Page 51 of The TV Show Rival
Jesus, Jamie. Pull yourself together.
Desperate for a break from the relentless negativity swirling in her head, Jamie stumbled out of her apartment.
Aimlessly wandering the streets, she stumbled upon a flickering neon sign that read Open Mic Night: Spill Your Guts. On a whim, she pushed open the door, seeking refuge in the dimly lit bar.
The bar, aptly named The Rusty Compass, reeked of stale beer and something vaguely floral, courtesy of a faded Hawaiian air freshener struggling near the dusty stage.
A mix of patrons filled the mismatched furniture—tattooed hipsters with ironic mustaches shared booths with couples on awkward first dates, all united by the flickering light of the open mic sign.
She found a seat at the back, the low murmur of the crowd a comforting white noise. Ignoring the sticky film on the table, she ordered a drink.
On stage, a young woman with fiery red hair stood bathed in a spotlight. Then, she began to speak.
Her voice, initially shaky, gained strength as she spoke. “They say heartbreak hardens you, turns you cynical. But I refuse to believe that. This ache, this rawness… it’s proof I loved, proof I dared to be vulnerable.”
Jamie felt a jolt. The poet’s words struck a chord deep within her. Was she allowing her bad experiences to taint her entire perception of love?
The woman continued, her voice gaining conviction. “I won’t let the scars define me, make me afraid to open myself up again. Love isn’t a guarantee, but it’s a chance worth taking. And if someone can’t handle the entirety of who I am, love flaws and all, then maybe they weren’t meant to be a part of my story anyway.”
Jamie listened, captivated. Each verse echoed a part of her own experience—the sting of betrayal, the self-doubt, the fear of risking love again. But the poem offered a glimmer of hope, a gentle reminder that heartbreak, though painful, didn’t have to be the end of the story.
Maybe, just maybe, the poet was right. Maybe love wasn’t a competition to be won, but a journey to be shared. Maybe love wasn’t dead after all, and maybe, she wasn’t a fool for believing in it.
As the final words faded, the young woman on stage, her eyes shining with a newfound strength, took a deep bow amidst the applause.
The applause faded, leaving a comforting silence in its wake. Jamie sat there, still lost in the echo of the poet’s words, when a voice snapped her back to reality.
“May I join you?”
She turned, her breath catching in her throat. Jess stood there; a hesitant smile plastered on her face.
How? How had she found her here, in this hidden corner of the city? Had she been here the entire time?
Before Jamie could voice her bewilderment, Jess spoke again, her voice laced with a vulnerability that sent shivers down Jamie’s spine. “Please, I’d like to talk to you, can you spare me a minute?”
Jamie stared at her, a whirlwind of emotions battling inside her. Finally, she found the strength to nod curtly, unable to tear her gaze away from the woman who had so deeply hurt her.
Jess slid into the seat opposite Jamie, her eyes filled with a newfound vulnerability.
“I know this is sudden, but I’ve been… so depressed since the show ended. I even had to see a therapist.”
Jamie scoffed despite herself.
“I thought winning would make me happy, but instead, it’s been a constant reminder of how I hurt you and betrayed you. I hurt the one person I cared about the most, purely to win and get good TV ratings and I have regretted that ever since.”
Jamie’s gaze remained fixed on the stage, a million questions churning in her mind.
“The therapist made me realize I need to find myself, to stop dwelling on the past hurt because otherwise… I might be hurting the people who care about me.”
Jamie smirked. “So, the therapist finally figured out you were some ruthless mastermind.”
Jess continued despite her taunt. “I, uh, actually stumbled into this bar by accident, and when I saw you walk in… it felt like… fate.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on her face. “Fate?”
Jess nodded, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I know I’ve messed up, Jamie. I’ve been selfish. The therapist called it competitive trauma. But that’s no excuse for what I did.”
A heavy silence descended upon them, broken only by the clinking of glasses from across the room. Taking a deep breath, Jess met Jamie’s gaze head-on.