Tatum Preston (26) has been to hell and back. Now living in the city of Los Angeles in 2021 with her best friend Francesca (26), everything she's ever worked for hanging on by a thread and to no fault of her own. Dancers have a shelf life you see...
"Worry about that later," Francesca shrugged. "You're doing that thing where you get in your head."
"Crying Over It All and Fruit Roll Ups are about Chelsea."
"Oh..." She fully turned to me now, leaning with her to-go coffee cup in her hand.
"I'm feeling insecure. I know I am." I sighed. "He loved her."
"Yeah, but she ended up being a toxic piece of shit and treated him terribly. She cheated on him, Tatum. He doesn't love her anymore. Crying Over It All is also really depressing."
"He wrote a song about me." I found myself smiling again. "It's called Funeral Grey and it's basically about how hot he thinks I am and that I drive him a bit crazy. And how I'm cold and shit all the time."
"See!" She gently squeezed my shoulder. "You're going to get songs - love songs. Songs that don't make you want to cry while he's singing about how fucked up he was."
"I'm not good at this." I sighed and threw my head back.
"Go for a run and blow off some steam. Try to get out of your head. That always helps.
"Yeah...okay. You're right." I got up and ran my hand through my hair, picking up my tea.
"And text your boyfriend back!"
"Oh yeah, dinner with me and Awsten sometime next week with Ben? I'll ask him."
"Yeah, sure, I'll ask Ben too." She smiled at me before I dipped into my room and opened my phone back up to my texts with Awsten.
Awsten:
gooood morning
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I grinned at my phone and let out a deep breath.
"I'm yours, Tatum. All yours."
He was. Chelsea didn't have him anymore. Nina never had him. Hannah never had him - and she never would.
So I took a photo and sent it back.
Tatum:
Good morninggg
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