Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 340

Abby

I slump against the plush window of the luxury bus, the rain streaking down outside matching my gloomy mood. Prince Damon spared no expenses with our own personal bus to take me and my staff to the estate, with plush seats, snacks, fresh coffee, and even free wifi. I should be relaxed right now.

But I’m not.

I just can’t believe that Karl ruined everything between us so completely last night, once again. Or maybe I do believe it. After all, I guess I’m the moron for thinking that he really had changed; that he’s even capable of change.

And now here I am, on the way to what’s supposed to be one of the most exciting career opportunities of my life, with tears in my eyes.

Suddenly, a light touch on my shoulder startles me out of my intense sulking. I glance over to see Chloe frowning, her eyes clouded with concern as she settles into her seat beside me.

“Holy shit, Abby,” she says as she nudges me with her elbow. “Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I bite my lip as the road dips into another pothole, my unsettled stomach lurching warningly. I’ve been feeling nauseous all morning; that’s what a night of sobbing, no sleep, and nothing to ingest except for bitter black coffee will do to someone.

“Just motion sick,” I lie. “That’s all.”

Chloe frowns at me. Once again, it’s impossible to lie to her; she knows me too well. “Tell me the truth,” she says. “What really happened?”

I let out a small sigh. I guess there’s no point hiding the messy full truth from my overly observant best friend. And besides, maybe venting will help perk me up.

“Karl and I broke up.”

Chloe’s eyebrows lift. “Oh?” she says, not sounding particularly surprised. “What happened?”

I open my mouth to respond, but then realize that the words won’t come. My tongue feels thick and heavy, and as the bus lurches through another pothole, another wave of nausea hits me.

“Nothing,” I finally say bitterly. “It just… isn’t gonna work out.”

Chloe stares at me for a moment, taking me in. For a moment, I think she might try to pry more out of me; but she doesn’t. Instead, she wraps her arms around me, pulling me close. I can’t hold it in anymore.

I cling gratefully to her slender frame, struggling not to completely dissolve into sobs and make a full scene. But damn does it feel cathartic getting this initial storm of grief out of my system.

“Just let it out,” Chloe murmurs supportively. “Get the worst over with so we can focus on happy things. That man clearly doesn’t deserve your tears after all the bullshit.”

We sit quietly for several miles after, my occasional sniffles and the patter of rain the only sounds apart from the noise of the road and the rest of the staff chatting quietly. Eventually, I somehow manage to lift my head from Chloe’s damp shoulder, rubbing gingerly at my swollen eyes.

“Ugh, look at me blubbering like some soap opera character,” I mutter, my nose stuffy. “Sorry for dumping drama on you when we’re supposed to be having fun.”

Chloe makes an indignant noise, smacking my knee. “Oh, stop. What are friends for if not crying on shoulders over worthless exes?” She gives me a stern look that’s softened by affection. “You just focus forward now on kicking ass at this gig. You’re catering for a prince, Abby. A prince.”

Despite my lingering pain, Chloe’s pep talk coaxes a hint of smile out of me. “Yeah. You’re completely right.” I blot gingerly at my cheeks with the tissues she passes over to me. “I’m not going to think about it for the rest of the trip.”

Our conversation flows a little easier after that. Chloe effortlessly redirects it toward more positive topics, like the upcoming event and whether or not John and Anton will have another big fight that’ll just be amended with laughter and a bear hug, whenever my thoughts threaten to spiral again.

By late afternoon, when we pull into some garish roadside tourist trap, I’ve largely regained my composure. My appetite has returned, too, and I’m starving. We eagerly pile off of the bus in desperate search of something greasy to eat and some stupid souvenirs to waste our money on.

On the way in, Daisy points at a cheap t-shirt in the window. “That’s cute.”

Ethan, who’s holding her hand, stops and furrows his brow. “That thing?” he asks, leaning forward to take in the garish design: plain white with big red text that says “I LOVE ROAD TRIPS,” with the ‘love’ replaced with a big red heart.

“What?” she asks with a shrug. “It’s cute. Would be nice to remember our trip by.”

“We’re going to a prince’s estate, and you want a gas station t-shirt to remember the trip by?” Ethan teases.

Daisy blushes, but says nothing. A few minutes later, though, she’s got the t-shirt in her hand and a grin on her face. Ethan is beaming, too, although his wallet is a few dollars lighter.

Seeing them like this, though, makes my stomach roil. They’re cute together; too cute, actually. Too much of a reminder of what I lost last night thanks to Karl’s indignance. It’s all I can do to muster a smile and not cry. At least I’ve got the rumbling in my stomach to distract me.

Soon, we’re gathered around a sticky plastic picnic table, polishing off the remnants of truly terrible cheeseburgers.

I poke listlessly at my congealing fries, what little appetite I had vanishing. I can’t decide, though, if it’s what happened with Karl or my lingering motion sickness that’s making me lose my desire to eat. Maybe both.

Just as I push the mess away with resignation, my treacherous guts let out a threatening gurgle. I groan softly, alarm prickling down my sweaty spine. Oh no.

“Uh oh, you don’t look so hot. boss.” John frowns as he takes a big bite of his burger, seemingly unfazed by the shitty quality of it. “Might’ve caught that nasty flu bug making the rounds, eh?”

“No, no, just motion sickness,” I say, already rising and swiveling my head in search of a bathroom. “No one panic. I’m not contagious.”

But just as I shoulder violently into the first bathroom stall a few moments later, the roiling in my stomach becomes too much. Before I know it, I’m hurling everything I just consumed straight into the toilet. It doesn’t taste nearly as good coming back up, which is saying a lot considering how bad it tasted going down.

When I’m finally finished, I let out a heavy groan and lean back against the cool tiled wall. My stomach is still clenching, although I can’t decide whether it’s from the sudden emptiness or another wave of retching that might come any minute now. Just to be safe, I figure I’ll sit here and wait.

Well, goddamn. So much for retaining my composure in the wake of another devastating breakup. Right when I was supposed to be the fearless leader of my staff on the trip of a lifetime, here I am, sitting on the disgusting floor of a rest stop bathroom.

Stupid motion sickness.