The Winner

Midnight Memories

I didn't call Nate back. He will learn after a few times trying. I don't enjoy on the phone like I used to.  Not since that specific afternoon a few years go that I replay in my head over and over again.

I get up to my room, still flustered over that possible kiss with Efron, shit, James. I gotta stop doing that. I grab a soda from the mini fridge and head to the couch, sitting in the exact spot Nate did not too long ago. I open the can and take a few gulps. A bad addiction I know is full of chemicals. But it's my only addiction right now, so it's better than the alternative. I've come a long way.

I need to clear this head of mine. Maybe I should practice that damn guitar. That's why I'm here, right? I grab my cheap ass guitar and the paper from my last session that labels the different chords, wincing the minute my fretting fingers press down on the strings. I can't wait to form callouses. Who says that??!! I remember what Nate explained that very first practice.

"You can think of calloused fingertips a rite of passage that all beginners must go through."

He was acting so proper that first lesson. Maybe it was due to the cameras in the small studio and management sitting on the chair near the window during that session . Things have changed a little since that day.

After 10 minutes, my fingers , still hurting, actually start to cooperate with me. I was actually a little shocked. I've now memorized the G, D, C, and AM chords, and my fingers aren't cramping as much tonight. Though, It still sounds horrific when I start strumming.

I press on anyways, still having my eyes glued to the fretboard the entire time , fumbling to place one finger on each chord, where as Nate's fingers just automatically make the chord shape and press down on the correct strings all at once. I've stared at his hands many times now...

I'm gratefully interrupted with a knock on the door. With my fingers throbbing, I'm happy for a break and don't really care who is knocking at this point.

*****

*Nate*

Why the hell does this lady never answer her calls?

I put my beer and phone on the end table next to me, grab the remote, and lay back on my big grey sectional couch. I see that football is on TV. Perfect. That will get my mind off her.

It's not working tonight. Why can't I stop thinking about Julia? Don't get me wrong, I'm bloody thrilled to fill that empty space in my brain that not so long ago was occupied by Macy... living in my head rent free, for months after we broke up.

I know Julia is only here temporarily, but I'm spending more and more time thinking about her. I can't help but wonder if she is doing the same. Do I ever even cross her mind? She has yet to flirt back, remaining completely professional every session and interview. Maybe she just really isn't interested in me.

"That would fucking suck wouldn't it." I say out loud.

But there's just something about her that reels me in. She's beautiful, but at the same time broken. I can see it in her eyes. Especially when Susan, that ass of a reporter, brought up Julia having a kid. I still don't know why I was somehow surprised at that information. Let's not forget, she IS 40.

I have friends of all ages in all different paths in life, many also in their 40's, married with kids of their own. I only wish for that type of stability some day.

I really thought Macy was the one, but towards the end, I could see I was losing her. Macy was becoming more and more distant, and I couldn't blame her .This hectic lifestyle can wear you down sometimes. She didn't maliciously break my heart like some other women I've been with. In fact, my heart broke for HER. She was struggling to fit in this celebrity mold, but it wore her down. It wasn't Macy's fault. It was just healthier for her to walk away from me. There is no bad blood. We remain friends to this day.