Love Broken

by J. D. Hollyfield

  In my story, I write about a girl named Abby. A plain, quiet journalist who writes her very own Dear Abby column for her local newspaper. She spends her days reading letter after letter from the devastated women of the world who have fallen for fake love, only to be brokenhearted in the end. They beg for her advice and plead the need to understand the what, how, and why of their failed relationships. She responds to all the letters offering her best advice, knowing none of these women will take it. She knows if that love glitch in society never changes, then no one will ever change. So she decides to take it upon herself to teach men a lesson.

  Abby decides to go undercover and creates a fake Facebook page posting a fake profile, pretending to be someone she’s not. She pretty much catfishes all these guys into falling for her. Through the story you learn about her own issues with her image and love, how she can’t find love because of all the stereotypes in the world today. She sets up this fake profile to prove her theory right. Men spend too much time focusing on what’s on the outside, and women allow it. Of course, during her venture she meets a guy. And in this guy, she finds love. But he loves the image she creates. She doesn’t know how to recreate herself in this fake person. And when she confesses who she really is, he doesn’t like her anymore. The one person she opened her heart to, and he breaks it.

  But in the end, it’s her fault. Because she tried to be something she wasn’t. She learns from her mistakes and learns to believe in herself. Because someone out there wants to love her, not a stereotype. In the end love finds her. That typical cliché that if you stop looking for it, it will practically smack you in the face. I just wanted people to stop reading the “how to get someone to love me guide” and be who they really were. I just didn’t think it would start such a revolution.

  A knock on my door interrupts my thoughts. I finish pulling up my black dress and go to peek out the hole. Kristen is standing outside my door, bouncing up and down.

  “Hey,” I say, opening the door for her.

  “Hey! You almost ready? You have a crazy crowd down there. Hope your signing hand can handle it.” She beams.

  “Well, I doubt that, but I guess.” I’m not feeling the excitement Kristen is.

  “Hey, what’s wrong? Why don’t you look happy? This is going to be great! People are going to love you!”

  “Yeah, but what if they don’t? What if they take one look at me and call me a fake?”

  Kristen’s smile fades. “Katie, if anyone thinks that, then they’re the wrong ones. You wrote a very powerful book. You wrote a great story and a billion people read it and agreed with you. They took your words and entrusted your advice into their own life. You’re a mentor to a lot of women. It doesn’t matter what you look like, which may I add is beautiful!”

  I laugh sarcastically. “Oh yeah, me and all my plain glory.”

  Grabbing at my shoulders and leaning in close, she says, “Katie, why are you so negative on yourself? You’re a true beauty. I don’t know when you’ll ever realize that. You stop people mid-step when you walk into a room. You don’t have to be dressed like a supermodel to be adequate. You are your own beauty. Now, stop being so hard on yourself. And prepare. You are about to get mauled. I called for security to walk you down.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. Like I said. You’re a loved woman. Now grab your stuff. It’s showtime.”

  There are so many things in life people may never see or experience. But an author signing needs to be on everyone’s bucket list. Because this is a mad house. When I was younger, I barely read. I skimmed through high school books, and cliff notes were my best friends. I wasn’t one who hung out at the library or had my nose jammed in a book. It just wasn’t really my thing. Even now, I can’t say I spend much time doing it. If words are involved, it’s me telling them or writing them. I didn’t write that book to start a career. I wrote it to help make myself maybe feel better about what I wasn’t doing right, or because of issues with broken love I may always be single. I just wanted to say I was okay loving myself if no one else did.

  But these authors? Ones who write their heart and soul into their stories for readers to suck in and devour? It’s kind of crazy amazing. As I walked through the mob of readers, I read T-shirts with names on it. Photos of models, one in particular that I recognized. Quotes, covers, poster-sized faces. They had it all. And the books. They had more books than I’ve ever seen.

  Once Kristen and my entourage of security got to my table, it was like the entire room became quieter. People seeing the author herself for the first time stepping up to her podium. And when I turned to take in what was coming for me, it was something I couldn’t even explain.

  So I’ll just say surreal. Faces stunned. Smiling. Shit, some were crying. But when the screaming and waving began, I kind of felt weird myself. A little drunk, maybe? But I was completely sober. Maybe I was high and didn’t know it.

  Just as I’m about to smell my own breath for booze, someone hovers too close behind me.

  “Ready to get mauled?” A deep voice tingles inside my eardrums.

  I turn and almost brush noses with an all too close Charlie Bates.

  “Bates…” I regard him with no care. “Looks like you made it through your night in one piece. You kinda look like shit, though. Up too late whistling?” I poke. His laughter seeps into my skin and I want to scratch at it. God, I hate that sound. It’s so magically annoying.

  “It was hard not to whistle while I thought about how my night ended. I had to go back to my room and take a cold shower… Amongst other things, to relieve—”

  “Gahhh! I don’t want to hear it! Go away, Bates. Don’t you have some girls to swoon?” It’s like my insults don’t even bother him. That smile just gets bigger. Before he can answer, Kristen walks up.

  “Oh good, you two have met! Charlie, this is my best friend, Ka—I mean Bailey. Don’t bother with the charm, she’s immune. But your tables are across from one another, so we’ll have to work the lines to accommodate you both. Shouldn’t be a problem, and as long as it works today, the remainder of the tour should be fine.” She’s looking at both of us while we both stare one another down.

  “Um, am I missing something?”

  “No, I met Bates last night. Kind of a creeper. But don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

  Kristen opens her mouth to respond. Then closes it. Opens. And then closes it again. Charlie just laughs at me, confusing her even more.

  “Great, well, I’ll be on my side of our fantasyland if you need anything, Bailey.”

  I offer him my most annoying look and turn away.

  Kristen claps her hands, taking in a deep breath. “Okay! Well, Charlie, I wanted to let you know I needed some information from you to send your check, but I couldn’t find any information for the PR company you’re using.”

  “Don’t. Don’t worry, just have it all go through me. I’ll take care of it,” Charlie replies.

  Kristen nods. “All righty then! Show’s starting! So, both of you have a great signing!”

  When Kristen said the show was about to start, I wasn’t nearly prepared for what she truly meant. There was no signing 101 class that could have prepared me for what I was about to experience.

  When the first reader approached my table, she practically passed out telling me how much she loved my book and asked if she could hug me. I practically passed out because I had no idea how to respond.

  How are these other authors all cool and collected? I feel dizzy on my feet with nerves, and with each fan, I barely spit out a sentence that makes sense. I’m shocked they’re not leaving their books on my table as they leave.

  Even as another reader makes their way up, I’m trying to silently practice a constructed sentence in my head.

  “Hi. Oh my God, I’m so excited to meet you—”

  “I’d love to.” Dammit. She didn’t ask me anything yet, did she?

  “I’d love for you to sign my—”

  “Happy to m
eet you too.” Just stop.

  I shake my head a few times, hoping my brain reshuffles.

  Let’s try this one more time. “I’m sorry. Hi, I’m Kat—Bailey. Bailey, mmkay?” What?! “As in hi, I’m nervous. Don’t mind me.” Someone needs to put me down. And out of this poor reader’s misery.

  The reader is looking at me like I have two heads. Shit, I’m royally fucking this one up. “You’re nervous?” she asks, shocked.

  “Well, I’m sweating at an unhealthy rate, so I’m hoping it’s that or I should see someone after this thing.”

  She laughs, which makes me feel somewhat human again, and I jump in. I wipe my hands on my dress and stick my hand out. “Okay, let’s try this again. Hi, I’m Bailey. And I promise I’m normal.”

  No handshake in return, though. Nope. Fans don’t shake hands. They hug. Same with the next and the next. Hours later and my line wasn’t even dying down. Like, was this real life? They were just words. And people were repeating lines from my book like a mantra, telling me their own real-life stories of how it helped them.

  As one totally hip reader said, it was so fetch.

  I’ve also never hugged so many people in my life.

  Annoyingly, every time I went in for the hug, over their shoulder I would make eye contact with Charlie. And it was as if he was ready every time, offering me an eyeful. He would wink at me, pull his shirt up just enough so I could get an eyeful of some abs, brush his palms against his chest. Geez, anything cliché about a hot model, he would do it. And thank God, I didn’t fall for any of it.

  Yep. Thank God.

  Did I also mention it was getting unnaturally hot in the room? I was sweating, and I had a constant flush to me, all due to the heat. Nothing, of course, to do with my across the hall neighbor. He wasn’t helping by sending someone over every twenty minutes with a postcard of him with no shirt on. No surprise, it was signed Bates Motel. I just rolled my eyes and tossed them into my garbage. By the end of the day I swore I was going to own more of his swag than he was.

  When the signing is finally done, I run like hell to my room. I rip my dress off and throw myself into a cold shower. I seriously need to remember to complain to Kristen about turning the damn heat down.

  The banging on the door gets me out of the shower sooner than I expected. Annoyed, tired, and in need of much longer alone time, I get out, throwing a towel around me, and whip the door open.

  “What?” I bark at the annoying person on the other side, the very one I want to avoid. “What do you want, Charlie?” I sound theatrically annoyed, so he hopefully pays more attention to how annoyed I may be and less on my eyes that are checking out his sexy physique and dashing smile. I seriously didn’t just use the word dashing, did I?

  “I come bearing gifts.” His charm makes my stomach feel all funny, which I hate. What’s worse is he’s holding a box. He doesn’t need to tell me what’s in it.

  I can smell the gooeyness of cheese and dough and… “Is there pepperoni on that?” Dammit, I’m starving.

  “And extra anchovies,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. I was making a joke. You know, Loverboy? Total eighties classic?”

  “Yeah, no.”

  “What? How’ve you not seen this? Pizza guy turned gigolo to earn money for college. Women call and the secret is to ask for extra anchovies—”

  “Are you insinuating I’m looking for a male lover? And, dude, I am not older than you!”

  His smile falls super quick. “Shit, no. I wasn’t saying that. It’s just a movie quote. I was trying to be funny. I—”

  I don’t wait to let him finish. I slam the door in his face. But not before wanting to secretly suck that cute pout off his face. Maybe squeeze his tight ass I had to stare at all day. Possibly finish off by eating a piece of that pizza that smelled amazing.

  “I was just joking!” he calls through the door.

  Sadly, I’m not. Goddammit, the ass on him.

  “Thank you so much. It was a pleasure meeting you as well—”

  “Excuse me.”

  My current fan and I both turn toward the interruption. I, of course, see an interruption. My reader sees dripping sex on a stick. I can’t help but roll my eyes as Teresa from Indiana ogles Charlie Bates. WHAT is it with this guy? I mean, I already know the answer to that question. No need answering. If those eyes don’t suck you in first off, it’s going to be that voice, then his abnormal kindness. No need to even go into how great he smells.

  “Ladies, I was just walking by and I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you two look. Mind if I get a quick photo?”

  “What? No!” “Oh my God, yes!” We both reply at once.

  Charlie smiles wide. I turn and gape at Teresa. Traitor. Either way, it doesn’t stop him from slying his way in between us and squeal when he wraps his arm around my waist pulling me into him, all snuggly against him. I try and pull away, but he squeezes me tight.

  Leaning down, he whispers quietly in my ear, “You smell exquisite.” And pulls away just as fast. “This is going to be a great picture, don’t you agree, Bailey?” He smiles wide just as the flash captures my growing frown.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  “Mr. Pepperoni here, open up. I have extra if you hurry!”

  I take a huge swig.

  “It’s all warm and gooey, ready to be devoured.”

  And another one.

  “Each bite satisfying your every pizza lover’s desires.”

  AND ANOTHER.

  I toss another empty mini liquor bottle on the floor. “Just go away,” I whisper to myself. “And take the mental visual of you naked with pizza hanging from your lips with you, dammit.”

  He’s been at it for almost ten minutes. I mean, that pizza probably isn’t even that warm anymore. Trying to feed me lies.

  “I heard USA is playing all Adam Sandler movies. They go great with cuddling and pizza.”

  “La la la la I hate cuddling.” But do I? I mean, I could like it…

  “Ahh, there she is, the woman of the hour. Come on. Open up. Innocent night of movies and pizza. I was joking about the cuddling part. I mean, unless you—”

  I throw my shoe at the door, shutting him right the hell up. I need him to get out of my head.

  “You can be big spoon if you wa—”

  My other shoe goes flying.

  “This pizza is getting cold. You know it’s best when the cheese is dripping hot and you risk it overflowing in your mouth.”

  That’s it.

  I pick up the phone and dial the extension to the hotel bar.

  “Remington’s.”

  “Yes, I need to speak to the blonde in front of you.” I have no idea who’s at the bar, but I’m going to take a wild guess there’s at least one, and she’s a Charlie Bates fan.

  “Sure thing…”

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, girlfriend. I have some secret info for you. Charlie Bates is outside room 511.He’s looking for a group of girls who want to have some fun. Think you can help him out?”

  “Oh, hell yes.”

  “Great. So hurry. He’s only going to be outside the door for about three more minutes.”

  The line goes dead before I can even finish. I hang up the phone and lie back in my bed, opening another mini bottle.

  “Come on, Bailey. I promise, I don’t bite. Just the pizza. The amazing thick crust—”

  “Charlie Bates!”

  “Oh, shit. Come on, let me in!” Bang, bang, bang. “Shit, shit—”

  Something drops. I guess it’s the pizza, along with his pounding footsteps as he takes off down the hall. I can only assume, because that’s where the howls of female voices disappear to.

  “You wasted a very good pizza last night.”

  I jump at Charlie’s unexpected presence.

  “What do you want, Bates?” I ask, pressing the elevator button to go down. I take a peek and he’s standing there, looking all
sexy with his hands in his pockets, his smile on point. I shake my head because I just referenced him as sexy, which is super cliché, and take another stab at the call button.

  “Not a thing, Miss Swan. Just heading down for a day of fun. Thought we’d elevator pool. You know. Save on electricity.”

  I laugh. By accident. Because that wasn’t funny.

  “Did I just get a laugh out of you, Miss Swan?” His brows rise, accentuating his eyes.

  Stop staring, Katie.

  Right.

  “No, I choked. That’s how I sound when I choke. My gum. I choked on my gum.”

  “But you’re not chewing any gum.”

  Observant bastard. “Whatever, you win. Congrats. You’re a wee bit funny.”

  His smile, which is the devil, causes a break in my brainwaves, and I find myself smiling back at him. The elevator door opens and he holds it, waving for me to go first. As I step in and proceed to press the button, he stops me.

  “Now how rude would I be if I made you drive? Allow me, Miss Swan.” He leans over, purposely brushing his arms across mine as he hits the button to the lobby.

  “Shall we?”

  And I can’t help but shake off another smile as the door shuts.

  The antics of Charlie Bates went on for days.

  From the nightly knocks on the door with pizza, to the “elevator pooling” as he called it. Don’t get me started on that devilish smile, the way he laughs, or the whistling. That goddamn whistling.

  Each night I covered my head with my pillow, shielding my ears from the magical sounds of his voice and the word pizza. I drank my mini bar clean of all its bottles, and each morning I hated him even more because I felt like hell for mixing darks with clears. But each morning he would be there at that damn elevator all smiles for our share-a-ride down to the lobby. And each time he would talk. And talk. And talk!