Ethan’s ugly today is downright monstrous.
“I said fucking answer me! What does one line mean?” Ethan grabs a fistful of the hair I have tied in a bun on top of my head and yanks my head back. Tears prickle my eyes, and my hands fly to his, clawing at his hold in the hopes he’ll loosen his grip. “What…does…it…mean?” he spits out.
“Negative,” I wheeze. “It’s negative.”
Releasing my hair, he shoves me viciously and I fall, smacking my head against the tub. My fingers automatically reach for the spot where my head hit the marble—no blood. I know I’m going to have a bump, but for now I don’t feel any pain. I’m too shocked to feel anything right now. Ethan flicks the test at me, and it hits my chin before falling onto my lap. Anger motivates me, and I scramble to my feet; the test falling to the floor sounds like a gunshot as I push past him. Ethan has never lifted a hand to me before today, and while I may have put up with more of his bullshit than I should’ve over the last few weeks, I draw the line at him hurting me. I want to lash out, to grab him by the throat and tell him if he ever lays a hand on me again, I’ll kill him, but I don’t. I won’t stoop to his level. Grabbing my suitcase from the top of the closet, I place it on the bed with control I don’t feel, open it, and start throwing my clothes in.
Ethan follows me out of the bathroom, and as soon as he sees what I’m doing, all the anger leaves his face. A sickly gray takes its place. He looks worse than me right now, and that’s saying something.
“Baby,” he croons. “I’m sorry. You know I am, right? It’s been a hard day and I’ve got all this pressure from the label and Tim’s being a dick.”
As I throw my clothes into the suitcase, I’m proud of the fact that I don’t point out that his drummer couldn’t be a bigger dick than he is—not by any stretch of the imagination.
“Baby,” I reply in the same falsely placating tone. “Do me a favor and go fuck yourself with your half-hearted apology.”
Ethan’s mask slips once more, and he explodes. “You go fuck yourself, you stupid bitch! Oh, wait, that would be a complete waste of time since you’re too fucking frigid to come. Do you know how many times I’ve jacked off rather than fuck you? Too many goddamn times. At least that way I know I’m getting something off, ’cause fuck knows it takes you longer than I’ve got the time for.”
His insults punch me in the gut because he isn’t wrong. Sex has never been easy for me. Not since I became a celebrity. It’s hard being intimate with someone when you aren’t 100 percent sure of what their motivations are. Were they with me for me, or was I just expected to fulfill their fantasies of having sex with “Hayley Stephens.” That was part of Ethan’s appeal; he was in the same boat. When we were together, it was just Ethan and Hayley. Don’t get me wrong, I still struggled to get out of my head, and toward the end I could feel Ethan’s impatience with me. I’m not the kind of girl I read about in romance novels, the one that combusts at the barest touch. I know why he’s bringing this up now though. I guess he knows this is the only way he can hurt me. I stuff the last sweater in the bulging bag.
“You better take everything with you now because whatever you leave, I’m burning.”
His words fueling my resolve, I grab the handle of the suitcase and head toward the door. Pausing, I shoot over my shoulder, “Have at it. In fact, make a party out of it. Bonfires are always a hit.”
The cramping pulls me back to the present, and I hurry to dispose of the evidence in a pathetic act of denial that my body refuses to go along with.
Another contraction seizes my belly, and I have to inhale slowly through my mouth as I hug my waist. On trembling legs, I stand and grab a wad of toilet paper and jam it into my panties before I let the satin of my turquoise robe fall back into place. I pray I can get to my bag to retrieve a pad before I bleed all over the plush carpet of the dressing room where I’m supposed to be relaxing before my concert.
I manage a mere two steps into the room when a pain jabs through my lower back, causing me to double over and bite my lip to keep from crying out. A trickle of blood runs down my legs, and I retreat into the bathroom as fast as I can, crimson spots dotting the pristine tiles. Grabbing the towel hanging on the hook next to the sink, I start wiping at the dots, but as I bend, a rush of wet warmth pools between my legs. Pain rips through me, and I can’t tell if it’s coming from my uterus or my heart or both. Staring in horror as I hemorrhage all over the floor, hot tears track down my face and panic seizes me. As I rub frantically at the tiles, the contrast of red and white snaps me from my manic scrubbing.
Yanking open the shower door, I turn on the tap. Water beats against my skin,
