by Jade Webb
She rips her eyes away from mine and faces the bag. Her thin body straightens and she brings her hands up to guard her face. As she bounces on the balls of her feet, she matches her breathing to her steps. After a few seconds, she steps in and her hand connects with the bag. This time, the bag sways from the contact. The swaying seems to encourage her, and she steps in with another jab, then another. Suddenly she’s throwing her whole body into the punch, screaming with every hit.
I grab her, pulling her away from the bag. She’s out of breath and her cheeks are flushed cherry red.
“You all right, there?” I ask.
She nods, catching her breath. “I hate that fucking bag,” she spits out, her voice shaking with fury.
Taken aback by the anger radiating off her small frame, I drape a protective arm around her. “Let me teach you some more moves.”
36
Gabby
“Are you sure this isn’t too much?” I ask as I pull the dress down to my knee.
“No, babe. You look incredible, trust me.” Jordan offers me a smile and I give myself one more look in the mirror. Jordan had picked out my dress for the night and had it sent to my room. While it was an incredibly kind gesture, I was getting seriously annoyed with everyone wanting to dress me. Especially in these tight dresses that barely allowed for me to sit without having to contort my body into some yoga position.
Jordan’s pick, however, was much tamer than the dresses that Daphni had shoved me into. He had opted for a burgundy bodycon dress with black piping that conveniently highlighted the bust and the hips. It was pretty flattering, and thankfully had straps to help hold up the girls, who otherwise may have popped out to say hello. The dress was beautiful enough that I didn’t need to bother with any accessories, except for a garnet stone ring and simple black heels.
Jordan wraps his arms around my waist as he looks at my reflection in the mirror. Pressing a quick kiss to my cheek, he lets everyone know that it’s time to go and I grab my clutch for the night, tucking in my phone.
“So, remind me again what party this is?” I ask as we make our way downstairs and to the town car waiting to pick us up.
“We’re going to Dom Federico’s house in the Valley. He’s one of the producers of my album, so there will be a lot of people there to network with. If you’re lucky, you may even find a lawyer to talk to.”
I playfully swat him with my clutch. “I told you. I’m not interested in entertainment law, I want to be a prosecutor.”
“Ah, right, babe,” he replies dismissively as we file into the car. While I’ve been enjoying my time with Jordan, I can’t help but notice that there’s just…something missing. He always seems so distracted. I tell myself it’s because he’s so busy with his career, but it’s hard not to feel like I’m always competing for his attention with his entourage, his assistants, even his stupid cellphone.
A short drive later and we pull up to a large, Spanish-style villa on top of a large hill. Our driver brings us to the front door, where it’s clear the party is already in full swing. The minute Jordan walks in, all eyes seem to fall on him and he is whisked away and pulled into the crowd, shaking hands and smiling brightly.
Suddenly alone, I awkwardly make my own way into the party. I instantly realize that this is not an intimate industry party like Jordan had described. There are cameras everywhere, all with badges from different magazines and tabloids. It’s also painfully easy to spot the agents, PR reps, and managers among the dense crowd. They are always hovering a few short feet away, phones in hand as they strategically maneuver their respective puppets around the room, making sure a photographer is always close by to snap a picture. The whole affair makes me depressed and annoyed and painfully aware of how alone I am here.
I decide to do my own lap around the room and find a quiet place I can loiter while Jordan does his song and dance. I find my way outside, to a large tiled patio overlooking an Olympic-sized pool. Propping my elbows down on the bannister, I take in the view of the stars and drown out the sounds of the party inside.
“Beautiful,” I hear a voice comment appreciatively behind me.
I spin my head around and feel my jaw drop. A few feet away, dressed in fitted black dress pants and a simple white button-down is Mauricio fucking Fedaro. Not only is he the most gorgeous man to ever grace this earth, he is a three-time Oscar winner and has a pretty dirty reputation that has granted him the moniker, “The Italian Stallion.” Daphni and I would binge his movies and talk about how dreamy he was. Even my mother visibly drooled when she saw his movies.
“You’re Mauricio Fedaro,” I blurt out as my mouth gapes open.
He chuckles and takes a few steps toward me. He’s carrying two champagne flutes and when he reaches me, he hands one to me. Still in shock, I take the glass of champagne and force my inner fangirl to mellow the hell out.
He tilts his head up to the sky. “You were watching the stars tonight?”
I follow his gaze upward. “I couldn’t help myself. They’re just so beautiful.”
He nods appreciatively. “I know what you mean. I was in this room, full of singers and celebrities and photographers, and then I saw you. A diamond among stones and like you said, ‘I just couldn’t help myself.’ I had to come speak to you.”
I feel a blush rise up my cheeks and, unsure of what to say, I take a long sip from the champagne.
Mauricio inches closer. I catch his dark eyes roving up and down my body, his interest obvious. I grip my glass tighter as I feel a prickle of uneasiness suddenly wash over me.
“You came here with Jordan?” he asks, and I nod in return as I plot a polite way to disengage from the conversation and sneak back to the party indoors. Something about him makes me uneasy and I learned long ago not to ignore that feeling in my gut.
“Well, what do you say about leaving with me?” he asks, his question dripping with innuendo and obvious interest. But more than that, I can sense something darker, more sinister that sends the hairs on the back of my neck upright.
A tiny tremor runs up my body as I take a step back, out of his reach. “No thank you. I’m actually going to head back—”
Before I can turn away, his arms reach out, pulling me toward him. Pinning me against the bannister, he covers me with his body and grabs my breast in his hand as he leans down to kiss me. The strong smell of his cologne mixed with his bourbon breath nauseate me, and I wrench my face to the side as I squirm to get out of his reach. He gets annoyed and brings his right hand under my dress to try and pull at my panties. I feel every muscle in my body tense as my thoughts race. I need to get out of here. Now. Instinctively, I jut my knee up and hit him straight in his groin. He lets out a loud yelp and drops his hands as he falls forward. I take the opportunity to run, and I drop my glass, shattering it on the tiled floor before rushing back inside to the party.
I push through the sea of people, searching for Jordan. The minute I spot him, I grab him and pull him through the crowd. Spotting a bathroom door ajar, I pull him into the room before closing the door behind us. Finally alone and safe, I collapse against him.
He wraps his arms around me and after I feel my breath even, I pull out of his embrace to look at him.
“What’s wrong, babe?” he asks, looking down at me.
I feel a tear slither down my cheek and I force myself to take a deep breath. “Mauricio Fedaro just…just attacked me,” I answer shakily.
“Attacked you?”
“Yeah, he came up to me outside and started hitting on me. I felt uncomfortable, so I tried to leave, and then he just grabbed me and put his hand up my dress.”
“Babe, are you sure it was him?”
“Yes, I’m sure! I know who he is! Don’t you believe me?”
“Of course I do. But he’s a movie star, babe, and he’s probably just a little drunk. I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous; he couldn’t help himself.”
“That’s not an excuse!”
“Babe, calm down. It’s ok
ay. Anyway, I’m the one who should be upset. I’m your actual boyfriend and he got further with you in one night than I have in three weeks.”
“Are you serious right now?” I look into his eyes and feel my stomach sink with dread. Gone is the friendly, playful glint in his ocean-blue eyes. Instead they look hard, cold, and hungry as they stare down at me.
Suddenly I’m very aware of the smallness of this bathroom, and the fact that the only way out is currently being blocked by Jordan. In the fluorescent lighting, I catch the dilated pupils and his shaky hands. He sees my eyes dart toward the door and his mouth hardens, a dark shadow crossing over his face. He takes a menacing step toward me and I feel my mouth grow dry as the hairs on the back of neck stand on end.
“Why don’t we fix that now?”
“Fix what?” I ask, completely confused and growing more and more panicked.
“Fix the fact that you haven’t let me fuck you yet.”
I feel all the air leave the room and dread sink to the pit of my stomach. My body is still tense and recovering from being groped ten minutes ago, and now I realize with a sinking horror that I’m in an even more dire situation.
“Jordan, I’m not going to have my first time in a bathroom.”
“Your first time?”
I curse myself for letting the fact that I’m a virgin slip out of my mouth. Something had held me back from telling Jordan, and now I realize I had been right to do so. “I mean, our first time,” I quickly say.
He laughs caustically. “You’re a fucking virgin, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve been such a prude?”
I feel all the color leave my face and suddenly the fear I have radiating in my body turns to blind anger. Anger at over-entitled assholes like Mauricio and Jordan who think that because they have Ferraris and can’t control their dicks, they can have whatever women they want, regardless of her consent. Anger at myself for not trusting my gut and seeing Jordan for the asshole he clearly is. Anger at how I have lived twenty-two years in fear of men like this. Men who don’t understand that women are not playthings put on Earth for their goddamn amusement.
And when Jordan takes another step toward me, his intent clear in his eyes, I decide that I am done. Done pasting plastic smiles on my face, done holding back my feelings, and most definitely done with assholes like Jordan James. I reach behind me and grab a tall bottle of air freshener resting on top of the toilet tank.
“Jordan, the reason I didn’t sleep with you isn’t because I’m a virgin,” I say as I hold the canister in front of his face and spray the contents directly into his eyes. “It’s because you’re just an asshole."
Jordan shrieks as the spray hits his eyes and he falls forward, gripping me for support. I push him off me, but he manages to tear the strap off my dress as he teeters back, landing on the toilet seat, his face clutched in his hands.
The path to the door now free, I jump toward it and pull it open. As I step out, light blinds me and I realize there are at least three photographers standing outside. I grab the top of my dress, holding it up. I look behind me and when Jordan spots the cameras, he quickly jumps up from the toilet and wipes his eyes. He smiles at the photographers, who snap another series of photos. I freeze as I realize exactly what this looks like to the gaggle of paparazzi and amused onlookers.
And as I tear through the thick crowd, I realize with an overwhelming sadness that the story of tonight has already been written. Because no matter how much money my family may have at their disposable or how many times I could scream it to the world, at the end of the day, all the world will remember is me spilling out of a locked bathroom, my torn dress, my messy hair, and Jordan’s smiling face. They’ll say I wanted it, that I let myself get into that situation. That I deserved it.
As I run down the stairs out of the house, I want to scream. This is exactly why I had never wanted to be thrust back into this world. It was fake and harmful. It spits people like me out every day. I hate myself for believing that this time it could be different, that Jordan was different. So I keep running as fast as I can in these ridiculous shoes until I am finally back onto the street, a safe distance away from the party. And only when I’m there, in the safety of the dark street, do I finally allow myself to cry.
37
Gabby
It only takes me about twenty minutes of walking to realize that these heels may not have been the wisest footwear choice for the evening. That fact is confirmed three minutes later when the heel on my right shoe collapses, sending me tumbling onto the sidewalk.
It’s only then, on the ground and covered in dirt with my knee bleeding, that I finally let myself fall apart. Thankfully I am in some obscure neighborhood where all the houses are set off from the road, so there are no witnesses to my pity party. I am so embarrassed, and mad at myself for being embarrassed. And mostly, I’m angry that I let myself trust someone.
And the only person who I want to call right now is the person who I told I never wanted see again.
But I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about any of it. Because I want my sister.
I see the headlights and I instantly know it’s Daphni. Surprisingly, she had been asleep when I called, but told me she was coming right away. No questions asked.
As the car approaches, the passenger-side door opens even before the car pulls to a complete stop. In PJ bottoms and slippers, Daphni runs toward me and throws her arms around me. Only when I feel her embrace do I let myself go and sob into her arms. She coos in my ear, calming me. After a few long moments, she gently leads me back into the car and sits with me in the back seat, never letting me fall out of her embrace.
We drive in silence, with Daphni’s hand caressing my hair. As we pass under a streetlight, she catches the blood running down my knee.
“Gabby, you’re bleeding!”
“I’m okay,” I tell her.
“No, hold on. Liam, pull over,” she directs, and it’s only then that I realize Liam has been driving us the whole time.
He pulls over into an empty lot and grabs the first-aid kit out of the glove box before jumping out of the car. He opens the door to my side and Daphni turns on the interior light.
Pulling out an antiseptic wipe and a Band-Aid, Liam stands in the door and gestures for me to bring him my leg. He reaches for my leg and I instinctively flinch. He pulls his hand away.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“Don’t apologize,” he replies. “I just want to put your foot here,” he gestures to his knee, “and then I want to clean the cut and put a Band-Aid on it.”
I nod in response and he takes my leg, his warm hands gently guiding my foot to rest on his knee. He wipes away the blood and blows on my cut as he wipes it down. When it’s clean, he carefully places the Band-Aid over the cut.
“Thank you.”
He looks at me and I catch the gentleness in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something before his eyes dart to Daphni, sitting behind me. He closes his mouth and offers me a tight-lipped smile and a nod before removing my leg and closing the door.
Once back in the driver’s seat, he pulls out of the parking lot.
“Gabby, can you tell us what happened?” Daphni asks.
I look at her and she squeezes my hand reassuringly. I start from the beginning of the party and end with the altercation with Jordan in the bathroom and the photographers.
Daphni keeps silent as I tell my story and I see tears brimming in her eyes. I squeeze her hand tightly. “Daphni, nothing happened. I’m okay.”
She nods, as if to reassure herself. “I know. I’m still going to shoot that little shit’s dick off,” she declares.
I can’t help but chuckle at her words and how serious she looks.
“No, I’m serious, Gabby. He is a dead man walking. You’ll alibi me, right Liam?”
“I’ll give you the fucking gun,” he snarls.
“Great, then it’s settled. He’s dead.”
I roll my eyes in response but let my head fall to
rest on Daphni’s shoulder. In return, she gently lays her head on mine.
We pull into the hotel a few moments later and all pile into the elevator.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” I ask Daphni.
“Obviously, baby girl.”
As the doors open to our floor, I follow Daphni out. Liam places his hand gently on my arm. “If you need anything, I’m right next door.”
I nod and offer him a tilted smile in return. “Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”
He tenses his jaw and for a moment, I think he is going to say something. Instead, he snaps his mouth closed and nods. I bite down on my lip, trying to conjure the words I want to say to him. But I’m too tired, too drained. As if he can sense it, Liam places a reassuring hand on my arm.
"We'll talk tomorrow?" he tells me, more of a question than a statement.
I nod and turn to follow Daphni into the room, hoping that sleep will find me easily tonight and when I wake up tomorrow, this whole night will somehow have been a terrible dream.
38
Liam
“How bad is it?”
“Fucking terrible,” Daphni replies before sliding her iPad across the table to me.
I pick it up and swear under my breath as I read the bold headline. “Jordan James takes Pop Star Diva Sister’s V-Card: Exclusive Details!”
It’s fucking disgusting. Even worse, accompanying the article is a picture of Jordan and Gabby leaving a bathroom, a triumphant smile on Jordan’s face as he gives a thumbs-up to the photographer. Gabby’s face is hidden behind her hands. Her torn dress, in the context of the photograph, looks like the result of passionate lovemaking rather than physical assault. It’s repulsive, and the whole thing makes me nauseous.
