"Long time no see Shane," Mitchie said, keeping a distance from me.

"Yeah," I wasn't quite sure what to say at that point.

"How's CASSIDY?"

I kind of laughed. She didn't look happy about that.

"Great, I just love being married to a bitching broad," I said sarcastically.

She was silent. Mitchie knew. She knew me the best out of everyone who had ever known me.

"So . . . it was still worth losing me? For the sex, right?"

"Hell no. You've got her beat in that department."

I couldn't believe I said that. I was such a jerk. A stupid famous dumb jerk.

"That's comforting. You know what? Why am I wasting my time?" she snapped.

And just like that, she was gone. She was here, than she was gone.

She was gone again. Because of me.

-

"So Shane, your character Robbie in Rockstar is a pretty tough guy, are you really the tough guy everyone thinks you are?" Gabbing Gabby, a 30 year old annoying as hell radio personality asked me on air.

"Well. I'm not really tough. More intense I guess." I said, trying not to say anything my manager told me not to.

Which usually happens anyway.

"If you're just joining us we're talking to Shane Gray, star of the new break-out movie, Rockstar," the dumb bitch decided to inform everyone, "Let's take a call. Margie, you're on the air with Shane!"

"Hey Shane . . . like OH MY GOSH I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M TALKNG TO YOU . . . (screams) anyway, I was wondering how you and Cassidy find time for each other with such busy schedules LIKE OH MY GOSH YOU'RE SHANE GRAY!" Margie annoyingly proclaimed.

No shit I'm Shane Gray.

"Well Margie (forced laugh) Cassidy and I don't see each other much anymore, but we talk every day," I answered.

Bullshit. She bitches at me every day. And sometimes we have sex.

"We're going to take a quick break, and then we will be back with Shane!" Gabby squeaked.

We were off the air.

"Where's my fucking vanilla bean coffee? Jesus Christ," I demanded.

I was a rock star. I needed my flipping coffee.

"At your service your HIGHNESS," says Mitchie, walking into the room, as Gabbing Gabby glared at me.

I frowned at her.

"What are you doing here anyway?" I asked, taking the coffee from her.

"Intern. I'm working here until I'm done with college, and hopefully I'll get a job close to record producing," she said.

"Record producing? Since when, you were never the producer," I noticed.

"I gave up on the singing and decided to do something I might actually have a chance at," she said, "why am I talking to you anyway?"

"Because you still can't resist the magic of Shane Gray . . . just like everyone else," I joked.

She didn't take it as a joke.

"So . . . that's all I ever was. Just like everyone else," she snapped.

Uh. I hate women.

"Whatever Mitchie. Why don't you just go clean something? Isn't that what interns do?"

She kind of looked like she was going to cry, and I actually felt a little guilty. I stood up, not know quite what I was going to do.

"This isn't you," she said simply, turning to leave.

I grabbed her arm, and she turned back around, looking straight into my eyes.

There was something there. In those eyes, the ones I used to love so much. With this girl I used to love so much.

Something was still there.

And she knew.

-

After the interview, in which I accidentally disclosed confidential information on my next tour, it was finally time to leave that stupid dump of a studio.

I decided to eat lunch by myself, but there were too many camera people at my favorite restaurant, so I just decided to go home. Maybe sleep. Then I would have more energy to go out at night.

I really wanted to get high. All this Mitchie stuff was making me crazy.

Why did she have to show up and fuck with my head?

Goody. Cassidy was home.

When I walked through the door she was eating carrot sticks and reading a magazine at the kitchen table.

"Hey!" she greeted me enthusiastically.

I would take advantage of this.

I walked up to my wife and kissed her all over the back of her neck.

She giggled, "Shane!"

"How was your shoot?"

"It was okay. It was for Vanity Fair, no biggie," she said, kissing my cheek.

It was on.

I picked her up and threw her on the couch in the living room, which seemed to exhilarate her.

It had been so long.

I looked down at the girl under me.

Blonde. Thin. Famous.

Then it hit me, and all I could think about was her . . . Mitchie.

Beautiful. Bright. Happy. Amazing . . . Mitchie.

Looking at Cassidy, all I could think about was sex. All I thought about her was sex. All I needed her for was sex.

I got up, leaving Cassidy, and slammed the door.

I needed to get high.

But I found myself just walking. Toward that shitty recording studio. I didn't know what I was thinking.

What would Mitchie want with a married, drug-using, spoiled-ass, shitty person like me?

Everything was so fucked up.