so here is the chapter that i had posted last night, in case some of you missed it:
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR:
I hate the rain. Everything about it. I hate how it’s cold when it hits your skin, and if it’s coming down hard enough, it hurts. It makes your clothing stick to your skin, and it’s just downright depressing.
I curled my legs underneath me as I sat on the living room sofa in my apartment, staring out the window at the dreary November sky. It was Saturday, and I didn’t have to work. But I didn’t feel like going anywhere or doing anything.
It had been over a week since I’d talked to Joe, a common occurrence as of late. He and his brothers had finished their summer tour in September, then had jumped straight into another tour in early October. I hadn’t seen Joe since my birthday party, and it was driving me insane. But it’s not like I had a whole lot of control over the situation.
My cell phone vibrated on the end table next to the couch, and I picked it up.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Hey sweetie.”
I sighed. “Hi, mom.”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Well, why don’t you come join your sister and I for lunch?” she suggested. “We’re about to go to the Applebee’s in Covington Square.” I hesitated before answering. I really didn’t feel like going anywhere, but if I declined my mom’s invitation, she’d never let me hear the end of it.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be there in a bit.”
I hung up the phone, got up off the sofa and walked to my bedroom. I changed out of my sweats into a simple t-shirt and jeans, and pulled one my old high school volleyball sweatshirts over my head. I threw my wavy hair into a ponytail, and slid on a thin, black headband. I went into the bathroom and put on a bit of mascara and blush, then grabbed my purse and car keys and headed out the door.
“Helloooooo. Erin, you still with us?”
It took me a minute to realize that my sister was waving her hand in my face from her seat next to me at Applebee’s.
“Larissa, stop,” I said, swatting at her hand. “I was just thinking.”
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Just thinking about Joe and everything that’s going on.”
“So you saw the blurb in US Weekly?” Larissa asked.
“What blurb?” I asked, confused.
“The one about Joe and Chelsea.” Larissa’s face paled when she saw my reaction. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. I thought that’s what you were talking about.”
“What did it say?” I asked.
“Nothing major,” Larissa assured me, glancing sideways at our mom before turning back to me. “There was a picture of him and Chelsea Staub … just out to lunch, nothing bad. But the magazine may have hinted that they were back together.”
My stomach churned, images of Joe and Chelsea running through my head. This can’t be happening. I sighed and leaned back in my chair.
“Wonderful,” I said sarcastically. I looked at my older sister. “Can I see your phone?”
“Sure,” she said, handing over her iPhone. I went to the TMZ website, knowing that if it was in US Weekly, it was bound to be on TMZ as well. It took me a few minutes to find it, but I finally located the two-day old article. Along with the small story was a picture of Joe and Chelsea sitting outside of a café in what appeared to be Los Angeles. They were both laughing, and it would be easy for anyone who saw them to assume that they were a couple. Panic rushed through me, and I silently prayed that this wasn’t the Megan incident all over again.
A tear trickled down my cheek, and I handed the phone back to my sister. I didn’t mean for it to, but everything started to pour out of my mouth. I told my mom and my sister about how I’d been feeling for the past three months. How much I missed Joe, and how frustrated I was that he never called.
“But the thing that bugs me the most,” I said, “is that he still hasn’t told anyone that I’m his girlfriend. Four months, and nobody knows.”
“Sweetheart,” my mom said, patting my hand. “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel? Go call him.” I nodded, and pushed my chair back from the table.
I walked outside, where the rain had stopped for the time being. I pulled out my phone and dialed Joe’s number.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice under control.
“Hi, baby,” Joe replied. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “It’s just been a while since we’ve talked.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “It’s been crazy. I haven’t had time to do anything. I’m sorry.”
“You made time for Chelsea.” Whoops. I hadn’t meant for that to slip out.
I heard Joe sigh. “I’m assuming you saw the picture?”
I nodded, then realized that Joe couldn’t see me. “Yeah,” I said, kicking at the sidewalk with my shoe.
“Erin, that was nothing,” Joe said. “We had lunch.”
“You make time for an ex, yet you’re too busy to call your girlfriend?”
All I heard on Joe’s end of the phone was silence. I should have stopped there, but I didn’t.
“Speaking of girlfriend, is there a reason why you still haven’t told anyone about me?”
“I’m just waiting for the right time,” Joe said.
“The right time?” I asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in my voice. “Joe, we’ve been dating for four months. People suspected something was going on between us after those pictures from the carnival and beach surfaced. Then you add the ones from my birthday party, and it‘s pretty hard to deny it. Yet you still do.” I wiped away another tear that had made its way down my cheek.
The day after mine and Niki’s party, several pictures had again popped up on the internet of Joe and I. One was of us dancing when he had first arrived at the party, another was of us doing a fast-paced, so-not-PG-rated dance just before we’d gone outside, and the third was one of us kissing down by the lake. The article had focused more on the possibility of a relationship between Joe and the “mystery brunette” this time, rather than a virginity-stealing hook-up. It had gone into detail of how Joe had flown from New York to surprise me for my birthday.
But Joe had denied being in a relationship, and the press had soon moved on to the pregnancy rumors of a well-known heiress.
“Erin, it’s complicated,” Joe protested.
“Are you ashamed of me?” I asked bluntly. “Is that why you don’t want anyone knowing about us?”
“What?” Joe asked. “N-no, that’s not it at all, Erin. I just have to think of the fans and how they’d react---”
“The fans?” I asked. “Of, course, the fans must come first. They always have.” My voice was dripping with sarcasm, but I made no attempt to cover it up. A part of me knew that I was being selfish, but Joe was acting like he didn’t care about how I felt at all. There was no emotion in his voice, and he spoke as if the last thing he wanted was to be on the phone with me.
“Whatever, Erin,” Joe said. “I have to go.”
“No, Joe,” I said, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I have to go. I can’t do this anymore. I thought I could handle the distance, and your busy career, but I don’t think I can. I really care about you, but I can’t do this anymore.” The rain began to come down, but instead of running for cover, my feet stood planted on the sidewalk, my body frozen in place. My salty tears mixed with the water falling from the sky.
“Erin, what are you saying?” Joe’s voice finally showed emotion, but it was too late. I couldn’t backtrack now. I took a deep breath, and prayed that I wasn‘t making the biggest mistake of my life.
“It’s over, Joe.”
Oh, and Erin's advice of the day: don't waste your money on Ashlee Simpson's new CD. With the exception of one song, it's horrible.