Twisted Passion

by Kayley Cole

  Love, Ellie Rue

  "It looks like Anya is doing her daily exercises in the pool," he says, glancing at the surveillance screens as the iron gate makes a small squeak as it swings open.

  "Thanks," I say. "Tell your daughter I said thank you for her support."

  "Of course. She'll love that you said anything about her."

  I walk past the gate, giving the man a quick smile, before hurrying down Anya's massive driveway.

  I've got no sympathy.

  I've got people I need to make proud.

  If I wanted to leave a legacy,

  Will it come down to whether I stand up for myself

  Or how to not be brought down by this weight,

  By these snakes,

  By this hate.

  I cross over her yard, apprehension growing with every step. I have no idea where this pool is, and I don't think I'm going to catch Anya doing anything scandalous out in the open. I keep taking right turns around this mansion, but it feels like I'm not going very far. It feels like I'm in the middle of one of those California wildfires, but all I can see is the smoke rippling over me— smoke signals I don't understand.

  I hear the faint vibration of the bass coming from someone's subwoofer. I follow the feeling, the ground pulsing like a heartbeat. The music becomes louder as I walk, sounding more and more like EDM music, but mixed with some serious guitar licks.

  As I'm about to round another corner, stepping over a hose, I stop. The sharp voices rise above the music like they're a replacement for the lyrics.

  "Anya, love bug, you know your weakness is pasta," an older woman's voice says. "All those carbs, plus the garlic bread is so bad for you. You can't keep letting your gluttony rule over your life. You're in control of your life. You need to act like it. Just eat a vegetable once in a while."

  "Thanks, Mom," Anya's voice retorts. "Your maternal instincts are always spot-on."

  "Your mother is right," a man's voice says. "Your skin is starting to sag under your chin. It might not be the weight gain though. It happened to your mother, so it..."

  "Hey!" the older woman's voice snaps. "That's because I had Anya. Pregnancy does weird things to a woman's body."

  "It happened to your mother," the man repeats. "So, it was inevitable it would happen to you. I have the numbers of two of the best plastic surgeons in California. We'll just tuck it in a little so nobody notices."

  "Dad, people are going to notice," Anya says. "They always notice plastic surgery. I'll be the first person on every plastic surgery list."

  "Well, it should at least be subtle enough that your fans will doubt what any magazine says. We can say you just changed your makeup."

  "Dad, I don't think it's something most people notice. One blogger wrote about it a month ago, and a few other people wrote about it because of that blogger. It's not a big deal."

  "This is your career, Anya. You need to focus on it and put your best foot— and chin— forward. You can't suffer from another album being a flop. Throw your shoulders back, put on a smile, and tell yourself that you're the best. Because you are. And one day, you're going to be a legend that every pop star will refer to as their inspiration."

  If I'm brought down, will you even hear my voice

  Or will I disappear in the noise?

  By these gray shades

  Carried away by the waves

  If I wanted to leave a legacy,

  Well, they only start at the grave.

  This is not who I am. I am not part of this vicious, dog-eat-dog culture. My mother didn't raise me to value other's perceptions of me, and as Jake helped me rise up in the public eye, the point was never worldwide adoration. It was getting an idea out there, getting people to realize that I've felt just like they've felt before— for them to understand that we all have these wild emotions that we don't need to keep tamed all of the time. My career has been for me, to turn my emotions into something tangible, and for people like Jasmine, who need me to turn emotions into something tangible. And I know now that Anya has felt these same pressures as me. I just don't need to react the same way as she does.

  My foot catches on something on the ground. I stumble, my whole body colliding against the solid ground. I make a sound that likely resembles a dying cow.

  I forgot about the hose.

  The pain feels like a screw is being drilled into my skull and like there's a crowbar trying to pry off my right knee. I slowly get back onto my feet, my vision swimming for a second as my brain feels like it's floating on water.

  Then Anya dives right into my eyesight. She grabs me with a lot more strength than I would have expected from her, giving me a rough shake.

  "Did you record anything?" she demands. I take a few steps back, shaking my head.

  "No, of course not."

  "I swear to God, if you recorded any of that, if you tell anybody that you heard anything, I will ruin you. I will take away everything from you. I will make the world hate you, and then I'll make sure they won't even remember your name. Nobody will know who you are."

  I stare at her. Her dirty blonde hair is frizzy around her head like a lion's mane. Her makeup appears to be perfectly applied, though her hair and her swimsuit seem to indicate she's been swimming. She's sucking in her stomach and it sways forward with every few breaths.

  Decades of building herself up into the perfect person, and she’s falling apart at the seams. And she isn't even falling apart; it just seemed that way because she had built herself up into the image of a goddess. When a goddess proves not to be as glorious as people have claimed, of course she does everything she can to try to reclaim her power.

  I grab her hand. I'm not sure what compels me to do it, but her hands feel so cold against mine, I feel like my heat can do some good, and she doesn't pull away from me.

  "That's okay," I say. "It's okay if I'm not remembered. But you don't have to worry. You can let this all go. I am."

  I release her hand. I walk away from her. For the first time in a long time, I fill my lungs with oxygen and breathe out everything that's been suffocating me. The only thing left for me to face is Jake, and I've never been more aware that this is the most important thing in my life right now. This is where my trust is hidden in a glass sanctuary. He has to decide if he's going to break through it, and I need to decide if I'm going to allow him to.

  I thought after my breakthrough at Anya's, songs would be pouring out of me, but it's harder than ever to put my emotions into simple words.

  "I've lied through my teeth/and my teeth cracked into fangs," I sing. I jot down the lines. "But every time I went on the prowl/I couldn't endure the change."

  My fingers press into an Em chord, but I don't play the strings. I mouth the words over and over, trying to find the next line. Maybe I should start over. Maybe I should stop thinking about lions. Everyone always connects lions to Jake's tattoo.

  I tug the piece of paper out of my bag. It has the lyrics I had scribbled down that I had thought of while I was listening to Anya talk to her parents. I'll construct the lyrics around this verse. Maybe I could break the last two lines and make a chorus around it.

  "We need to talk."

  I spin around, my guitar falling down onto the floor. Jake stands behind me, his hands in his pockets.

  "I didn't hear you come in." I grab my guitar, setting it up on the couch. "I wanted to talk to you too, though. You were talking about my father before."

  "Yes," he says. His lips are pressed so tightly together, I know he's ready to spit out his secret like blood after a fistfight.

  "I wanted to apologize for freaking out about it. I don't like to talk about him because my father left my family to pursue his dreams. It always made me fearful that I would follow his path and… sometimes I feel like I have. I've done things I'm not proud of like abandoning Andrew in Saffron. How am I that much different from my father?"

  "Andrew was stalking you. He's mentally ill."

  I shrug. "Isn't that even more reason to s
tay around?"

  "Ellie…” He sits down on the couch. "Your father..."

  "You've been trying to find him," I say. "I know. And I was angry about it earlier, but I know you. I know you better than anybody, and I've realized that you're the only person's opinion that I truly care about. I know that you wouldn't keep a secret like this from me to be malicious. I know you thought you were doing what was best for me. I don't like it, but I understand."

  He glances up at me. "I shouldn't be surprised you figured that out, but that's not exactly what's going on. I did find him. Or rather, he found me."

  "What?"

  "He tracked me down a few days ago. He wanted money. I didn't want you to know because I didn't want to bring up these bad feelings. He didn't want that either. But I also don't want to keep this secret from you, and I don't want you to miss seeing your father."

  I shake my head. "There is no way my father is here. How would he even have found me in California?"

  "You're famous now," he says. "Anyone determined enough could track you down."

  "So, he just waited this long to talk to me because I'm famous now?"

  He runs his fingers through his hair a couple of times before messing it up again. "Ellie, maybe your father never tried to contact you again because he was worried about something. Maybe he was afraid you'd be angry at him. Maybe he's been debating about trying to see you for a long time. Maybe he was paranoid about the government waiting for him because he would have owed child support. It could have been anything. I'm not sure it's worth dwelling over when you have a chance to see him now after all these years."

  I snort. "The government would never care that much to watch for letters or emails."

  "But if he believed that, it would make sense for why he never tried to contact you."

  "He wouldn't believe that," I say. "My father was a dreamer, but he despised conspiracy theorists. Some of my few memories of him are all about him giving a scientific explanation for inconsequential events because he didn't want me to grow up needing to invent explanations about the world. If I can thank him for anything, it's being equally right- and left-brained."

  He rubs the nape of his neck. "He doesn't like conspiracy theorists?”

  "No. Not at all."

  "I… do you think he could have changed?"

  "Why?" I ask. "And no, I don't think that's a part of him that would change. He really, really hated conspiracy theorists. He considered them to be pathogens that spread disease in society."

  "He told that to you when you were eight-years-old?"

  "I'm paraphrasing." I stand up. "Why do you think that's so weird? Did you become a conspiracy theorist while you've been sneaking around with my father?"

  He looks up at me. His blue eyes seem darker than usual— like the sky when a storm is coming. "I'm sorry, Ellie. I don't think he's your father."

  "I told you there was no way he would track me down."

  "I was so certain. Andrew was certain. He must have been overwhelmed and convinced himself..."

  "Wait. Wait. Are you trying to tell me that Andrew is here too? Please tell me you just meant that you video-called him or something."

  "I needed to check if he was really your father. Your brother seemed like the best option."

  "Jake." I sit down beside him. "Come on. Don't you remember that time you got in trouble with the principal for setting half the soccer field on fire?"

  "That was a different situation. It involved a lot of gasoline."

  "Before the principal could even consider the fact that it was definitely you that set the fire, you and Andrew had Bill from the hardware store come in, pretending to be a fire inspector and convinced the principal that the fire was caused by someone's cleats."

  "This was different. There's no way that Andrew could have known I would call him."

  "This guy claiming to be my father— can I assume that he wanted money?"

  He rubs his bottom lip. "Yeah."

  "Maybe you weren't ever supposed to call Andrew. Maybe you were just supposed to give the man the money. Andrew didn't need to be part of it at all. He just needed to point this man in our direction and… convince you that I shouldn't be part of it at all. He knew I'd ask a lot more questions. He knew you'd do what you could to shield me from any emotional distress. He would be better at planning this than anyone else."

  "He— the guy claiming to be your father— he told me so many convincing stories. He told me that you loved to go to the zoo and check out the lions and the meerkats. He told me that you spent all day on a swing set that he and your mother bought for you."

  I look down at my hands, feeling like there's a fist stuck in my throat. "Those are both true. I love lions and meerkats. I loved that swing set. But my brother was there at those zoo visits and also when we got the swing set. He was swinging right beside me half the day."

  His phone starts playing one of my songs. He pulls it out. "It's Isabella. I had her try to track down your dad."

  He sets the phone down beside us and presses the speaker phone option.

  "Hey, Isabella. You're on speaker phone."

  "Uh. Okay. Can I speak freely? Because I kinda, maybe, possibly said some things I wasn't supposed to earlier to your cupcake and your relationship may be over."

  "It's not," I chime in.

  "Oh, great. She is there." Isabella makes a small, annoying noise. "Well, anyway, she'll be either happy or depressed to find out her father is in NYC. He stayed there after failing to get his restaurant off the ground. To be fair, he looks fit as hell, so all that city walking must be doing him good. That's what we call a tasty cupcake."

  "Thanks, Isabella. You'll have the rest of your money by tonight," Jake says, ending the call. He looks up at me. "What do you want to do, Ellie?"

  "Punch Isabella."

  "I meant about your brother."

  "Let's go visit my brother and my new father," I say. "You haven't given them any money yet, have you?"

  "No."

  "Then let's give them what they're owed."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jake

  When I knock on the door, the imposter shouldn't have opened it.

  When my hand lurches toward him, he shouldn't have left his throat exposed.

  When he opens his mouth, he shouldn't have wasted his oxygen with pleading.

  When I have my hand around his neck and I thrust him up against the balcony edge, he shouldn't have struggled and made me press his back even harder against the railing.

  Ellie stands a couple of feet behind us. It's almost alarming at how familiar she seems to be with my tactics, but I know she doesn't completely approve because her arms are folded over her chest and there's a distinct line of concern denting her forehead.

  "Don't you think you're showing your whole hand right away?" she asks me. "You could have started this conversation with actual words, Jake."

  "I've found that it's generally best to use your second best strategy," I tell her, keeping my eyes locked on the imposter. "And then if they don't do what you want, you show them your best strategy."

  "I'm going to guess that your best strategy still doesn't include words."

  "No. No, it does not."

  Ellie walks up to the man, her head tilting to the side to match the angle of his head. "So, you're the one claiming to be my father."

  "I am," he insists. "I swear. Please. Please tell your boyfriend to let me go. Don't you remember our time at the zoo? The lions and the meerkats! And how much you loved your swing set! You loved it so much."

  "It sounds like he only knows those two stories," Ellie says to me. I nod.

  "It sounds that way to me too."

  "No! No, I know more! That time you went to Boston! You... you hated it! You kept talking about how you wanted to go home!"

  "I know you're not my father," she says. "You see, I have a photo of my father, where he's turned away from the camera, so I know he has a birthmark on his head— just a little patch of darker
skin behind his left ear. I don't see it on you."

  "I had it removed," he says. "It's gone. I had it removed. Please. Please tell your boyfriend I'm a good man. Please tell him that I'm not worth hurting. Why would you want to hurt your father?"

  "I don't think he's going to tell us the truth," I say. I jerk my hand against his throat. "That's too bad."

  I grab him by the front of his shirt pulling him even farther over the railing, the imposter's thighs brushing against it. The distinct scent of piss fills my nostrils.

  "Please! Please! I'll tell you the truth! I was lying!" the imposter yells. "I'm sorry! He told me to! He said it would be a good payday! Please! Pull me back in! Pull me back! I'll do anything! I swear to God!"

  "Tell me who told you it would be a good payday," I say. When he doesn't respond, I take one of my hands away from his shirt and let his body drop a few inches before keeping a tight grip on him with my other hand. He lets out a high-pitched squeak.

  "Her brother! Andrew Rue! He told me everything I needed to know! He told me all those stories! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! It was stupid. I was so, so stupid. Please pull me back! I'll do anything you want!"

  I yank him back into the hotel room. He collapses onto his knees, his hands clasped behind his head and his body trembling like he's ready to get his ass kicked. It may be the second smartest thing he's done so far.

  "How did Andrew get you to agree to be part of his fucked-up plan?"

  "We were in the inpatient program," he says hurriedly. "Together. We were in it together. We talked a lot. We... we talked about our families. Andrew and me. We talked all the time and he would, uh, he would talk about Ellie..."

  "Stop," I say. "Shut up. Take a breath. Calm down. Then talk."

  He rubs his eyes, taking several deep breaths. Then several more breaths. Quite honestly, he takes too many breaths, and I'm ready to grab him by the throat again when he looks back up at me.

  "We met in an inpatient program," he says again. "We were roommates. We talked about our families. He mostly talked about how Ellie had been taken away from him by you and how she wasn't safe in L.A. He just kept ranting about how she wouldn't be safe and how he had to protect her since both their parents were gone. He started talking about how his father ditched their family and how Ellie would likely be more loyal to her father than to him. He talked about his father being a deadbeat and… it's like I could see the idea grow in his head. He talked me into pretending to be her deadbeat father because she would give money to her father, but not him. But then he began to doubt his own logic, and he started ranting about you. About how you used to be his best friend before you betrayed him and how you had this hero complex about Ellie, so if we convinced you that telling Ellie that her father was back was bad for her… bad for her mental health…you wouldn't say anything to her. He told me everything about Ellie and his father so that I could be prepared. He told me about you and how I'd just have to keep talking about how Ellie would be hurt if she found out about me. We were going to split the cash."