Forget it

I wake up to the soft hum of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. The room is quiet, and I feel the cold air around me. I glance over to Stefani's side of the bed, but the space is empty.

My heart does a little flip, and I can't decide if I feel relieved or disappointed. She's not here. It's just me, lying in the bed where everything—everything—changed last night.

I sit up slowly, running a hand through my hair as I try to make sense of what happened. The past few days have been a blur. Hell, the past few hours have been a blur. I didn't think it would affect me this way.

Stefani... my best friend, my boss, Lady Gaga herself. I fucked her.

I've hooked up with women before, but this wasn't just any hookup. This was her. I can't stop thinking about it. I'm not the type to overanalyze things, but I can't help it now. Last night was intense, and I know I've never felt anything like that before. It was almost too much. How did we even get here? I'd never seen it coming.

I reach up and touch the side of my neck, feeling the faint sting of the hickeys she left behind. They're still sore, the raised skin making me grimace as I rub them absentmindedly.

In the shower, the water pours over me, but it doesn't wash away the feeling. The heat in my chest, the burn on my back... I can't forget the way she touched me, the way we moved together, the way I lost myself. There's something addictive about the way Stefani made me feel. But last night... it was different. She was different.

I try to push it all aside as I step out of the shower. Focus, Lena. This is a job. I've got a show to perform, and dancing is the one thing that keeps me grounded. It's the one thing I've always been sure of. I can't let anything mess with that, especially not... this.

I get dressed quickly and head down to the gym, hoping the physical exertion will clear my mind. I run, lift, and stretch, pushing my body until I feel like I've left my thoughts behind. But even after the workout, the question lingers. Can I really forget?

By the time I'm finished and back at the venue, I feel more like myself again. The tension in my muscles has loosened, and I'm focused. This is it. The stage is where I belong. Nothing else matters here.

I do my ritual, tie my hair up, and get ready. The marks on my neck are hard to hide, so I spend more time than usual on my makeup, trying to make them less noticeable. It's a hassle, but I have no choice.

I hear Tara and Freddie talking in the background—something about Stefani taking longer to get ready. I don't care. I'm grateful for the silence. I don't want to deal with her right now.

And then she walks in.

Stefani.

I look up just in time to see her moving past me, her eyes not even meeting mine. I swallow hard, trying to push the lump of disappointment down. Maybe it's for the best. If she's not going to acknowledge it, maybe I don't have to either.

She stands in front of the group, commanding as always, and starts praying over us. My heart races as I try to focus, trying to push everything that happened last night out of my head.

The show begins, and I slip into the rhythm, the music taking over. The crowd roars, the lights blinding, and all I can feel is the movement of my body. I lose myself in it, just like I always do. I'm Lena. I'm the best dancer for Lady Gaga.

But no matter how hard I try, Stefani's touch lingers in the back of my mind. I can't shake it, even as I nail the moves, even as I hear the cheers. It was just one night, I remind myself. But the thought doesn't sit well. What happens now? How do we go back to normal?

I force myself to focus on the dance, to keep my mind sharp. Dancing is everything. Nothing else matters.

Richie and I had worked tirelessly on the solo piece for Dope. The song itself has always held a special place in my heart, but after everything, it's become something else entirely. Every night, it feels heavier. It's my way of processing the pain, of dealing with the mess I've found myself in. The emotion it carries is overwhelming, and tonight, as I step into center stage, it feels more intense than it ever has.

Stefani's at the piano, her back to me. The tension between us is palpable, but at least she's not looking at me. For once, I'm relieved. Maybe this time, the distraction will be gone, and I can just perform.

She begins to play, her fingers dancing across the keys in a way that feels almost fragile. Her voice follows, soft and haunting. I take a deep breath and start moving, my body reacting to the music. I lose myself in it, like I always do, but tonight, it's different. The lyrics, the melody—they hit deeper than before, because I can't stop thinking of her. I think of everything that happened, how beautiful it was, how messy it became. I think about how tragic it all is.

Before I know it, the tears come. It's never happened to me on stage, never like this. I try to push it down, to keep going, but the emotion takes over. It's like I can't help but feel everything all at once. The audience is watching, but it's like I'm not even there anymore, just the rawness of everything flowing through me.

I'm on the floor, completely vulnerable. And that's when I feel it—her eyes on me. Stefani. She's looking at me. I feel exposed, but there's something in her gaze that I can't quite place. I wipe my eyes quickly, pulling myself together, and slowly push myself back onto my feet. I rejoin the rest of the dancers, my body moving mechanically, trying to act like nothing happened. The rest of the show goes on without a hitch, but that moment—the tears, the vulnerability, the overwhelming sense of loss—it sticks with me.

I've never been like this on stage. I've always been able to compartmentalize, to shut everything out, to stay in the moment. But tonight, I was in the moment, and that terrified me.

After the performance, Tara and Freddie find me backstage. They both tell me I did a great job, but I can barely register it. I can feel the tears threatening again, the weight of it all pushing down on me. I hate it. I hate feeling this way. I didn't do a good job tonight. I couldn't control it, couldn't control myself, and I hated that I couldn't keep my composure like I always do.

Then she's there. Stefani. She stands in front of me, her face etched with concern. "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice soft, tentative. But I can't. I can't deal with her right now. I just want to get away. I don't want to look at her. I don't want to talk to her.

I grab my stuff, pack my bag quickly, and head for the exit. I can feel her eyes on me, but I ignore them. I need space. I need to breathe. I need to be alone.

Back at the hotel, I retreat to my room and lock the door behind me. I pull out the little baggie I've been hiding in the bottom of my bag. I don't care about the consequences, I just need to numb this feeling. I need to escape, even for a little while. I lie back on the bed, letting everything fade as I drift off, the buzzes on my phone unnoticed.

All I want is to forget. Forget what happened. Forget the way Stefani's eyes felt when she looked at me. Forget that damn Dope performance and how it pulled me into a place I never wanted to go.

But I can't forget. Not yet.