Eternally Bound

by T. A. DeMellet

  “Hey man, I hear I’m busting you out of this joint. Did they get tired of waiting on you hand and foot? Or maybe they wanted to get rid of you so they wouldn’t have to deal with your high maintenance girlfriend?

  “Shut up, Bentley, or I’ll tell Ava you secretly use whole milk instead of skim milk in her lattes.”

  “Ouch,” he said while clutching his chest, “The accident changed you.”

  “Besides,” I said rolling my eyes, “I haven’t seen her since the day of the accident. I don’t think she was thrilled that I told my parents not to fly out here. Or, maybe it’s the new scar,” I laughed, pulling up my shirt to show him my taped incision.

  “That bonne a rien is just work. I hope at least you think she’s worth the effort.”

  “I don’t even know what that means, but if you’re using it to describe her then it can’t be good.” Bentley was from the heart of cajun country and his Louisiana slang was colorful, but sometimes difficult to decipher. Nick had introduced us when I started getting so busy with work that I barely had time to do groceries or go to the gym. I interviewed him and we hit it off immediately. He’s an awesome cook, he kicks my butt as a personal trainer, and he’s become my best friend. I can tell him anything, and he always gives me straightforward, honest advice.

  “Listen, don’t start in on her now. I’m too tired to argue with you and besides you used to like her yourself.”

  “That was ages ago, before she went all social debutante and botox. But as a peace offering, I’ll make my famous jambalaya for dinner and maybe you’ll take that sourpuss look off your face.”

  “Deal. Let’s get out of here.”

  We sat in companionable silence for most of the ride home. I was anxious to sleep in my own bed once again, and shower in my own bathroom. Even though the hospital staff made every effort to give me the unnecessary celebrity treatment, all I longed for now were the comforts of home.

  CHAPTER 7

  MADELYN

  The last two days had been cold and rainy, and when I woke and looked out my bedroom window at the sky, it seemed that today would be no different. The soft, buttery glow in the distance proved that the sun was indeed threatening to break through the clouds, however it seemed the sun would lose that fight today. As I stared, I couldn’t help thinking how appropriately the weather mirrored my mood. I wanted so badly to be happy and cheerful, but I couldn’t break through the gloom. Ever since my reading in Madame Yelena’s shop a few days ago, I had not been able to shake this feeling that a piece of me was missing. It was a hollow, emptiness that I had never felt before.

  It wasn’t loneliness, because I had always been comfortable being alone. My previous relationships had suffered because of my solitary nature. My ex-boyfriends always assumed I was disinterested, and perhaps I really had been. I dated a few guys in college, but nothing ever became serious. No guy ever made me feel more than friendship or lust, and therefore my relationships became the “friends with benefits” variety, rather than the meaningful ones most people longed for. I thought briefly of my last ‘serious’ relationship. He could have been a good match. Husband material for sure. He was thoughtful, and certainly good looking. But I didn’t feel the right kind of chemistry between us. I remember thinking, ‘these things usually take time, right?’ At least, that’s what I told myself. I guess I’ve always wished for that immediate, mind-blowing chemistry to happen when your eyes lock for the first time, just like in movies and books. But the only time I’ve ever experienced that was in this make-believe land I visited with Damien.

  Could it be that my string of meaningless relationships was due to the fact that my soul had already been claimed - that it already belonged to someone else as Madame Yelena had predicted? Would it always be this way? This feeling of desolation; like a big, gaping emptiness in my heart? Perhaps Madame Yelena was right, and if what she prophesied was true, then I couldn’t go on trying to ignore this. I just couldn’t fathom a way for Damien and myself to ever meet. He would never leave LA in search of some no-name woman in Florida, and I couldn’t exactly contact a celebrity. They are constantly protected by their bodyguards or an entourage, and one couldn’t just write them a letter or email. Plus, who’s to say that Damien would even want to meet me? Why would a celebrity with his fame and status, with his drop-dead beautiful celebrity girlfriend, want to tolerate the claims of some deranged fan (which is exactly what I would appear to be)?

  My practical side warred with this new side of myself that was now strangely beginning to believe in the supernatural. As I contemplated my best course of action, I made myself a cup of coffee and threw an english muffin in the toaster. Good decisions were rarely made on an empty stomach.

  Part of me wished the dreams and visions would stop. I fervently wanted to go back to the time before I realized this link between us ever existed. I wanted my life and and the comfort of my routine to go back to the way it was before, but apparently my soul had other ideas… like finding its mate from so many lifetimes ago. I wish I knew who they were and when they lived – the lovers whose souls were still deeply imbedded in the living world. How passionate a love one must have with another for something of this magnitude to occur. I had never experienced anything remotely close to that kind of a love. However, this yearning to find and be near Damien Pierce was growing and consuming me.

  I walked away from the kitchen forming a new resolve: I had to find Damien in real life, not just in the dream realm. I had to find a way to explain all of this craziness to him. If he was experiencing the dreams and visions the way I was, he would be interested to know that I was out there. He always seemed to want to stay and find out who I was when we were in the dream realm together. Perhaps in real-life, Damien Pierce would be just as interested in a no-name girl from Florida. Yes, I was going to find a way to meet him.

  I grabbed my coffee and nibbled at my toasted english muffin as I sauntered over to my desk, turning on my laptop. I felt foolish as I searched for his name online. The minute his name and the thumbnail images of his face popped up on the search results page, my heart was all aflutter. I felt like an idiot school-girl.

  I thought perhaps he had an official webpage where he would accept fan mail, but once I searched and found the page, I was disappointed to find there weren’t any links to an email; not even a contact page. I knew if I could just let him know that I’m the woman he has been having visions and dreams about, he would understand and try to get in touch with me. That is, if he was indeed having dreams about me. This was all so frustrating. In my emotional self-defeat, a thought dawned on me: social media!

  Most celebrities had Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. It was probably the only way of reaching him at this point. I checked Facebook: No message button. The page was just that, a fan page where he could post, but others couldn’t send a message. Instagram: no account. Finally I searched through Twitter for his name, and found his profile. He seemed to be pretty active on this one, with his last tweet being only two days ago. I clicked on the message icon and thankfully, the message window popped up.

  I feverishly began writing, my mind running wild with everything I had to explain to him. Then I realized he may have his accounts monitored or run by an administrator. Most celebrities had someone that did all these mundane tasks for them, didn’t they? I decided the best thing would be to keep it simple, so I deleted everything and began afresh:

  “Hello Mr. Pierce. My name is Madelyn. The last time we met was on the white marble bench in a garden with animal-shaped topiaries. I’m sure you remember. I have so much to tell to you. Please contact me at (305) 555-5634. Thank you.”

  I hoped he would receive the message soon and respond, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

  CHAPTER 8

  DAMIEN

  “Hold on! I’m coming,” I yelled from the sofa, knowing that whoever was knocking wouldn’t be able to hear me anyway. I had been home a full 24 hours and all I had been able to do was sleep the meds out of my sy
stem. I unsuccessfully tried to stretch the grogginess and aches from my body and forgot momentarily how much pain that actually caused. I took my time getting up and slowly made my way to the door.

  “Took you long enough,” Nick complained when I finally opened the door.

  “Well damn, Nick. It’s not like I was in a car accident or anything. How long have you been knocking?”

  “I tried calling you a few times and I’ve been out here about five minutes. Where is Bentley anyway?” Nick asked, walking into the house.

  “He went to the store and besides, he’s not my butler, Nick,” I responded.

  Nick set his phone and keys down on the small entryway table and turned to face me, “Either way, let’s get down to business, shall we? Are you feeling alright? Do you have the energy to discuss a few things today?” he asked, although his tone implied he didn’t really care how I felt.

  “Yeah, I’m alright. So, when can the magazine reschedule the cover shoot?” I figured that would be the first item on the agenda, although the gossip circulating the tabloids since my accident would most likely be Nick’s priority.

  “You have to know, Damien, that the whole country knows about your accident and all of the media speculations are casting you in a terrible light. Most of the tabloids have fabricated stories related to DUI’s and such, so I was thinking we should come out and explain it all.”

  “I wasn’t even drinking, Nick. Do we really have to address this?” I asked, knowing full well that we did because there was no way you could ignore these types of accusations with the media. Ignoring it would pretty much be an admission of guilt.

  “Your reputation is part of your job, Damien. You know that as well as I do. You have to stay on top of the media. You have to be the good guy who takes interviews, who explains to his fans what his life is really like,” Nick said, slightly agitated. Every time something negative popped up in one of the tabloids about me, Nick about busted a vein over my hesitance to partake in a media war. I loved acting, but was it really necessary for my personal life to be strewn about the grocery checkout lanes like I was a monkey at a zoo? Of course, it didn’t help that we didn’t see eye-to-eye on any of this. I didn’t want anything to do with defending myself against unwarranted accusations, but I could only put up so much of a fight with Nick. When I first started out here in LA, I needed someone to guide me through this crazy world and I found solace in the one guy who wasn’t over 50 with a bald head and a cheap suit. It seemed not everyone was interested in signing a country boy who people thought just got lucky, but Nick was starting out in the business as well and was determined to stake his claim in the entertainment world. I felt a connection, a kinship between us and knew we would work well together. I had been right and both our careers took off, but now, as I looked at him, I realized that although he did everything he set out to do, he got lost in the stereotypical meaning of it all. Gone was the business casual attire he once donned, and in its place was a variety of tailored suits with expensive ties and designer shoes. His shirt was always neatly pressed and never unbuttoned, and his tie, which always appeared to be squeezing the life out of him, provided an unnecessary clue as to how uptight this guy really had become. Sure, he’d smile and laugh as though he had not a care in the world, but once you really got to know him, you realized that behind every smile there were gears turning, plotting to unveil the next big thing. Nick was always “on”, and nothing would stop him from achieving his goals. His fierce determination is what got us both to where we are now, but it is also what caused me to tune him out each time he began his strategic rambling. I shook the errant thoughts from my head and tried to focus on our current disagreement.

  “I understand where you are coming from, but this personal stuff shouldn’t matter. People get into car accidents every day. I wasn’t drinking and I wasn’t doing drugs, so why are they making it a big deal?”

  “Because it’s news, man! News is news. Hollywood loves to hear about anyone in the spotlight. It’s you today and we need to make sure it’s you tomorrow because as long as they’re interested in you, it means you are still a hot commodity. Look, Entertainment Nightly wants to do an interview with you and I think you should do it. It would be a quick five minute deal. Clear your name, get the paparazzi off your back, and we can move on just like you want.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay, go ahead and schedule it. Why do I even bother putting up a fight? You always get your way in the end,” I joked.

  “I ask myself the same thing all the time,” Nick laughed as he made his way into the living room and plopped down in my favorite chair.

  “As for the magazine…?” I inquired again.

  “They told me to call them back to reschedule once you are fully recovered. How bad is this scar on your stomach?” Nick asked, his eyes travelling down to my abdomen. Apparently, he’d spoken to Ava.

  I lifted up my shirt to show him. Tape still covered the incision, but it gave Nick the general idea. “It’s not huge or anything, but I guess it’s kind of noticeable,” I said.

  “Well, it’s nothing a little airbrushing can’t fix. Plus, your fans will probably love it and it may actually increase your following. Women love scars,” Nick said with a chuckle. Yeah, women loved scars… all women except for Ava.

  Speaking of Ava, she hadn’t called once since I got home. I mean, I wasn’t exactly causing her phone to ring off the hook either, but she was my girlfriend and probably should have called by now. As if Nick was reading my thoughts, he asked, “So where is Ava? I figured she would be here with you.”

  “I was just thinking to myself that she hasn’t called. She’s been pretty busy lately wrapping up on set. I guess I should give her a call.”

  “Yeah, you should. The internet is buzzing with the news of the car accident and everything. This is definitely something you and Ava can capitalize on,” Nick said nodding his head seriously.

  “I swear, sometimes you’re just as superficial as she is. Let me guess, you think the high school jock should always date the cheerleader? Don’t get me wrong, Nick, I like Ava and we have a lot of fun together… well, we used to anyway,” I said, averting my eyes from Nick’s penetrating gaze. “But you and Ava only want this relationship to work because we look good together.”

  “Damien, you do look good together. Your fans love the match, too. Don’t get me wrong, you should be happy, and the public loves to see happy heartthrobs. It’s good for your image,” Nick said, standing up and grabbing his keys and phone.

  “Is that all you think about?”

  “It’s my job to think about it. And don’t forget, this is your job too. I’ve got to get going. I’ll call you when the interview with Entertainment Nightly is set up, okay?” he said as he walked out the door.

  “Yeah, got it… ” I said to myself as I closed the door behind him.

  I trudged over to the coffee table and picked up my phone to call Ava. I would be the better person here. The phone rang four times before she picked up (very unusual since that phone is all but glued to the side of her head).

  “Baby! Oh my God, how are you?” she said, her voice dripping with rehearsed concern.

  “I’m fine. The doctor says I’ll heal quickly, despite the unsightly scar on my side,” I said sarcastically.

  “Geez Damien, do you really think that would bother me? I actually find scars kind of sexy. I’m just happy you are okay, sweety.”

  “You sure bailed on me quickly at the hospital. What happened?” I asked as I paced back and forth in the livingroom.

  “Oh my goodness, you have no idea. The minute I walked out of the hospital I was bombarded with paparazzi wanting to know how bad your injuries were and what caused the accident. They actually asked if you had been drinking while driving. I told them that there was no way I could speculate on what happened, only that I was praying for you to get better quickly. The next thing I knew, the paparazzi were crawling all over my set and the tabloids were saying that I c
onfirmed you were drunk when you got into the accident, and that I wanted you to go into treatment for alcoholism. It’s been so distracting, especially since these were my last few days on set. I’m so sorry I didn’t call. I know you got discharged yesterday. Can I come see you today?” she asked.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “Wait, back up, Ava. Why didn’t you tell them the truth when they asked if I had been drinking? You do realize that avoiding a direct answer was as good as confirming their assumptions?”

  “Well, they caught me off guard and I didn’t really know what to say. Sorry Damien, but it wasn’t like you were acting normal that day. You were late for our lunch and sounded so weird when we spoke on the phone. I’m sorry if it caused you harm, but it is extra publicity. It probably won’t hurt. Besides, they’ll forget all about it soon enough. Now, how about I come over and make you feel better?” She practically purred on the last few words and I realized that would have worked wonders on me a month or two ago, but it did nothing but repulse me at the moment. I didn’t feel like seeing her and was definitely regretting that I called her in the first place, but maybe this could be an opportunity for the two of us to talk more seriously.

  “Fine, come over,” I reluctantly told her.

  “Perfect. I’ll be there in about an hour. Bye honey.”

  Sadly, I had no desire to see her. In fact, the whole time I was on the phone, all I could think of was this mystery woman and how she would have reacted to this situation. She probably would have stayed at the hospital with me the entire time and cared for me while I was at home recuperating. She would have turned a horrible experience into a wonderful experience just by being her…

  What the heck was I talking about? This woman doesn’t even exist. I was seriously losing my mind. I made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash some water on my face. Ava’s visit today probably wouldn't end well…