19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Willow

Something came up. That was the only explanation he offered. My cheeks are hot with embarrassment, or maybe it's disappointment.

Earlier, when I stepped into the inky black lingerie—the one Tripp picked out—it made me feel good. Confident. Like dance-in-front-of-the-mirror confident. The lingerie went from a cheeky, uplifting secret to mocking me—making me feel like an idiot.

Tonight tastes like rejection and I wish I didn't care. How is it that excitement can immediately fall into disappointment? If you don't get your hopes up, there's nothing to drag you down.

Tripp cancelling makes me think of Dexter. I will say this, whenever Dexter and I made plans, they were solid. He wasn't one to deter from a plan, always craving consistency, and time for his own things.

I almost want to text Dexter. He was just making out with some supermodel a few nights ago. I know it's not Dexter I crave but the comfort of something familiar.

The lingerie, mostly lace and sheer fabric, itches and pricks my skin. I need to change.

After I put on my favorite leggings and crewneck, I'm in the studio writing sad words to melancholy melodies. I feel like this piano is fueled by my tears some days. It's insufferable even to think something like that to myself, but I'm being honest. I wish I could let things like this roll off my back and not bother me. I'm a sensitive soul; I always have been. People have told me this my whole life. Friends who pushed me out of their friend group, guys who dumped me, and critics who deemed my music too immature or cliché. They all fell back on the, "Willow, you shouldn't be so sensitive."

Do you know what it feels like when people don't want you? Even when those people aren't worth wanting, it still hurts.

Because tonight isn't painful enough, I think back to my first group of friends in middle school. Inseparable for years, we even made a band and would practice in my garage after school. No one really knew anything about music, besides me, so I'd teach them to play enough of the guitar or piano, enough to string a song or two together. I knew we weren't super talented, but it was fun to spend time doing something I loved with girls my age. The only place we played in front of others was the school talent show.

It wasn't until the tenth grade that they pushed me out. I was starting to get attention from labels, and they didn't like it. I think they thought the label would want to do something with our hodge-podge band, but that wasn't the case.

All of a sudden, I was the bad guy. Lies and rumors spread like wildfire. The parents even got involved and started a petition to ban me from singing at school talent shows and events. There was a meeting with the school principal where my parents and I sat across from this man who had no idea what to do with me. My dad was livid, and my mom was heartbroken. Not because of the petition exactly, but because people I called my friends could do something like that.

I was fifteen when I learned two valuable lessons.

People will choose their own insecurity over celebrating someone else's success.

Sometimes, you're just not worth it .

Tonight, I'm thinking hard about that second lesson. I didn't think that'd be the case with Tripp. With his public distractions and asking me out in front of a paparazzi camp, I thought this would be something different. The way he kissed me was unlike anything I'd ever felt before.

I know I'm being dramatic, so I try to put my feelings into words and music. Something I can manipulate, shift, and edit. Something I'm in control of. Something that needs me as much as I need it.

When the words and feelings finally stop coming, I look at the clock: midnight. I pick my phone up only to see no texts or calls from Tripp.

It hurts more than I wish it did.