by Bry Ann
The second I got to Wisconsin I went to the library. I took a bus there with the spare $5 I had. It left me with $3. I needed to use a computer to look for a job. It hurt, no it burned, knowing I had to draw upon the skills Rex taught me. I shivered. I’d never see him again, and even if this world was nuts and I ever happened to, he’d hate me for leaving him again. Even if he didn’t I’d never let him touch me again. I was disgusting now. Not clean. Not that I wasn’t before, but shit. I was one hundred times worse now. Totally unworthy. I’d only get my rocks off with other pieces of trash. Not good men like Rex Carter.
At the library I checked my LinkedIn and applied for jobs at various places. I only gave them my email address, because I had no phone. I always had access to my email though, because libraries are free. Thank God.
I slept outside that night, which was fine. I wouldn’t let myself get desperate and fall into the same trap I did last time. I got a redo. I had skills now. Knowledge I didn’t have last time, and what do they say? Knowledge is power. I knew what I was doing and what I needed to do. I’d stay the path no matter how cold or hungry I got.
It took me less than 24 hours to get an email back. It was from a local fast food restaurant. I was overjoyed! I had $3, no money for clothes, no place to shower, no nothing, but I was 100% determined to succeed. My manic killing mood had passed and all that was left was a will to live. A will to pick up the nothing that was left of me and somehow keep it alive, for God knows what reason. Maybe just because he wanted me to fail. He wanted me to quit and cry. For that reason alone, I put one foot in front of the other.
The job interview went really well. I gave good explanations for my dress, I nailed all the questions and was able to explain damn well how much I wanted this job. How determined I was to excel at it. For that reason, they hired me on the spot. I was employed. For the first time in my life I had a steady, paying job. I never wanted to see music again. I never wanted to see anything from the past again. I went to my place on the street corner and cried my eyes out. I renamed myself Alexa and created who I wanted her to be like a character in a movie. Badass. Loner. Hard. Someone who wouldn’t let anyone in. Someone who wouldn’t get hurt again... or be so damn naive. I became her. I cut my hair off and dyed it. I gave myself a rocker chick look. Got rid of anything girly or sexy about me. It was like I was an actress, and this was my starring role. I wouldn’t mess it up this time.
It took me two months of scrounging for food, saving money, and working my ass off to save enough to get a crappy apartment. Even then I knew I needed a roommate. I couldn’t afford it long term on my own once the utility bills started pouring in. So, I started searching for a roommate. I was going to be picky. I wasn’t going to let just anyone in my space, no matter how broke I was. The only people who came to my home were the boys I fucked (I say boys for a reason) and people I partied with. I wanted to forget. I wanted it all gone. I wanted to not give a flying fuck about anything… and I didn’t. The only regular in my life was this asshole Mike. He was an ass, but damn he was fun. I liked how he made me feel, and how he never stayed or even wanted to. For that reason, I let him stick around for the sex. I hated myself every time I slept with him, with anyone, but a part of me felt like I was washing away having slept with my dad by sleeping with guys my age. So, I fucked as many of them as I could. I don’t know. It was fucked up, but it was the only way I knew how to cope at the time.
I don’t remember how many people I interviewed and met, or how much time had passed before Sam came to my door. She was average; brown hair, hazel eyes in a t-shirt and baggy jeans. She looked fucking exhausted and I knew that look. I knew that look of desperation, when all of life had just fucking failed you. So, I didn’t even interview her. I offered it to her on the spot. Whoever the fuck she was, and whatever crazy she brought in didn’t matter, because we were in the same boat. I respected that. I don’t think I realized at the time how lonely and I was, and how desperate I was for the connection she gave me.
The first couple of months we didn’t really speak to each other. She did her thing, and I did mine. Even if it was fucking Mike two ways from tomorrow constantly and being a total slob. I don’t know how she put up with me. Maybe her mind was so far from the present she didn’t give a shit. Everything was consistent, the same until Sam came into the apartment with a plastic bag while I was dry humping some guy on the couch. She held the bag limply in her arms and she looked fucking dead. I was intrigued. She radiated strength and confidence most of the time. She had this whole independent, ‘I got this vibe’ I respected. She didn’t have it then. She looked like she needed a parent to come down and hold her while she cried. Her eyes steeled when she saw me. She tried to reign in her emotions, tried to only convey anger and annoyance. Again, I respected that. I think I kicked whoever I was screwing without. I don’t remember. In the bag was pregnancy tests. I don’t remember what I told her, but white noise played in my head. I just remember thinking this cannot be happening, this cannot be happening. I didn’t throw her right out the door like I wanted to because she looked just as upset about it as I was. The last thing I needed was a constant reminder of what I had lost.
I knew the tests were positive less than an hour later. I heard her slamming drawers. She was pissed and scared. She had no idea what some of us would give to be able to have a child. I tried not to judge her. I didn’t know her story. What if she was raped? I could understand her being upset about that. I mean, I didn't know if how I conceived Anna counted as rape or what, but everyone deals different.
It was a good thing I had my whole persona put together or Sam’s pregnancy would have ruined me. Luckily, I liked the girl and I did have my whole persona in place. It did change me, just not in the way I expected. I started cleaning up and bringing less guys to the house. I saw the stress and fear this pregnancy created in Sam and I wanted to help her out. Without her noticing of course. Or admitting it, because that would ruin the Alexa I had created. The one who didn’t care. So, I cheated. I made extra food and pretended it was an accident. Everything nice I did I pretended was an accident. It was kind of stupid now that I look back at it, but, you know, Sam still got her help.
Sam eventually got her own place, but she might as well not have. We shared a car. She was over all the time. I was there when Jazzy was born. It was beautiful and painful to watch. It was the first time in my new life that I cried and not out of anger, out of pure pain. It should have been me.
Despite how hard it was for me emotionally, Jazzy was a light in our lives. Sam didn’t see it that way at first though. She struggled. A lot. I helped her. Five years passed, and I watched Sam go from hard ass, hurt girl, to doting mother. Jazzy transformed her. Me too. Sam and I both started caring less about our own issues and more about how we could be there for this bright eyed, blonde little girl. Over the years I became increasingly curious about who the dad was. One, because Jazzy was a gorgeous baby. She had a pretty mom and must have had a stunner dad. Two, because Sam didn’t say a peep about him. I mean I’m private too, but it never leaked out. He was never mentioned, but I could see the pain in her eyes when she looked at Jazzy sometimes. However, she got pregnant it wasn’t rape. It was pain in a much different way. The kind of pain I felt when I thought about Rex or Anna, or even Anatoli sometimes. That kind of pain.
It was at Jazzy’s fifth birthday party that our lives changed completely… again. Up until this point it sorts of felt like Sam and I against the world. I didn’t purposely let Sam in. I didn’t even really realize I had, she just sort of fit there naturally. She was like me, but a much better version. It was a no questions asked kind of friendship, and we both desperately needed that. I left her shit alone, if she left my shit alone.
At Sam’s fifth birthday party, Sam took off with Jazzy after seeing some news article. I mean it was like she’d seen a ghost. It was up to me to cover the rest of the party. My way of handling the party was to yell at everyone that something came up. Then I kicked their a
sses to the curb. I knew I was being way bitchier than was necessary, but I was worried fucking sick about Sam. I hadn’t seen that sort of look on her face since the day she found out she was pregnant. That was the first moment I realized how far in I’d let Sam and Jazmine. I was worried. Really worried. That scared me. At least I thought it did.
Later on, that same day l I got a call from Sam asking me to mail her Jazzy’s birth certificate asap. I thought that was weird, but it was nothing compared to how her voice sounded on the phone. She was a mess. It is the sort desperation that was only brought on when your past and present collided. I frantically asked her what the hell was going on, and with her answer all my suspicions were confirmed. I knew I was going to find out, finally, who Jazmine’s father was. I had a lot of possibilities running through my mind, most of them sick I admit, given my background. Nothing on this good green earth could have prepared me for her answer.
Logan Prescott.
Logan fucking Prescott.
Sam, my roommate, hard ass loner, had a fling with Logan flipping Prescott. The multimillionaire, hot as sin celebrity. I just about crapped my pants. I remember screaming at her, totally shocked and a little hurt she could keep something like that hidden from me when I had practically co-parented her child. I had no right to be hurt though. I hadn’t told her a damn thing.
When we clicked off I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I was angry and shocked as all hell, but I knew the anger was only a cover for my fear. What if Logan and Sam made up? I’d be beyond happy for Sam and she deserved it, but I was terrified of losing her. I’d finally let someone in. Someone without chaos, someone who got me and allowed me to keep up the identity I’d built. Now I could lose her. Would I ever be able to let anyone in again? Could I live with the loneliness? All these thoughts in my head sucked. Alex came swirling back in. I had to get a haircut and drink and fuck some guy to numb myself back out, so I could become Alexa again.
I’m pretty sure it was only a couple days later that I got a call from Logan Prescott himself. The call was from Sam’s phone, so I picked it up like usual.
“I mailed the birth certificate you bitch.”
Friendly endearing term for her not telling me about Logan. Sam and I had an odd relationship, and an even odder sense of humor.
I throat cleared on the other end of the phone and I mumbled fuck to myself. This wasn’t Sam.
“Alexandra Ray?” I very tired, croaky sounding voice rang out. Was this Logan? What? Why did he sound so weird? Was he druggie? … What?
“Alexa!” I snapped. “Speaking. Who’s this?”
“Hello, this is Logan Prescott.”
He sounded dead tired. I straightened up immediately.
“I know you are a close friend of Sam’s. Something happened,” I could now hear that he’d been crying. “I’m buying you a ticket out here. Go to the airport. Everything is set up. I’m having someone pick you up. I’m not sure who yet, or if it’s a taxi or whatever. Just look for the sign with your name on it. I’ll make sure it says Alexa.” Perceptive. “Can you do that?”
“Is she okay?” I got out through gritted teeth. Oh Sam, what did you get yourself into?
His answer was every person's worst nightmare.
“No, she’s not.”
Something closed in my throat. “I’m headed to the airport now.”
“Okay, see you soon.”
I got a ride to the airport immediately. Sure, enough everything was set up exactly as he said. I guess it was Logan Prescott and with him shit gone done, but it was hard to believe the man on the phone was the same one I saw all over my entertainment shows. I pulled up to the hospital and, sure enough, outside was Logan Prescott and an adorable blonde woman. They sort of looked like, and by the way they were standing I assumed they were brother and sister. In the blonde girl’s hand was Jazzy with frown lines wrinkling her little forehead. My little Jazzy. The girl who healed my heart a little when I became her godmother. It was single handedly the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me, and the one and only time I had ever opened up to Sam. She looked so much like the tall blonde haired, blue eyed man next to her. It was disarming. My heart pounded in my chest thinking of Sam in this hospital. She didn’t belong here. Before I opened the door, I put my Alexa mask on. I had practiced for this but putting up my front this time was hard. The hardest it ever was. I wanted to run into the adorable woman’s arms and cry my eyes out. I wanted to beg her to tell me what was wrong with my partner in crime. I didn’t though. I stayed calm and collected.
I got out of the car. Before I’d even made it two steps out Jazzy flew into my arms. I grabbed her and held her tight. Poor thing. Sam was her mom. I never wanted to see this little girl hurt. My heart burned when I felt her damp cheeks hit my exposed shoulder.
When we were done hugging she went back to the blonde. That was interesting to me. Jazzy trusted her fast, not typical of Jazmine. She was a lot like her mom in that way. Distrusting. It made me happy she had someone to help her during this time, but I have to admit I was a little jealous. I didn’t want her to leave my arms. It left me alone to face reality, and the fact that I was face to face with one of the most famous celebrities in the world. Sam fucking kept that from me.
“Holy fuck, she really does know you,” I whispered. “This is nuts. I’m going to kill her.”
Logan was not amused by me. I could tell he wasn’t sure how he felt about me being around Jazzy. The only thing making me feel slightly less out of place was the adorable blonde girl. When I finally got my head together I realized she must be Dana Prescott. Sam had talked about a girl named Dana and obviously Jazzy was partially named after her. I just never suspected it was Logan Prescott’s little sister.
She smiled at me. She understood me and my foul hair and dirty mouth. I winked at her. I could tell she found my personality fun. At least someone fucking got it. Logan was so damn professional in such a personal moment. It was annoying. How was I supposed to stay strong if everyone was going to be so serious? I needed humor. Desperately. Dana seemed to realize this. Logan said something about us switching shifts to watch Jazmine and something else, but I didn’t hear him. All I heard was what he said mid-sentence, “she’ll want you here when she wakes up”.
When she wakes up? Why isn’t she awake now?
I swallowed the sick feeling in my stomach. I didn’t ask further questions because I could tell Logan was not ready to elaborate, and Dana was barely holding it together. I asked how she was in a more general stance, but Logan looked over at Jazzy and told me to ask her later. I could respect that. After some minor bickering we got in the elevator. I finally turned to address Dana specifically. Dana seemed totally shocked that I knew who she was and was even addressing her at all. It was like she expected me to address her brother the whole time and completely ignore her. That was interesting, but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. That is probably what she had dealt with her whole life.
When we got to Sam’s floor all the conversation ceased as reality smacked us straight in the face. A reality I had no clue about. Dana kept trying to squeeze Jazzy’s hand, to make her feel better, but the mood was dead. I saw Sam’s severely beaten body, unconscious, at the hospital that day. I hid in the bathroom and cried. I needed that one day. The rest of the time I was strong and helped with Jazmine like Sam would have wanted me to.
The next five days Sam went in and out of consciousness. Even when she was awake she was barely conscious, and so drugged it didn’t count for anything. I watched Jazzy most of the time, which I respected. One, I loved Jazzy and was happy to take her mind off things. Two, because Logan was the reason I even knew about my friend’s injury in the first place. What he asked, I did. If it wasn’t for him I’d be in my apartment, pacing, wondering where the hell she was. The third day is when I got the balls to ask what had happened to Sam. I hadn’t been told any specifics, only that she got beat up a local drug game. But that just led to more questions than an
swers. Answers they both weren’t quite ready to give me yet.
I decided to ask Dana for the details. Logan hated me, and he was intimidating as all hell in the state he was in. I asked her when she came in to switch shifts with me. We met out in the hall, where Jazzy was.
“Dana?” I asked as she took Jazzy’s hand. “Can you tell me what happened to Sam? Please. I’ve tried to be patient.”
Dana’s eyes immediately teared up and she dropped Jazzy’s hand. “Ask Logan please.”
There was so much pain in her voice I felt bad for pushing, but I needed to know.
“Logan hates me. He either won’t tell me, or he’ll rush through it. Please. I have a right to know.”
“He doesn’t hate you…”
“Dana!” I snapped. My patience had thinned. “I need to know. This isn’t fair.”
Jazzy was looking back and forth between the two of us.
“Mom?” she whispered, as little tears welled up in her eyes.
“Shh sweetie, it’s okay.” Then Dana turned to me. “I’m going to take her to Logan then I will be back with the truth. I swear.”
“I wanna know,” Jazzy whispered.
“You do,” Dana said crouching in front of her and tapping her nose. Then Dana winked as she told her a very botched version of the truth. I breathed a sigh of relief. Dana took Jazzy outside and a few minutes later she returned visibly shaking.
“Sit,” she demanded. I was a little shocked by her tone. I looked at her and raised my eyebrows. She gave me an apologetic nod and tried again.
