I had my heart break once because of Brad and even Drake left me in shattered pieces, but I thought Tommy would be different. I thought he had honestly loved me and wanted to be with me. I know I did. Hell, I got mugged and I even confronted the mugger to give me back the earrings I had bought for him. You would think after all the crap I went through for that bastard; he could at least have the courtesy to be loyal to me!

But no, I don't want him to stay with me over guilt or force. I want him to be with me because he wants to be mine. Be my Glitterbaby. But maybe I moved too fast for him because I suddenly assumed he wanted to be my boyfriend…But I didn't rush him, did I? Excuse me for wanting to be with the one person I've always wanted to be with. The fans just thought it was all for entertainment, but no; it was for my own selfish bliss too. And fuck, Tommy enjoyed it, and we all know he loved it. Otherwise why would he be practically asking for a kiss by rubbing his ass against mine? Huh? Oh, fuck. Maybe he was doing it for entertainment, and I was doing it for my own selfish reasons. No, he couldn't. If he was, then why would he lead me down a false road? Why would he kiss me and care for me so much? Why would he act like we were in a relationship? Damn, I was so fucking confused.

As I fought with myself, I somehow managed to stumble back to the bus, sniffling and rubbing my eyes, trying to clear my vision, but it was futile. I could have gone to the hotel that was located right next to the venue and casino, but I wanted to be in a small area. I had to talk to someone; to get this off my chest and rant. The only person near me was the driver; I most certainly wasn't going to discuss my relationship problems with him. The rest of the band was still gambling, and I could care less as to where Tommy was, so I pulled out my iphone and dialed the first number I saw.

"Hello! Cassidy Haley here!" a chirpy voice answered and I just bawled into the receiver. "Oh, god…Adam, are you okay, baby?" his voice quivered. It didn't surprise me that he knew it was my crying. He knew me too well.

During American Idol, he designed some of my extremely fashionable outfits and he even voted for me. I loved wearing his clothes and we've been friends ever since I met him (and we even tried dating, but we both thought it would be best just to remain friends).

"Classy (one of my many nicknames for him)…I-I'm having issues!" I stammered and yelled into the phone, the tears making their way out of my eyes on their own.

"Obviously, sweetie. Come on, tell Classy what's up…" he purred, and I knew he was sitting down, cross legged and staring intently at nothing in particular just ready to hear what I had to say and I poured it all on him. About everything that had just gone down with Tommy and I. "Shit…Baby, I hate to say this, but you brought this upon yourself…"

That's the one thing I didn't want to hear and of course, he said it. "How?" I snapped, trying to keep my tears and anger under control.

How could this possibly be my fault? Tommy was the one being bitchy and saying that he loved his ex-girlfriend in front of his present boyfriend! It's not my fault I got jealous and just presumed that he wanted to be with her instead of me. Shit, maybe I was too quick on my feet…

"Well, you're suddenly assuming that he can just embrace his sexuality like that. Adam, you may not realize this because it's so easy for you, but being gay does come with its disadvantages. And you do realize that Tommy is bi, right? Sweetie, he's going to like girls. But he won't love girls," Cassidy explained, trying to break it down for me.

"But Classy! He didn't even tell her I was his boyfriend! He didn't care! He doesn't care about anyone but himself!" I practically snarled into the phone, rage building up over my sorrow.

"Nobody but myself, huh?"

I froze and my breath suddenly stopped. "Baby, was that Tommy?" Cassidy asked in a whisper. "Adam, tell him you're sorry…"

Normally, Cassidy's advice was superb, but I was going to fight my own battle with my own tactics. I wasn't going to be the one blamed for this fight. I was Adam freaking Lambert, and not even Tommy can make me think lowly of myself, or make me cry anymore (or so I thought).

So, no, I wasn't going to apologize. It may not be my best trait, but I was stubborn and I wasn't going to allow myself to be pushed around by Tommy and his 'bi-ness'.

I turned my head to see him with his arms crossed over his chest and he looked slightly pissed off and arrogant. But it didn't intimidate me. I was taller than him, so I had stature on my side. But did I have emotional control on my side? Oh, hell no.

"Yea, nobody but yourself," I responded back sharply, "God, you know Tommy, I thought what we had was special, but obviously not, because you're being a total bitch about it! If you didn't want to be my boyfriend then why didn't you just tell me that?" I yelled, shaking slightly and trying to keep my tears restrained, but it was freaking hard.

"Adam, you're such a fucking drama queen! I'm sorry if I missed my girlfriend! I loved her, but I somehow managed to get past all that to be with you. So I liked kissing her! Is that a crime? You kissed fucking Kesha! You kissed a whole bunch of people, but you don't see me calling you a whore or anything because I didn't care!" Tommy shot back, using the word 'whore'. It was almost, almost, just as bad as the word faggot to me. He seemed to be seething with rage, and I met him there. "No, all I cared about was what was happening now, but you obviously can't look at the future because you're so hung out on the past! So I had a girlfriend, are you going to kill them? Fuck, man, you're so clingy!" he hissed, glowering deathly at me.

"Clingy? You're calling me clinging? We haven't even been in a relationship for twenty-four hours and you're already making false assumptions! You know, maybe this fight was a good thing. Now we both know we're not compatible with each other. Go screw yourself, Tommy. Because I'm certainly not!" I snapped, glaring at him, tears bridging on my eyes. "Or, I have a better idea; why don't you go get Emily to give you a blowjob? She'll probably LOVE that!"

Maybe it was never meant to work out. He just realized that he was bi because he loved me, but perhaps it was all just one big fucking mistake. It wasn't going to work out worth crap, and we both knew it. So, you know what, I'm glad this fight happened. Now we don't have to keep living a lie that we both somewhat liked each other. And then again, now we both hate each other. In fact, after what Tommy was about to say to me, I fucking despised him.

"Yea, Adam. I really want your tiny dick in my ass! That's the best you got? Oh, no! Adam won't be able to butt-fuck me! What ever will I do?" he asked, putting on a show and scowling at me. "I'd never want you to fuck me, even if you were the last person on earth, only a faggot does that kind of shit. And since you're a faggot whore, it shouldn't be too hard for you to find someone to butt-fuck, huh Adam?" he yelled, and then his eyes suddenly widened, as if he had just realized what he said tore me apart on the inside. And it did.

The tears that were almost pouring out of me finally broke the barricade and escalated down my cheeks. He said the two words that hurt me the most in the same sentence and I started bawling like a baby (as pitiful as that sounds). "Fuck you, Tommy!" That was all I could muster up to say. It was pathetic, I know, but I couldn't think with that sentence running through my head. It just hurt so freaking much. I'm not a faggot whore. No, I'm not. I'm gay, and that's something I can't help. And I'm not a whore because I've had sex, sure, but not with just any random stranger. Only people that I knew and liked. Of course, I banged Drake and Brad, but they were my boyfriends. Even though now I regret ever fucking Brad after his entire scandal. And now I'm really happy I didn't do anything with Tommy except kiss him which unfortunately, I still didn't regret! I wanted to so badly, but I knew I still liked him, even if he was the bitchy bitch of Bitch Mountain located in the center of Dick Field!

I ran past him and out of the bus towards our hotel. We hadn't checked in yet, but I would somehow manage to talk to the person at the desk and get our room. And fuck me. Why was I so cheap? We were only going to be here one night so I booked one big suite for the entire band to share. Oh, well, no use in complaining about it now. At least it wouldn't just be me and Tommy. Monte, Lisa, and Longineu would be there too, but they would somehow manage to bring up the subject of the tension that would soon hang in the air…

"H-Hi…Adam L-Lambert…" I sniffled to the man behind the counter. He looked at me oddly for a moment then typed a couple things into his computer.

"Ah, Mr. Lambert. You have the Holiday Suite. Here are your keys," he said, handing them to me and smiling. "Have a nice stay."

Oh, fuck how I wish what he said would be true, but it wasn't going to be a pleasant time at all. No, because Tommy thinks I'm a faggot whore.

I tore the keys out of his hand and went on the elevator, dreading the trip up.

Floor one.

Floor two.

Floor fucking three.

Shit, how many fucking floors were there? I actually screamed a bit. I screamed out all my problems and tugged on my thick hair, just trying to let it all out, any other way I could other than tears. When I eventually reached floor seventeen, I bolted towards my room and slid the key through the door. I didn't even look around at the amazing features of the huge room. No, I went straight to the nearest bed and collapsed on it, bawling my eyes out. Why did this have to happen? It was going great until fucking Emily came along! Why, why, why? God, this happens with all my boyfriends, I'm just so fucking unlucky, and I hate crying! There has to be another way to let my sadness ands hate roll off.

And that's when I thought of it.

I rose from my bed and walked into the bathroom, looking around, trying to find the exact object I was looking for, and un-surprisingly enough, I found that specific object. A glistening cheap, pink razor. I've only cut myself once, and that was in high school when being gay was the worst thing you could possibly be. I got picked on a lot because I was a ginger, and pretty heavy. And of course, being the 'gay theatrical kid', didn't help my problems at all. But, now, it was for the most cliché reason of all:

A break-up.

With a heavy gulp I gently placed the razor against the thin skin of my right wrist and pressed down forcefully. I pulled it back about five inches and withdrew the blade. Warm liquid trailed down my arm and dropped to the ground. It felt so fucking good, but I knew I couldn't let anyone see it. It was my own little secret.

So, I wrapped it in a gauze (this hotel was packed with essentials), and threw the bloody razor away, cleaned the floor of my blood and lay back on the bed with a content smile.

My dirty little secret.