Stars

Jordan Armstrong drove through the busy Los Angeles streets every day, but today’s drive home from work seemed three times as longer than the hundreds of other ones he drove every day. His stomach was knotting, if he didn’t have self-control he could have already smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. The text he had gotten earlier that day kept saying itself out loud in his mind.



That text was from his live-in girlfriend of four years, Natasha Rosewood. Any other boyfriend would brush it off as a stomach ache or a cold, and then make a mental note to make sure to take care of her when he got home later that evening. But for Jordan, it meant something different.

Natasha suffered from Bi-Polar disorder. “I’m not feeling well” translated into something a lot different than a cold. “I’m not feeling well” meant Natasha was lying either in their bed or on the couch, crying, chain-smoking, and all around being miserable. Now, this could be for a number of reasons. Either she didn’t get a call back from the last modeling job she applied for, she got into a fight with her mother or younger sister, or even for no reason at all. But one thing was sure about it; soon enough Natasha would pack up some of her things and leave for a few days.

When she did that, it’s not like she just went to stay with her mom back in upstate New York for the weekend. Natasha would go to the seediest parts of LA, sometimes even as far as Berkeley, and meet up with her old friends to sit around, drink, and shoot up heroin for days. Until of course, Jordan came to her rescue.

And it’s not like Natasha would calmly and willingly come home with Jordan. At that point, she will have turned back into the rough, crazy, delusional junkie that she was before. She would not go without a fight.

People always asked Jordan why he put up with it, why he always went out looking for her, how he could even possibly stay with her. The only answer he could ever give them was that he loved her; nothing more, nothing less.

As he unlocked the door to their apartment, he could hear Natasha’s sobs over the trash TV she was watching. His stomach began to do backflips as he imagined the worst. Six months prior, Jordan came home to this and then later that night had to stop her from killing herself.

Natasha was lying on the couch with a blanket, streaks of black mascara dried onto her tanned cheeks. Her long, blonde hair was tied back into a tangled ponytail. She looked like she hadn’t looked at a mirror all day.

“Baby,” Jordan began as he went over to the couch to sit beside her, “what’s wrong?”

Natasha sniffed back tears, “I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“What? Did someone call you back and say they didn’t want you or something?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, pushing Jordan off of her and headed to the kitchen. “No, Jordan. You know it’s not always that,” she snapped as she pulled a bottle of wine out of the fridge, pouring herself a glass.

“I was just asking,” He had to be careful to not say anything that could upset her even more, “so you don’t know why you’re so sad?”

“No. If I knew I would tell you, wouldn’t I?”

Jordan and Natasha spent the rest of the night lying on the couch together, Natasha switching between inconsolable sobs and catty remarks. He bit his tongue and tried his hardest to keep his patience, knowing that if he upset her even more, he would regret it.

As he lied in bed with her next to him, he really thought about things. The calm California breeze coming in through the window was a catalyst for his thoughts, seemed to somehow clear his mind. He knew he loved Natasha, he just didn’t know how he could love her. How he had been with her all these years. Of course, thinking things like that made him feel terrible, but he couldn’t help it. He had no idea why he was with her. She was full of problems; she was like a once beautiful vase shattered into a million broken pieces. A million broken pieces he wanted to put back together, even though he knew he couldn’t.

The next day, Jordan was at work sorting records when his co-worker, Lucky, came up to him.

“Rough night?”

He laughed, “How did you know?”

Lucky smiled, running her hand through her dark brown hair and batting her long eyelashes as her bright blue eyes glimmered in the sunlight that lit up the entire store.

“You look tired, dark circles under your eyes.”

Jordan had been seeing Lucky behind Natasha’s back for three months now. It’s not that he didn’t love Natasha anymore; actually that was the complete opposite. He just needed somewhere to get away from the drama, the emotional rollercoaster, and that somewhere just so happened to be Lucky Santana. It was actually his best friend, Tommy Burns, which talked him into it in the first place. Tommy was always one to try and get as many girls as he could, and when Jordan told him how Lucky had been flirting with him at work, he was all over it. Every day Tommy would text him asking him what Lucky had said to him that day. And after a few weeks of relentless pestering, Jordan began to think it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It’s not like he loved Lucky or anything, well of course he did have feelings for her, but Natasha was still his entire heart. Lucky was just his home away from home. That’s how he justified it, at least.

Lucky, however, had zero feelings for Jordan. All she liked about Jordan was the attention, and the big possibility that Jordan’s band would take off any day now, and he’d leave Natasha behind and take Lucky away with him.

“Yeah, Natasha was upset last night. I had to stay up all night to make sure she didn’t try to hurt herself.”

When Jordan heard himself say things like this, for a moment it became clear to him why everyone thought he was crazy for staying with her.

Lucky rolled her eyes, “What was she even upset about?”

“Lord knows,” Jordan sighed, “she never tells me. I honestly don’t think she even knows.”

“I know what’s wrong with her. She’s crazy. Easy as that.”
Lucky was never very sensitive.

Jordan had to let himself chuckle a little bit, “It’s not like she doesn’t know that, babe. She just. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

Lucky frowned then reached up to run her hand through Jordan’s hair, “It makes me feel so bad to see you so stressed out. Maybe tonight you could come by?”

Jordan returned Lucky’s smirk and placed his hands around her waist, “Hm, maybe I should. Say around nine?”

“Sounds perfect.”

After Lucky kissed him on the cheek and walked away, Jordan couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt and confusion. He didn’t even know how he felt anymore.

On his way to stop at home to give Natasha some lame excuse that she would easily believe so he could go to Lucky’s Jordan decided to stop at his best friend Tommy’s apartment so he could pick up the guitar he had left over there.

As always, when Jordan walked into the apartment, Tommy was in front of his TV drinking Budweisers and playing the latest Madden game on his Xbox.

“Oh, hey bro! You didn’t hit me up, I didn’t know you were comin’,” Tommy shouted over the TV that was turned up far too loud and the Sublime playing from the stereo.

Jordan walked over to the couch and fell onto it, “Yeah I just came by to pick up my Les Paul I left here last weekend, then I’m heading over to Lucky’s.”

Tommy looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, “You still seein’ her?”

Jordan nodded, rubbing his eyes. He was exhausted from getting no sleep the night before.
“Yeah. I need a break from Tasha every once in a while.”

Tommy gave a weak laugh, “I would too. I don’t know how you put up with it bro. I would of said sayonara a while ago, amigo. I mean look at her. She doesn’t even have a real job.”

Jordan rolled his eyes, “Modeling is a job, Tommy.”

“Are you kidding me? Anyone can do that. Make stupid faces in front of a camera wearing stupid clothes. How about she tries playing for the Giants. That’s a real job,” Tommy scoffed.

“You’re saying playing football is a –you know what, nevermind. But yeah, I’m still seeing Lucky.”

“Since you started catchin’ feelings you should of just left Natasha for her by now.”

Jordan laughed, “Are you kidding me? Lucky isn’t really the girlfriend type. Plus can you imagine what Natasha would do?”

“Nah man, I can’t. Probably because I’m not a total whackjob like her.”

Jordan picked up the guitar by the neck in his hand, “Yeah. Thank God. But bro I should probably get going, I’m supposed to be at Lucky’s in like 10 minutes.”

“Alright man, peace out broski.”

As Jordan left Tommy’s apartment, he started to really consider what he had said. Natasha was a mess, and at least Lucky was put together. But he loved Natasha too much, he couldn’t imagine ever hurting her like that.

*

“Natasha? Tasha, I’m home!” Jordan called throughout the house. His neck was sore with hickeys from Lucky, but he had successfully covered them with Band-Aids before he came home that night.

He went into the living room and flicked the light on –no sign of her. His worst fear began registering in his mind; his stomach began doing familiar backflips.

He went into the bedroom and did the same, to find a mess of clothes on the floor and a note scrawled onto a receipt from the week prior that was left on the nightstand.