Hollywood Prince

by Natasha Madison

  The night is horrible. I toss and turn, and finally, I toss the covers aside. I look at the clock and see that it’s almost six a.m., so I grab my phone and see that he hasn’t even attempted to call or text me. I get up and get dressed, stopping by Starbucks before heading to his house. I should have just calmed down before I spoke to him, I realize as I pull up to his house. I get out, grabbing the coffee, and make my way to the door. I wonder if he’s sleeping or if his night was just as restless as mine. I walk in, and the house is eerily quiet.

  I put my purse down and walk up the steps to his room, my heart pounding in my chest.

  I walk to the doorway, and I stop, right there, and take in the room. The room we shared just yesterday morning. It’s almost as if it’s moving in slow motion. The naked blonde in the bed sits up, the sheet falling off her huge naked tits and her mouth opening when she sees me. My eyes move around the room, landing on the bedside table that holds an open condom wrapper and then to the entrance of his bathroom where I hear the shower turn off. My hands start to shake, and I think my knees are going to give out. I look around confused, my eyes going around the room again, taking everything in, not sure what is going on, and then he steps into the room. Fresh from the shower with a white towel wrapped around his waist. A white towel in his hands as he dries his hair. “Oh, you brought coffee,” he says and walks over to me, grabbing the coffee tray from my hand.

  “Cindy, this is Erin. She’s my PR girl,” he says to her, and I have to take my hand and hold the door to stop from falling. “This is Cindy. We met last night.” I look at him, his eyes looking right through me. “Don’t worry, though.” He stands there. “We didn’t get caught, so your job is still safe.”

  “What?” I whisper. I have to get out of here. I think I’m going to be sick.

  “No one took our pictures, so your dream job is still intact,” he says with a snide tone. I look at him, taking one last look at him and the naked blonde lying in the bed I was lying in less than twenty-four hours ago when he made love to me. I turn and walk down the steps, looking around at all the places he made love to me. All the places that I almost told him I loved him. I get to the bottom of the steps, and the tears are now running down my face, making my vision blurry. I grab my bag, and my knees give out right as I’m about to walk out the door, but I hold out my hand, gripping the doorjamb.

  I walk out, closing the door behind me, and a sob comes out of my mouth. I try to place my hand over my mouth but trip on the step. I can hardly see in front of me. Holding the railing, I take the steps as fast as I can. I grab my keys, and they fumble out of my hand right before I open my door. I bend to get them, falling on my knees and shaking my hand, landing palms out on the rocks. I get up and get in the car. The pain in my chest feels like little shards of glass going through me. I start the car, and reverse it, my heart pounding so hard I can’t hear anything except the beating. I press the phone button and dial the one person I know I can go to. He answers on the second ring, his voice groggy.

  “Daddy,” I sob out, the tears flowing so fast I can’t stop them. Rivers running down my face.

  “Baby girl, what’s the matter?” I hear the worry in his voice. “Where are you?”

  “It hurts so much,” I tell him, driving as fast as I can get away from Carter. I drive until I can’t see anymore, until my vision is so blurry I have no choice but to pull over to the side of the road, and my stomach turns. “I’m going to be sick.” I open my car door and throw up on the side of the road.

  “Where are you?” I hear him shut a door in the background, and I hear him turn on his car. “I’m coming to get you. Are you home?”

  “Daddy,” I sob out. “My heart. It hurts,” I tell him, sobbing and trying to catch my breath so I can speak. “So much pain.”

  “ERIN!” he yells. “Share your location with me.”

  I grab my phone and share it with him and then toss the phone on the seat beside me. “It hurts so much,” I tell him. I grab my hand, putting it to my chest, hoping to rub the pain away, except nothing I can do will dull the pain. Nothing he can say can kiss away the pain; nothing that anyone can say can make the pain go away. Nothing, it’s empty. There is nothing left. Nothing of my heart, nothing of my soul. I sit here on the side of the road. I don’t even know if it’s five minutes or one hour. I know nothing but pain.

  I see headlights coming at me and then stop on the side, and I know I’m finally safe. He opens my door and grabs me in his arms. “I can’t breathe,” I tell him, my breathing coming in pants now, the pants hurting my chest even more.

  “You can breathe,” my father says. “Just look at me.” I look at him, and the breathing gets worse, the pants shorter, harder, more painful. “You are having a panic attack,” he says, and I look at him. “Just look at me, baby girl, and inhale nice and slow.” I focus on his eyes, his warm eyes, the love showing.

  “He doesn’t love me,” I tell him, taking a huge deep breath. “He shattered what we had.”

  “Oh, baby,” he says, holding me around my waist and walking to his car. “I’m here.”

  He puts me in the car and fastens the seat belt over me. I put my hand to my chest. “Hurts right here,” I tell him of the pain that is so deep I feel it in my bones. I feel it straight down to my soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Carter

  I watched her get in a cab and drive away. Looking at my watch, I was going to give her an hour and then go to her. Walking back into the party, I look around, and Jennifer comes up to me. “Is Erin okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine,” I lied to her. “It’s just been a long week.”

  “Don’t I know it, but soon it will all pay off for her,” Jennifer says, drinking her water bottle.

  “What is going to pay off for her?” I ask her, my mouth suddenly going dry and my mind racing. This can’t be happening to me again.

  “Her big break,” she says. “You know if you stay in line and don’t fuck things up, she gets her dream job in New York.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I mean, it’s really a done deal at this point because you’ve been good for the past three weeks. Only one more week to go for her.”

  “Excuse me,” I say, walking away from her. My hands are suddenly clammy, my throat dry, my heart beating so fast I think I’m going to have a heart attack. I get in my car, my mind going into overdrive. I think back to every conversation we had to see if she mentioned something, to see if she said something, anything that could make sense of this. Moving to fucking New York. Is this for real? My hand grips the steering wheel, and I head to her house, but then turn around when I’m almost there.

  She is just like everyone else, I tell myself, yet my heart doesn’t get on board, but I ignore the pull of reason. The night going by is a nightmare, the hours making it worse with all the memories that fill them. I sat at the window, looking out into the darkness, and set my plan in motion. When it was finally over, I thought I would feel better, I thought I would be vindicated, but instead, I was in more pain, more agony. More broken. Let her fucking go to New York after riding on my coattails, taking what she could from me just like all the others. I will burn this relationship down before I’ll be hurt again.

  I hear the door slam closed, and I have to stop myself from running after her. I look over at the blonde in my bed. “Get the fuck out,” I tell her, walking back to the bathroom.

  “Oh, come on,” she says, getting on her knees, her big tits swaying. “You’re paying me, might as well use me. I was naked all night long, and you haven’t even touched me.” She rolls her nipples, and I turn and walk out.

  “When I get back, if you’re not gone, I’m going to put you out on your ass,” I tell her. “I paid you for the night, you did what I wanted you to do, now get out.” I close the door of the bathroom and go to the toilet, and I sit down. My legs trembling, I close my eyes, and the only thing I can see is the pain in her eyes when I stepped into the room. A tear rolls down my cheek, and I don’t wipe it awa
y. I let it fall on the towel that I have wrapped around my waist. Another tear falls down, rolling faster than the last one. I pick up my hand to touch my cheek, but it shakes so much I have to put it back down.

  She shouldn’t be driving in that state. What if she needs me? I get up, my legs shaking again, and I hold the counter, grabbing the clothes I just took off when she walked in the house. I open the door and see that the blonde is gone, and the sheet she covered herself with all night lays on the floor. I walk down the stairs, grabbing my keys. I have to make sure she made it home okay. Walking to the garage, I get in my car and pull away from my house. The house that I shared with her and no one else. The house that was only mine is now ours. The road’s almost deserted when I see her car on the side of the road, and my heart starts to beat even faster. I pull up behind her and get out of the car, almost running to her car. I see that she was sick beside her car, and the tears come now. I don’t even bother to notice looking in the car to see if she’s there, but it’s empty. She isn’t anywhere. I look around, yelling her name, wondering if she’s sick somewhere on the side of the road. Did someone stop and kidnap her? Where the hell is she? I run down the road, my eyes going everywhere while I yell her name so loudly and so much my throat is raw. I run my hands through my hair, finally pulling it out. The pain is dull compared to the pain in my stomach. I run back to my car, picking up my phone and calling her. It goes straight to voice mail, her voice makes my heart beat normal, lets me breathe again. I hang up when I hear the beep and go up and down again and again. Nothing, not a trace of her except her car. I wonder if she walked to get help. Did her car break down? I call her again, and it goes to voice mail. I sit in the car not moving, waiting for her to come back. I’ll be here when she comes back, but a tow truck shows up, and I get out of the car.

  “Hey.” I walk up to him, and he looks at me while he connects his truck to her car. “Is the lady who drives this car okay?”

  “No clue, man,” he says. “I was just told to pick it up.” I nod at him and turn to walk back to my car. She must be fine if she managed to get a tow truck to pick up her car. I get back home and walk into the door, and I swear I can smell her. She’s everywhere. I walk to the kitchen and start my coffee, ignoring the vanilla-flavored syrup I bought for her. I grab it and toss it in the garbage. I turn and walk to the liquor cabinet, grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

  Outside, the weather mirrors how I feel. It’s dark and gloomy and looks like a storm is coming. I walk down the steps to the beach, the wet sand sticking to my feet. Making my way to the shore, I sit down, watching the water. I twist open the bottle of Jack and bring it to my mouth, taking a huge gulp. The burn runs right down my throat. The water crashes onto the shore, and I feel like I’ve been beaten and run over by a truck. My whole body hurts. The rain comes, but I don’t move. I sit here as the rain comes down, and the sand starts to whip me. I drink each time the burn goes away; I drink until the pain is almost numb. My eyes are on the amber-colored alcohol that is almost gone. My head spins, and I fall back onto the wet sand, looking up at the sky. The clouds rolling along having its own war. When the rain stops, only the darkness stays.

  I finally get up and stumble back to my house, walking inside and going straight to my bedroom. The bed hits me right away with the lone sheet on the floor. I grab the bed and pull it out of the room, throwing it over the railing and hearing a thud, but then I see a glass vase fall to the floor, shattering everywhere. I jog down the stairs, picking the mattress up and dragging it outside, the sounds of crashing the whole time I pull it out of the house. I throw it down the steps to the beach. I stumble on the sand, walking back to the house where I pick up the sheets, then find some matches and lighter fluid. Grabbing another bottle of Jack, I balance everything in my hand as I walk to the beach. I sit down near the mattress, open the bottle, and take another long pull. I pick up the lighter fluid and spray it on the mattress until nothing is left in the can. I light a match, watching the orange flame, and toss it on the bed. There’s a whooshing sound when it catches fire, and I fall back on my ass and watch it burn. The bottle of Jack never leaves my hand. The sky opens up, and the pouring rain soaks me.

  “Holy shit, dude.” I hear from behind me and try to focus, but the darkness of the night, plus the Jack makes it almost impossible. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”

  I cock my head to the side. “Jeff?” I ask. “Is that you?”

  “I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer. Are you drinking?” He asks the question as he snatches the bottle out of my hand.

  “Heyy,” I slur out and try to grab the bottle back, but my arm falls like a noodle. “I neeed that.”

  “Your house looks ransacked,” he says, trying to pick me up, “and you’re soaking wet.”

  “She lied,” I mumble the words. “She lied to me.”

  “Fuck,” he says, trying to carry my dead weight body toward the house. He opens the gate, and we make it up the steps.

  “I want to lie down right herrrre,” I tell him, looking at the lounge chairs by the pool. He doesn’t listen, though; he takes me inside and throws me on the couch. I turn to the side and look at the fireplace. I close my eyes, but the eyes that I see are the ones I’m running from. The pain in them cutting me straight to my core. But I don’t have a choice. I keep closing them only because I can see her again, even if it’s with the pain. I close my eyes one more time and whisper her name. She turns and looks at me, then walks away from me. I run to her, but the faster I run, the farther she gets. “Erin.” Her name on my lips is the last thing that I say before falling into the dark abyss.

  I spend the whole night chasing her in my dreams, but she remains just out of reach. I fall to my knees, begging her to come back, begging her to love me just as much as I love her, but she never comes to me. I can never catch her. I almost do; I reach out to touch her arm, and then my eyes flicker open. The bright sun shines in the windows, so I close my eyes to dull the pain in my head. The throbbing like jackhammers. I try to swallow, but my mouth feels like it’s filled with sand. I moan, turning on my side.

  “Good, you’re awake.” I hear and open my eyes. Jeff’s standing there with a coffee in his hand, sitting on the table facing me. He puts his coffee down and picks up a glass of water and two pills. “Take this.”

  I sit up and have to stop moving because my stomach feels like it’s going to explode, but nothing can describe the pain in my chest. “Thank you,” I say, taking the pills and drinking no more than three sips of water. I hand him the glass, then put my head back on the couch, and close my eyes.

  “I ordered you some greasy shit to help with the hangover,” he tells me. “I have a cleanup crew coming in two hours. You can stay here, or you can come to my house.” I open one eye and look at him.

  “Cleanup crew?” I ask, confused, and he shakes his head.

  “Look around.” I turn slowly and take in the sight of my house. The vases on the floor are in pieces, the stools from the kitchen on the floor. The vase of roses that we got two days ago are scattered all through the house like it was dragged there. The side table by the stairs is knocked over, I think from the mattress. “Is any of it coming back to you?”

  I rub my hands over my face. “I need a new bed,” I tell him, and he nods his head. “I need to shower.”

  “Yeah, you do. You’re covered in sand.” I look down, seeing my shoes are still on, and the caked in wet sand is still on there. My clothes have little pieces of sand everywhere. “You going to tell me what happened?”

  I take a deep breath, knowing that if I can tell anyone, it’s Jeff. “I fell in love with her.” I bring my hand to my chest when it starts to pound hard. “And then I found out she lied to me. She was going to take what I gave her, the notoriety of my career, and leave for New York. She was just using me, just like everyone else,” I say the last sentence softly. “I’m going to shower.” He doesn’t stop me from walking to the stairs, the sound of the glass crunch
ing under my running shoes. “I thought she was the one.” I shake my head, and I could swear I hear her call my name. But I know it’s my mind playing tricks on me.

  Walking into the bedroom, I stand in the same spot where Erin stood when she came up the stairs yesterday. The pain across her face, her hand trembling, it’s too much. The memories are too much, so I turn and walk to the guest bedroom. I walk to the bathroom, and there on the top of the sink is one of her shirts. I pick it up and bring it to my nose and smell her. I close my eyes and picture her in it when she hugs me. I’m numb, empty, broken, and I have no one to blame but myself.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Erin

  “Honey, you need to eat something,” my father says to me when he comes into the bedroom and sits on the bed. I’m lying here with my legs to my chest and staring out the window at the sunny day. “It’s been two days.”

  I look at him. It’s been two days since my life shattered, two days since I walked into that scene that plays over and over in my head on a loop. “I’m not hungry,” I tell him the truth. Just the thought of eating makes my stomach feel queasy.

  “If you don’t eat something soon, your mother is getting on a fucking plane,” he says, trying to make a joke, but I know she’s one step away from it. When my father carried me to his car and then took me to his house, the first person he called was my mother. I heard his voice faintly through the closed door. He didn’t leave my side, and when he did, it was for ten minutes, max fifteen. I finally sent him away yesterday, knowing he needed sleep.

  “My stomach feels sick,” I tell him.

  “Why don’t you come to the kitchen, and at least try having some soup?” he says, and I sit up. He gets up and holds out his hand to me. I grab it and walk down the grand staircase to his huge kitchen, sitting on the stool. “What type of soup do you want?”