.

I open my Instagram app, checking my notifications to see who posted about last night's party. Too many people, too many blurry pictures.

I check over my shoulder to make sure Willow isn’t in the room before I switch out of my main account and open up my other account. There are no followers, and I don’t follow anyone. This account has one purpose and one purpose only.

With shaking fingers, I open up the explore page and click on the drop down to find my recent searches. There’s only one name. Trent’s.

It’s my secret obsession to know what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with. There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t look at his Instagram page at least once.

It’s not aesthetically pleasing. It’s a hodgepodge of random memories that he wants to document. Normally, it’s filled with pictures of sunrises and sunsets, and pictures of food he’s cooked. If I scroll down far enough, there’s still pictures of us together. Smiling, laughing, just two people being in love. But I don’t scroll back that far, not today when my heart already feels battered beyond repair.

I check his tagged posts, finding a new one. When I click on it, my stomach drops, my heart that’s already splintered falling out of my chest and onto the countertop.

There’s Trent, standing in front of an expensive restaurant with another man hanging on his arm. The other man is short, definitely shorter than I am, because he barely comes up to Trent’s shoulder. Short, dark cropped hair that differs from the bright smile and business casual clothes he has on. Is he in the military, or clocking in for his nine to five at some basic stock market job? He needs to figure it out, because it does not suit him.

I inhale a deep breath, because my thoughts are running rampant and they’re hateful. I’m sure he’s a great guy who has a lot going for him. And who knows, maybe Trent will cheat on him too, and we’ll both end up members of the “hating Trent” club.

Whatever. It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s none of my business what Trent does or does not do now. He’s none of my concern.

I exit off the picture and go to my settings. I delete my account, waiting for the notice that it will give me thirty days to change my mind. I’m not waffling though, not on this.

I have Klaus. I have a great job. I have a great home. I have a lot of good stuff going for me.

I don’t need Trent. Not anymore.