by Ava Harrison
“Can you give her cheekbones?” one model whispers to the makeup artist. Tears prick the backs of my lids.
“Don’t worry about them.” A girl grabs my arm and pulls me back out of the way. “Patrick is a genius. He can make you look ten pounds skinnier.” The comment should make me feel good, but instead, it serves as a reminder of how much I have let myself go, and just how much I’ll have to do to get back.
With a shake of my head, I try to ignore her and put my best face forward. But hours later, we are working well into the night to get the perfect shot and I can’t help but think it’s my fault. Needing to freshen up, I walk into the bathroom and I come face to face with the same girl pouring a small bump of coke onto a key.
“It’s going to be a long night,” she huffs. Then she lifts the coke until it’s directly below her nostril and inhales. Got to keep it even.
“Want some?” she asks. She repeats for the other nostril.
“I don’t—”
“You should. We could be here for hours or longer. You won’t get hungry,” she says. An imaginary knife I have been feeling all day turns deeper inside me, forming lacerations.
I shouldn’t
I can’t.
But regardless . . .
I inhale.
After I’m done with the shoot, I check my phone. There’s a message from Lynn. Bridget’s in town, and they’re going to a dive bar in the Meatpacking District. Lucky for me, I’m coming down from my high already and a drink will help take the edge off of wanting more. I respond I’ll be there in thirty minutes and start to freshen up and make myself presentable.
When I get there, I see my sister standing by the door. Throwing my arms around Bridget, I engulf her in a giant hug. It feels good to be back with her. With college and my modeling career, it’s been forever.
“Almost done,” I state.
And her lips split into the largest smile I have ever seen. “Only two more finals and I’m officially a graduate.”
“Are you prepared for your test, because asking Lynn and me to meet you at some dive bar doesn’t sound like you’re studying too hard.”
“Girl, everyone needs a break. And dancing on a bar in cowboy boots channeling my inner Coyote Ugly is exactly how I want to decompress from the endless hours I have put into my degree.”
“When do you go back?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Shit. We better start drinking.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Lynn?”
“Wait for Lynn for what?” a voice asks from behind. I turn to see Lynn with a smirk on face.
“To drink, of course,” I chime in, and just like that it’s as if no time has passed. It feels like just yesterday when I was with my kid sister and her best friend doing shots at a party. Who would have imagined how much our lives would change?
I wave my hand to the female bartender and order a round.
“To Bridget’s test,” Lynn shouts.
“To the Millers,” Bridget exclaims.
Three shots down and I’m standing with my two sisters on the dirty, slimy bar. There’s a trendy country song playing, and I’m pretending I know how to two-step. I’m about to fall over when my cell vibrates in my pocket.
Spencer: Where are you?
Me: Nowhere that you want to be.
“Who’s that?” I hear Bridget scream across the music.
“It’s probably her boyfriend,” Lynn teases, her giggles sending me super-drunk vibes.
“Boyfriend? Dude, do you ever tell me anything?”
Lynn orders us another shot, which we quickly take before I recheck my phone.
Spencer: Try me.
Me: I’m with my sisters. Bridget is in town. She is about to graduate, and we’re celebrating.
Spencer: Where?
Me: You can’t come here.
Spencer: Where, Olivia?
Spencer: Waiting . . .
Me: The Salty Pig
No way he’s showing up here.
The song has changed once or twice, but my position on the bar has not. This time, instead of two-stepping, I’m jamming away to an upbeat pop song by some prepubescent boy.
“Who’s the suit?” I hear Bridget say. Still shaking my hips, I open my eyes when two strong arms lift me from the bar.
“I’m her suit,” Spencer says, putting me down and pulling me toward him until his lips touch mine. Ohs and aws sound throughout the bar.
“You’re here.”
“I told you, I miss you when I don’t see you.”
“I know, I didn’t think you’d come here.”
“Why? I wanted to see you, so I came.”
“It’s just not your scene.”
“You’re my scene. If you’re here, then I want to be here.”
I fall into the fierce gaze of his eyes and realize something . . .
Here in the dingy, dirty bar, I realize I’m falling in love with Spencer Lancaster.
Now that I’m out and about with Spencer it’s as if everyone I used to work with and who snubbed me is coming out of the woodwork. First Lucinda, then Giorgio called to see if I could shoot with him in Milan, and now I’ve landed a high profile magazine cover.
Being in a relationship with New York’s own king makes me a hot commodity, a shiny new toy for them to exploit. But beggars can’t be choosy, so here I am at another job.
High as a kite.
What started as one bump to get through a night of shooting quickly escalated to two, and now it’s mandatory if I’m on the job. I’ve also lost fifteen of the twenty pounds I put on when my career took a hit after the runway debacle. I wish I could say I’m strong enough to stop. That knowing Spencer might find out is enough to make me want to clean up my act. It hasn’t. If anything it’s had the opposite effect. Instead, I find myself using more and more.
I can’t get through a shoot without a bump now. The pressure to be someone that would make him proud, to be successful is blinding.
Inhale.
I both love and hate this feeling. My heart pounds, adrenaline courses through me, and I’m restless. At the same time, I feel invincible as though nothing can stop me. As if I can conquer the world. When I walk into the shoot a few minutes after taking a bump, I might not be the skinniest model on set, and I might not be the prettiest, but I don’t care.
I got this.
An hour later, all the pictures are taken and I’m starting to come down from my high. My anxiety is peaked. The itch to take another bump crawls on my skin.
Slithering around.
Begging me to take another.
To fall into the abyss yet again.
I need to get out of here. To get a drink.
I’m edgy.
Looking at my phone, I see Spencer texted.
Spencer: What are your plans?
Me: Finishing up.
Spencer: Come here. I want you.
Fuck. I can’t go there now. Sure, I’ve gotten really good at hiding when I’m on coke, today is too much though. Today, I’m too hopped up.
Me: Give me a few. Going to grab drinks with one of the other models.
Spencer: I’ll let my staff know you’re coming. Actually, I’ll tell them to always allow you up.
Always allow me up. The words he’s typed should make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Instead, I feel awful.
I’m lying.
He would leave me if he knew.
If he knew what an awful person I am.
If he knew that I’m a fraud.
“God fucking shit,” I scream in my office. Lucy is standing at the foot of my desk as pale as a ghost. It’s not her fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. But here I am losing my shit once again.
I dial Addison’s number.
“You can leave Lucy.” She skitters out like a scared mouse. I want to call out to her and apologize but the phone is already ringing. It rings and rings. On the third ring, I hear her voice.
“Spencer,” she drawls into the phone. “To w
hat do I owe this honor?”
“Cut the shit, Addison. I know you talked to him.”
“Talked to who? You’re going to have to be a little clearer?” She’s toying with me and I don’t like it. Not one bit.
“You know who hell I’m talking about. Don’t play games with me or you’ll regret it.”
“Tisk. Tisk. I don’t think Daddy would like to hear you’re talking to me this way. Especially since we have so many deals on the line.”
“What do you want, Addison. Name your price?” I hiss. There is no way I’m losing another property to Grant.
“Dinner.”
“No.”
“Drinks.” She won’t let this go. I know she won’t. “We still have to sign the St. Barth’s papers.”
My blood boils. I want to bash the phone on my desk, but instead I take a deep inhale of oxygen, hoping that will be enough to calm me down.
“When?” I finally breathe out.
“I’m traveling. I’ll be back in a few weeks.”
“Fine.” I hang up. Not even waiting for her to respond. She’ll call me when she’s back in town. If there is one thing Addison is, it’s persistent.
Olivia is at the hotel when I get home from work. She’s waiting in the lobby smiling broadly at me. I don’t smile back. Just take her hand and lead her to the elevator.
“Hey, will you slow down?” I pull her faster down the hall until we are standing in front of my door and I’m opening it. “God. What the hell is wrong with you?” She’s annoyed and rightfully so. I just manhandled her in the lobby, elevator and now in the hall. But I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want peace and quiet in my apartment.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I growl. I don’t. Today was shit. Grant is all over me. And I have no idea why. What his end game is. And it’s pissing me the fuck off. I like to be two steps ahead at all times. But with this, I feel like he’s feeding me information when he goddamn feels like it and it’s always two steps too late.
“Spencer, if something is bothering you—”
“God fucking dammit Olivia, I said I don’t want to talk about it and I meant it,” I snap. And even as the words leave my mouth they feel like bile, but it doesn’t stop them from spewing out. She lifts her hands to touch me and I push her away.
“I can’t do this now.” She opens her mouth to object but I don’t stay to listen. Just turn on my heel and slam the door behind me to go to the bar and grab a drink. I’m not used to letting people in. With most of my life being public knowledge, I’m used to keeping my feelings close to me. There are only a few people that have ever breached the wall I have erected around myself, Olivia is one of them. But sometimes, I fall back into old habits and just want to shut the door. Not have to answer anyone. It’s been a long time I since I have let anyone one in, wholeheartedly. Grant was the only one.
Why is he doing this to me?
An hour later, I find myself back in the suite. I’m drunk now. Piss ass drunk. When I argued with her, I left her. I went downstairs and drowned myself in scotch. Now I’m back, and I’m barely in the door before I see Olivia. I don’t speak, just saunter up behind her as she is bending over the counter grabbing a glass. I’m not sure what goes through me. This feeling I don’t get. It’s primitive. I need to be inside her. Mark her. As mine.
We fought.
I was nasty. Brutal really. But I don’t give a shit. I need her. I need contact; I need to connect to her right now.
This is what I know.
Sex is what I know.
I used to know more. Once upon a time, I was in love and then it was killed. I care for Olivia. But love . . . no. I don’t love her.
I need her.
I need her like I need air to breathe.
She’s all encompassing and I need to consume her.
She must feel my presence because her body stiffens. But I don’t allow that to halt my intentions. Instead, I reach my hands out, I trail them down her spine, over her hip, lifting her skirt.
“Fuck. Do you ever wear anything under your clothes?” Bare again. Always fucking ready for me.
“No,” she moans.
My hand is cupping her, and my finger presses deep inside. She tightens around me like a vise. A vise that is begging to get fucked. I pull my hand away. She’s primed for the taking. I pull my dick out. Gripping. Stroking.
I begin to press into her. It feels too damn good.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “No condom.”
“Clean, pill,” she groans.
Hell, yeah.
Those two words are all I need. I slam in.
Giving her all my anger.
All my hatred.
Misplaced, but I give it to her anyway, and she takes. She takes it all. All I have to give.
Purring. Moaning.
Grinding up against me. Fucking me back.
It’s hot.
It’s primal.
I pound into her at a pace that will bruise. That must tear her apart, but I don’t give a shit. I need this. She needs this, and I’m going to give it to us.
Thrust.
Thrust.
“Fuck,” I shout. My body is seizing.
My world is going blank, as I empty myself in her.
My eyes begin to blur. The world spins. I pull out and barely register Olivia taking my hand, and she’s leading me to the bed.
All goes black.
Shit, I was an asshole yesterday. I didn’t mean to snap at her but between the shit with Grant and the bigger fucking shit with Addison, I’m a mess. Doing business with her is starting to become a liability not only to my business but to my health. Then I go and meet Olivia. She just came home from a job. Probably stressed and what do I do? I rip the fuck into her.
The fact that she forgave me, the fact that she’s in my bed at all right now is a modern miracle. I attacked her like I was an animal.
It was primal and fuck if it wasn’t hot as fuck.
The way her hair fanned the countertop as I fucked her from behind.
I don’t deserve this girl.
I need to get my shit together. Get Grant on the phone, settle this. But instead it’s eating me up inside, and I’m a dick.
I’m a dick in real life. But not to her. Never to Olivia.
I can see the distance start. She’s been pulling back.
Maybe that set me off.
Maybe I am just an asshole.
I don’t know. Guess it doesn’t matter, damage is done now it’s just what I’ll do to fix it.
Me: Good morning beautiful.
I send the text. Imagining her lying in my bed naked. Great. How am I supposed to work right now imagining her naked in my bed?
Olivia: Morning.
She responds. I can’t tell if she’s still mad.
Me: Will I see you later?
Wow, I’m a pussy.
Olivia: I have work.
Me: Fine. Call me when you’re free.
I slam the phone back on the desk. I need to get my shit together.
I’m lying in my bed. A week has passed since I last saw Spencer. I don’t know if I’m intentionally avoiding him or just working really hard. A part of me knows the answer. I can’t see him now. First thing, he’s not the same. He’s angry. Quiet. I’m not sure if it’s me. I can’t tell and I’m too scared to find out. So I avoid him.
Other than the shit with Spencer, everything else in my life is actually coming together. Jobs are lining up. I’m finally catching a break on the modeling front.
My phone rings and I swipe at the screen. A name from my not-so-distant past flashes on the screen of my phone and I desperately want to send him to voice mail. Bennett. I should have guessed he’d be the next one to try to cash in my new notoriety. What does he want? Probably to work with me again. I haven’t seen his name or even thought about him for years. Not since the shit show a few years back.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Liv?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Bennett.”
“What can I do for you, Bennett?” I bite out.
“No need to be testy. I just want to talk to you.”
No need to be testy? I let out a huff of breath. The last time I spoke to Bennett, I ended face down on the runway. How I convinced my parents it was no big deal is beyond me, but somehow I managed to almost escape unscathed. I simply explained I had a few too many celebratory shots and somehow everyone believed that.
But I know the truth . . .
Booze and coke. Not a good combo.
“What do you want?” I ask again. This time my clipped voice makes him laugh.
“I want you to work with me again.”
“Now why would I do that?”
“You owe me.”
“I owe you what? I’m lucky I even have a career at all.”
“I made you.”
“So then go make someone else.”
“I don’t want anyone else. You’re everywhere. I can’t open a magazine without you and Lancaster on the cover. It’s free advertising. I need you for this project I’m doing.”
“I have to be honest, Bennett. I don’t care what you need. I wouldn’t work for you ever again. Not if you were the last photographer on the planet.”
“You sure about that, sweetheart? You really want to play this game?”
“I’m not playing games. I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“You didn’t say that when you were coked up out of your mind and sucking my dick.”
“I got to go.”
“I wouldn’t piss me off if I were you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Just try me.”
“Goodbye, Bennett. Don’t call me again.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I don’t like the threat in his voice and hang up quickly.
The biggest mistake in my life was getting involved with Bennett. But I was young, didn’t know better. At the time, I needed something that was solely mine. Something I could feel proud of. Modeling was that outlet for me, and Bennett gave me that escape.
Unfortunately, like all things in life, it quickly morphed into something else—a toxic relationship that fed on my insecurities. Before long, I wasn’t skinny enough. I couldn’t work hard enough. But Bennett had something to help, and one night during a late shoot, he offered me the solution to all my problems.