Series: Social Media #3
on September 24th 2014
@VaughnAsher #YouAreCaredFor So the movie star says. But his idea of cared for isn’t the same as mine. Obviously a #Douche.
@FilthyBlueBird #BehindTheScenesIsMyScene The Blue Bird has trust issues. And tantrum issues. And commitment issues.
@FilthyBlueBird #YouAreMine and I won’t let you forget it.
@VaughnAsher #YouMustShitUnicorns that’s how delusional your fairy tale is. #GetAGripOnReality I’m outtie.
@FilthyBlueBird You’re an #Innie #Sweetheart 🙂 My tongue licked all your #CuteLittleButtons.
Why is he so damn sexy? How will I ever get out from under Asher’s thumb if I can’t stop thinking about his tongue on my buttons? #HottiesNeedToPlayFair
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I head towards the bar and Grace isn’t even paying attention. She’s chatting up the bartender, who sees me coming and excuses himself as I take a seat two stools away from her.
“Hey,” I say in a low voice. “I’m sorry for picking you up back there. It was presumptuous to think you’d talk to me tonight, let alone come up to my room.”
“Another margarita,” Grace calls out to the bartender.
I catch his eye and hold up a finger. “Scotch, please. Top shelf.”
“I’m not interested in your excuse, Vaughn. Truly.” She looks me in the eyes for the first time tonight. “Truly, I am not interested. I’m not playing a game with you. I’m not playing hard to get. I’m not pretending to be pissed. I’m not even pissed. I’m just not interested. You’re not the man I thought you were. And I get that I was invested in the fantasy version of you. OK?” she says, shaking her head a little. “I get that. It was my fault for turning you into some kind of Prince Charming. So it’s not fair that I had such high expectations of you. I’m sorry that I blamed you for something I caused.”
The bartender delivers our drinks and takes Grace’s empty glass away. I take a sip of my Scotch, then gulp it all, and slide my glass on the bar. “Another, please.” The bartender nods and moves off to get that. I put my head in my hands. “Grace,” I say, rubbing my temples. “Just for the fun of it, tell me what that Prince Charming version of me was like. How do I not measure up?” I look up at her, but she’s staring down into her pink drink, playing with the paper umbrella. “Was I nicer? Was I more generous? What is the real Vaughn Asher missing?”
She meets my gaze for a moment, but it’s a fleeting one. They drop back down just a quickly and shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. The fantasy was… charming. Not just in a princely way, either. But really, really charming. Saying witty things, and being at ease with himself and others. He jokes with me and makes me laugh. You…” She doesn’t look at me, just continues to stare into her drink. “You make me sad. You make me feel inadequate. You make me feel stupid and small and pathetic.”
Fuck. “How though? How did I do that? Because that was not my intention. OK?” I reach out and cover her small hand with mine. “I never wanted to make you feel like that. I wanted to excite you.”
She looks up at my eyes and I almost wish she hadn’t. Her expression is overflowing with disappointment and she looks tired. She does look sad. She looks like she cried very hard earlier and the makeup can’t quite hide that. “You wanted to excite yourself, Vaughn. You wanted to please yourself. Not me. Everything you did, from picking out those clothes to putting money in my bank account, all of it was for your benefit. You lie to yourself, I think. You’re one long string of self-serving lies. I don’t know how you do it, or how you get so many girls to play along. But all your best intentions were nothing but really good deceptions. And even though I know in my heart” —she clenches her fist and holds it over her chest—”that the fairy tale is fake, that it doesn’t exist and I’m setting myself up for disappointment, I don’t care. Because I deserve that happy ending, Vaughn. I do. You might not think so. You might think I’m just some silly girl who has no right to expect so much from a man. But I don’t care. Maybe that man doesn’t exist and maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life alone, waiting for my prince. I don’t care. I refuse to play this game with you.”
And then she reaches into her little clutch purse to grab her credit card and wave it at the bartender. “I’m done, Vaughn. And for what it’s worth, I do believe you about that girl on the TV. Thank you for the charity money. I will make sure it goes to worthy organizations and send you the receipt so you can claim it on your taxes.”