by Haley Jenner
I consider he’s right. As heartbreaking as his rejection was, is, there’s a sense of relief I haven’t felt in years. I no longer need to hide how I feel, and there’s a freedom to that that feels right.
Silence hangs between us; thick and heavy and tainted. A sound so foreign to both of us in one another’s company it’s empty and suffocating all at once. Reinforcing how alone we both are while choking us with regret and loss.
I take a breath to speak, unsure of what to say.
Goodbye?
My chin wobbles as my emotions wreak havoc through my system. I’m frozen. My body petrified to a point of immovability. I don’t trust my own legs. Reid was right, I feel as though a part of me has been brutally severed off. He’s cut himself from my life and the pain of that loss is greater than anything I could’ve ever imagined.
“I’ll see you at the Oscars one day, Roxy Monroe,” he promises. “Don’t sell your ability short, got me? Don’t grab the first movie that comes along.” Urgency lines his forehead, the seriousness in his tone only saved for whenever Reid discusses his career. “Pick your roles carefully or you’ll end up on the Lifetime channel for eternity.” He stops, arm braced on the door, to eye me. “And don’t do fucking porn. I can’t be there to look out for you, look out for yourself. Got it?”
I clench my teeth to hide the shake in my jaw. “Fuck you.”
He blinks in disappointment. “You tried that,” he mocks. “That’s why we’re here. So, no, not fuck me.”
With that, he walks away, his feet sounding on the stairs like a walk of death. Loud, impertinent and final.
My breathing hastens, quick, short stabs of air being sucked in at an alarming rate. I’m hyperventilating. Heart banging against the inner walls of my chest like the shot of a cannon. Shattered into a million and one pieces, piercing me painfully, bleeding me out.
Reid was right. Unsurprisingly. He was infuriatingly, miserably right. I’ve lost everything. Absolutely fucking everything. My best friend is gone. The one person I knew would always be there, is now gone. My trust, my confidant, the person I hold above all others just left me, and I don’t know where that leaves me. Aside from alone. Add to that the decimated leftovers of what used to be my heart and I’m as broken as any one person could be.
I thought living in the pain of my secret was insufferable. I’d convinced myself I couldn’t move past my feelings any longer. I’d wagered on the thought that maybe he felt the same. Maybe, just maybe my best friend loved me too. It happens in all the great love stories. Why not mine?
Why not fucking mine?
Feelings are too complicated.
God. He sprouted that rubbish at me when he was ten. I know him well enough to know his belief in that statement hadn’t matured. Eighteen-year-old Reid Rivere is just as cynical as his juvenile self. Yet, I’d gambled on my friendship and serves me right, I fucking lost.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I work to push that thought from my mind. But the harder I push, the stronger it comes. Infiltrating every crevice of my brain, forcing me to relive the moment Reid walked away from me over and over again.
“Morning, baby.”
I open my eyes, numbness cloaking me as I stare at my dad.
“That look is freaking your old man out. Do I need to chase that boy and beat on his ass?”
I shake my head, not even mustering a small smile.
“Zara,” Dad yells, stepping into my room, concern folding across his face, forming a thick wrinkle across his forehead.
Mom appears in my door. “Yeah?” she asks absently, eyes focused on her cell.
“Reid’s gone.”
Mom looks down the stairs, then back into my room. “He only just got here.”
“No,” I clarify. “He’s leaving town. He’s gone. He left me.”
“Left you?” Dad questions. “I didn’t realize—”
“We weren’t,” I cut him off. “My best friend just cut me out.”
That gives them both pause, Mom sliding her phone into her pocket to walk into my room.
“What?” she sputters. “That makes no sense.”
“He’s leaving for London. With Eric.”
Sliding onto the bed beside me, she wraps her arm over my shoulder, pulling me in close. “Baby, you’re not making any sense.”
“I told him I loved him,” I confess. “I tried to kiss him.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” I echo. “Oh.”
Dad drops to his haunches in front of me. “He just needs some time to swallow it all.”
I shake my head. “No. He told me I ruined it. That I ruined us. He said he hated me.” My voice breaks, the concept of such a horrible word, Reid and I being tangled within the same sentence too much for me to handle.
“Oh, honey.” Mom’s hand squeezes my shoulder, lips kissing the top of my head.
“I had no idea,” Dad ponders.
“That’s because you’re a male and while I love you, sweetheart, you’re about as observant as a rock.”
Pulling my head from her shoulder, I glance to Mom. “You knew?”
A small shrug. “Bree and I have had our suspicions.”
“I feel like a fool,” I admit.
“Roxy.” Dad’s hand slides into my free one. “Never let anyone make you feel inadequate for owning your feelings. What you did was incredibly brave. It might not feel like the right thing right now, but one day you’ll look back on this moment and be glad it happened.”
My head moves side-to-side rejecting his words.
“Baby, hiding feelings; be them positive or negative, is never healthy. Your friendship would’ve suffered eventually. You would’ve begun avoiding him to save yourself the hurt feelings of having to hide. He would’ve pushed back on your avoidance. Arguments would’ve started happening. Trust me, emotions are complicated.”
I scowl. “You sound like Reid.”
“I know he hurt you, but he’s not stupid, Roxy. Emotions are incredibly complex, and when you feel as deeply as you and Reid do for one another, they can be impossible to navigate.”
I swallow his words, disparaged by the truth in their taste.
“I don’t know who I am without him. How sad is that?”
My mother sighs. “Look, he’s angry right now. Give him twenty-four hours to calm down. Let him gain some perspective. He’s as attached to you as you are him.”
I don’t let myself be fueled by her hope. “You didn’t see his face. You didn’t hear the way he spoke to me.”
Pulling my hands free of theirs, I rub at the weariness in my eyes. “I feel so stupid,” I admit, hidden behind my palms.
“Rox, baby,” my dad soothes. “Feelings are more powerful than people give them credit for. You had about as much power in curbing your feelings for Reid as surviving without breath. Meaning none.” He pulls at my hands, forcing me to look him in the eye. “There’s no reasoning with your emotional state of mind. Your mind is this amazing logical, analytical organ, but more often than not, it’s hijacked by the havoc of what’s swirling around inside of us. Something you can’t measure or see.”
I blink away the tears in my eyes.
“Call him tomorrow,” my mom assures me. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”
Truth is, I knew he wouldn’t. I’d ended our friendship the moment I pushed for more. The split second of time where I expected more from him. A more he didn’t have within him to give. He hated me, and if I was being honest, I hated him a little bit back. Like Reid said himself, I never thought I’d feel that toward him. But I do. It’s shaded in the shame and regret he painted me with for feeling the way I do. It’s etched in the blood-red of anger I feel in my veins for him leaving me so broken.
Four
Take Two - Ten Years Later
Reid
“Okay, she’s been prepped not to ask you about your personal life,” Baxter informs me, standing an inch behind the woman currently dusting my face with makeup.
I wave the
woman off, pulling the tissue paper she’d shoved into the neck of my shirt out and throwing it in the trash. “That’s enough.” I smile my thanks, the force behind the gesture obvious.
She rolls her eyes, mumbling under her breath as she turns her back, cleaning her station.
Standing, I flick my head, indicating Baxter should follow. Hands patting my jacket pocket, I push through an emergency exit, breathing deeply at the cool air that hits my face.
“Smoke?” I turn to Baxter, who holds a packet open and extended. “Champion.”
“Lighter?” I test, and digging into his pants pocket, he pulls one out, flicking in front of my face.
Bending, hand cupped around the small flame, I light the stick, inhaling deeply as the embers burn.
Bax lets me smoke in peace, the quiet necessary for my psyche before heading into the lion’s den. Live tapings are always nerve-wracking. The extra caution you need to take when speaking just as exhausting as press tours are monotonous.
I shake out my shoulders, working to ease the tension coiling in my muscles. I’m fucking tired. My life has been non-stop for months. Press tours, advanced screenings, premieres. Fuck. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep.
“She’s been given a list of approved questions, but you know what she’s like, she’ll push the envelope.”
Baxter has been my assistant for the last five years. He’s everything I never knew I needed. Starting out, I thought I could do it all myself. I was wrong. I was flailing. In the wind, struggling to catch my breath. And then there was Baxter, I couldn’t tell you how we wound up working together. We’re as mismatched as they come.
Where I’m aloof, he’s sociable. He combats my rudeness with humility. And he’s damn fucking good at his job.
“It’s all good. Not the first time I’ve come up against a talk show host trying to make a name for themselves with shock factor.”
He barks out a laugh. “This is it until the Oscars.”
“Good.” I move back toward the door, stubbing my cigarette out on the trash can before entering the building. “I need to sleep for a week.”
Baxter’s cell rings and holding up a finger, he tells me he’ll be a minute. Walking in ahead of him, I find the closest person, requesting a bottle of water with a fully-fledged grin. The girl shades bright red, nodding profusely, giving me ample time to prepare for the photo she’ll ask for in return.
Baxter approaches mid-selfie, and I smile at the girl, already having forgotten her name as she wanders off.
“Uploading to Instagram in two seconds flat,” Baxter mutters. “At least she can tag you now that you’ve joined.”
I scowl.
“Did Alex manage to pull some strings with any studios for my script?”
He nods. “With the hype from this movie, the studios are more interested than ever. We have a few meetings scheduled next week.”
I nod confidently. “Good.”
“We’re ready for you, Mr. Rivere,” a small blonde woman with an earpiece and microphone rested across her head interrupts. “This way,” she continues without waiting for me to respond.
She’s unaffected by my fame. But why would she be any different? She spends her life directing celebrities. She sees us for who we are; everyday people. More so, she’s probably come across the worst of us. The divas, the ever demanding, entitled assholes. We’re a breed of our own most of the time, fame inflating our egos to the point we explode with our own stupidity. It’s egged on by the public; the world loves us, but they also love nothing more than to see us fall. Look at any tabloid and you’ll see yesterday’s star splashed across the front page, soaked in rumors of rehab, infidelity, infertility, failed marriages or suspected relationships. They hold us up on a pedestal in the same way they look down on us. We’re nothing but a court jester dancing for their enjoyment.
Bax’s cell rings again, and he taps my shoulder, offering me a thumbs-up as he answers, watching me step out on the stage, waving at the cued cheer of the audience.
“Never book me on her fucking show again,” I growl at Baxter, ducking my head against the flood of paparazzi as security ushers me into my car.
Settled into the seat beside me, I feel Baxter’s stare. “It wasn’t that bad.”
I turn away from the flashing cameras on the other side of the window. “Why are they even taking fucking photos?” I bite out. “The window is fucking tinted to an inch of its life. They can’t see shit.”
“Am I missing something?” Baxter tests cautiously.
I glare at him. “Yeah, you made me agree to that fucking show. Why are people so eager to know everything about my life.”
“Easy,” Baxter answers. “You’re in the public eye. People think they already do know you. They want the pieces they seem to think they’re missing, the pieces only you can give them. They feel they deserve that much.”
I scowl at him, letting his words sink in. “They don’t deserve shit.”
He sighs. “I didn’t say they deserved it. I’m telling you what the general consensus of the population thinks. You’re in the public eye. You make millions acting in movies they pay to see. Your life is an open book, somewhat anyway. They know the factual dot points that define Reid Rivere,” he explains. “They want to know the deeper facets.”
Talk to me about growing up. Friendships. First loves.
My chest tightens in panic. The small box held within the crevice of my heart and mind, chained to an inch of its life, shakes with the want to burst open. I swallow my apprehension, turning away from Baxter to hide the discomfort coursing through me.
No matter how confident I am that I’m safe from the contents of that buried box, the lock secure, I swallow nervously. I made fucking certain that Roxy Monroe was tucked tightly away, never to drown out my heart and mind ever again.
Long blonde hair dances in my brain and I blink to remove it.
“I’d like to thank the Academy.”
Leaning forward, I grab my water bottle, crushing the plastic in unease. Taking as large a sip as I can manage without looking as if I’m trying to drown myself, I clear my throat, ridding the image of her perched on my bed, practicing her faux acceptance speech.
This was a moment I was always going to share with her. An us moment that she stole away the moment she’d convinced herself she’d fallen in love with me.
“Why the fuck did she have to ask me about friendships? What does she think, my life is an episode of Entourage?”
Baxter doesn’t attempt to hide his amused grin. “You are a bit of a loner, people are intrigued as to why. What’s the big deal?”
A heavy feeling of regret sits in my stomach at lying about my early years. The falsity of locking Roxy away in my mind is one thing, pretending she never existed to the rest of the world makes me feel like the world’s biggest asshole.
“Just don’t book me on her show again.”
“Okay,” he placates, eyes wider than natural.
I get it, he thinks I’ve lost it. Ranting about an insignificant detail of my early life. If only he knew. If only he understood the complexity and turmoil that surrounds that era of my life.
I shift in my seat, offering him the better part of my back. My gaze turns black, not seeing the lights of the city flashing past us. New York City. I used to dream about this place. The figurative size of Manhattan Island. Everything seemed bigger, better. I dreamt about being dropped in amongst the hustle. The chaotic normalcy for those who lived here. I wanted to be one of them. Living my life the way I had mapped out.
With Roxy.
She was always at my side. In every dream I had. In every plan I made. Reid and Roxy. Cross my fucking heart.
Then her heart went and fucked us. Straight in, no foreplay.
I can’t believe I didn’t see it. Blinkers on, it’s almost laughable how oblivious I was. Right up until the moment she went all in. Full penetration. I felt violated. The relationship with the one person I trusted more
than anyone else was built on a lie. I couldn’t trust her. I no longer knew what was real and what wasn’t.
Maybe it was me all along, maybe I just refused to see the signs. The quiet contemplation that would hit her at times, the uncertainty and confusion that would find their way to twist at her features, unbeknownst to her. The affection in the smile that she’d offer me at times when her defenses were down. The irritation that would flare in her mismatched eyes on the rare occasion I’d choose to warm my own bed. Those few extra seconds she’d hold on for when we hugged.
Whichever way it went down, she lied to me. She burst the bubble I was contently sitting within. From that moment everything was disrupted. I felt as though my feet, which had always firmly had a place on the ground, couldn’t find traction. I was weightless, and not effervescently so. I felt flimsy, ready to crumble at any moment.
It’s stupid that a friendship I had at the age of eighteen could still be so poignant on my character ten years later. But here I am, at the pinnacle of my career, and she continues to haunt me. A ghost from the past that’s very much alive.
“Do you have my cell?” I hold my hand out to Baxter, who drops the device into my hand without a word.
Unlocking the screen, I pull up Instagram, searching her name.
Whiskey on the Rox.
I smile in spite of myself. She doesn’t even drink whiskey. Or, she didn’t. Maybe she does now.
I pull up her last post, an angled shot of her jeans. Ripped to an inch of their life. See, some things don’t change.
My dad offered me money to buy me a new pair of jeans today. But, yo, they new…. #Awks #DontJudgeMyFashionChoices #Reppin’TheRippedJeansSinceBirth #TheseAreMyBestJeans
My body jerks in a quiet bark of laughter. Scrolling through the comments, my laughter catches in my throat, a frown carving itself heavily in my forehead.
Yeah, because I’m sure you can’t afford your own jeans *insert eye roll*
Get a life.
