Invisible Love Letter(5)

By: Callie Anderson


“He was a natural up there,” Axel continued.

I pulled away from his gaze and looked over at Leslie to distract me, but she had drifted into a conversation with Harry.

“Axel?” Sally dragged out his name like a child who was about to pout. She lifted up on her toes and whispered something in his ear. A lopsided grin spread across his face; he pulled her close and whispered something in her ear. Sally giggled and began to walk towards the exit sign. Axel winked at me and mouthed, I’ll be right back. I shook my head and giggled at him.

My back rested against the table. Scraping the label from my empty beer bottle with my polished purple fingernail, I contemplated my next move. Why the heck was I worried about him? He had Monica to keep him occupied.

I set my empty bottle on the table and walked over to Leslie. “Come on. Let’s go get some drinks.” The buzz I had prior to them being on stage had vanished.

“No way!” Harry rested his hands on my shoulders. “Beers are on me tonight. I’ll go grab us some pitchers.” He took Leslie’s hands and pulled her towards him. They had a weird relationship. She was his girl when it was convenient for him, though she didn't seem to mind while she was drunk. However, the following mornings usually consisted of heartache and tears.

My heart began to beat louder than the blasting speaker. He was still behind me. Inhaling the stale smoke from the fog machine and sweaty air, I twirled around. To my surprise, Monica was no longer hanging all over him. She and Kate had disappeared—probably to the bathroom, and he was staring at me with his stormy eyes.

A bead of sweat from my neck dripped down my spine, and it felt like an ice chip melting in the process. I was suddenly parched, and my mind screamed that only he would quench my thirst. My tongue ran across my lips.

“Emilia, right?” My name on his tongue caused the goose bumps on my skin to rise.

“Weston.” His name felt like silk between my lips. He took a step forward, closing the gap between us. I remembered how my skin electrified when I touched his hand. “You were really good—”


My body was shoved into the table when a platinum blonde sashayed passed me. Had Hugh Hefner lost one of his bunnies? Her long hot pink acrylic nails ran down his chest and he chuckled at something she said.

Minutes prior he had Monica at his fingertips, and now her.




Less than five minutes ago my friend was in his arms and now a new girl had taken her place. Groupies were like fruit flies. You could swat them away, but there would always be another one.

Damn musicians.

“Sorry about that.” He nodded towards the bunny who was now walking away. I shook my head in disbelief, and a grin grew on his face. “What?”

“Strike two!” I said to him in disgust. He was a musician—strike one—and a player—strike two. There was no way I was going anywhere near that.

“Two already?” He held two fingers to his chest and looked at me with a sly smile.

I couldn’t hold my tongue. “Is it safe to assume Monica’s perfume is still lingering around you?” My arms crossed over my chest. “And that Baby, Honey, Sugar or whatever her name was, is simply filling in until Monica gets back?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “You shouldn’t assume.”


Harry and the gang returned with the beer. I grasped the handle of a pitcher and filled a cup. Chugging the crisp beer until it hurt, I looked over at Leslie. “I want to dance. Wanna come?” She nodded eagerly.

I passed in front of Weston with my head held high, refusing to even glance at him. Harry, Pete, and Kate joined us on the dance floor. Leslie handed me a drink every time mine was empty. I was drinking my feelings, but I didn’t care. Every time I looked over at our table, his eyes were on me and Monica was on him. I watched as she moved from his lap to his side, to finally sitting on the table and rubbing his back. I was green with envy, but I couldn’t let my jealousy show. I tossed back a shot Pete handed me and bounced my head to the beat.

Tomorrow he would be nothing but a memory.


I woke up the following morning, my head pounding with each breath I took. Cheap beer and even cheaper hard liquor always caused the worst hangover. The pain behind my eyes was almost unbearable, but the warm sunshine pelting my face from the window helped ease the discomfort. The rest of my body felt weak, and the extra alcohol sloshing in my stomach threatened to come back up. My body was heavy as I kicked off the sheets and planted my feet on the floor. They ached from too much dancing. I glanced at the bedside clock through eyelids squinting from the sun; I had to be ready in two hours. I wiped the sleep and drool off my face, then stretched my arms over my head while I looked over at Leslie's bed. It had been untouched.

How the hell did I get home last night?

As I glanced around my room for a bottle of water to quench my thirst, my phone began to ring from my computer table. This hangover was going to suck. I pushed off the bed and stood. My head pounded with each step I took; the chirping sound only intensified my migraine. My aunt was calling, most likely to check whether I was ready for the airport. I slipped my finger over the phone and cleared my throat.

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