by N. K. Smith
He spits out his next words. “I guess so.” Peter is silent for a moment before he continues. He must be doing everything he can to calm himself. When he speaks again, his tone is measured and controlled. “I don’t understand, Adra. You like that?”
I turn my eyes back up to the sky and shrug. “It’s not like whips and chains or anything. I’m not like submissive or anything, I just like the power he—”
“Ugh. You were right. I don’t want to hear about this shit. It’s making my stomach hurt.” The quiet disgust in his voice is evident, and it leaves me feeling ashamed but the violence in his expression and tone is gone.
“You want to talk about banging Shyla instead?” I mean it as a joke, but I don’t think he takes it that way. Wood creaks next to me, and when I look at him, Peter’s sitting up, knees drawn up, arms resting on top of them. He’s staring out into nothing. “I was just kidding.”
I’m not sure he heard me, but then he shakes his head.
“Peter?”
“The whole fucking world has gone nuts. Lili’s a spotlight addict, and you like getting the shit kicked out of you during sex. What the hell happened to us?”
The timbre of his voice and the way his words are delivered set me off. The lorazepam keeps me from flying off the handle too much, but I still allow a little coldness to drift into my own tone. “First off, I don’t like getting the shit kicked out of me. I like not having to control everything in the goddamned world. I like the ability not to worry about—”
He holds his hand up. “I can’t. I don’t want to think about you like that. It’s—” He stops himself before saying what he really wants to say, and I wish I knew what he’s holding back.
When he doesn’t say anything else, I continue. “Second, nothing happened to us. Like I said, we just grew up.”
Again, he shakes his head like he just cannot understand that people change with every passing day. Even though I don’t get how he can remain so fixated on the past, I can’t be angry that he wants life to be like it was. Peter has changed, just not as drastically as Lili and I have. Peter has always lived in a world with prettier skies and fluffier clouds and rainbows that contain more colors than I can name. It’s probably why he can create such lovely pictures when he decides to make his doodles into something more like art.
He turns his intense yet soft eyes to me. “You know I’m here for you, right? You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, don’t you?”
I push myself into a sitting position opposite him. “I know.”
He cups both sides of my face in his hands and threads his fingers through my hair. For a full minute, nothing is said, but I can tell he’s trying to have some kind of unspoken communication with me. If I let myself, I could fall into him. I could lean into him; lean on him even more than I already do. If he were able to climb the walls, find the lock, and open it with his key, I could let him fill the empty space within, but I don’t think it would last, and all it would end up doing is solidifying what I’m pretty sure he already knows. That I am needy and not worthy of his time and effort in the long run.
“Adra,” he whispers. His face grows larger in my vision as he tilts forward to bring his head nearer to mine.
I can only focus on his lips. I can feel the blood flowing through my body; rising to the surface. I can only imagine what his lips will taste like against mine.
But who am I kidding? Even if he does kiss me, it’ll only be a friendly peck. It won’t be anything more, and even if it was, I know when he pulled away, I’d only see regret in his eyes. Anti-anxiety pills or not, I can’t handle any more of this. To divert this catastrophe, I say the first thing to some to mind. “Seriously, how is Shyla?”
The magic that had been growing in the moment breaks, and Peter backs away. I can see taut muscles in his jaw, as if he’s clenching his teeth. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know what anything means anymore. I used to be so good at reading him. He’s right. Everything has changed between us.
Peter doesn’t answer my question about his girlfriend. I’m relieved but only until he says, “We should head back to the car.”
As uncomfortable as the present situation is, it was still nice to be close to him, and now we’re leaving. The emptiness inside feels colder than before, but there is only one person to blame for it, and right now I don’t feel like claiming responsibility. I have enough guilt on my shoulders already.
Chapter 32
I’m going to stop writing in this journal. It’s stupid.
Maybe I’ll stop writing it in when I’m high. Sometimes I go back to read what I wrote, and I can’t make any sense of it.
But I like writing. I feel like this is the only place I can be real. No pretending. Just the real me writing out all the shit that goes through my screwed up brain.
Although that’s a lie, I think. I can tell some of my journal is complete bullshit. I mean, not all of it, of course, but my journal is written by whichever part of my brain won on that particular day—the positive, happy part or the low, gloomy part. Sometimes I think both are lying. That is why I should stop writing in it. Maybe it’ll help me stop lying to myself.
Whatever, this is fucked. I’m done.
***
I sit on the couch of my quiet home. It’s been a month since Keep in Mind wrapped. Jude is off making music somewhere in the underbelly of LA. I’m watching Hollywood Reel on television with a tumbler of whiskey in my hands. We’re out of cocaine, but Jude promised to bring some back with him. I just have to wait until he gets here.
It makes me nervous to be out. I rub my finger over one edge of my mouth and then pick at the soft skin. There’s nothing there. I’ve checked in the mirror, but I can’t stop myself from performing the action again. Then a stray hair tickles my neck. I can’t do two things at once plus hold the whiskey, so I abandon my lips and move my fingers to my neck, raking my nails over my flesh. It feels good, so I do it again, and then again, and then again, until finally, the skin burns.
Then my nose tickles. I squeeze my nostrils but all that does is release something that feels like a fire igniting under the bridge of my nose. My eyes water. I sniff loudly. If I wasn’t so preoccupied with all these little tickles and itches, I’d be disgusted at the sound I just made.
Jude really needs to get back here.
When the show comes back on, a picture of me fills the screen. Regan Lee, a perky reporter with long red hair extensions stands in front of the image. “As promised earlier, we’ve got the latest news on Hollywood’s hottest wild child. While Adra Willows is garnering some fab reviews for the previously unreleased film shot two years ago, Demon Within, and early buzz on Outside the Club has reached a fever pitch, it seems Adra, herself, is all over the place.”
I scratch my neck again as B roll of me on set of Keep in Mind plays and Regan continues. “She’s made her relationship with bad boy rocker Jude McGuinness no secret, but it seems his wild ways are rubbing off on her. Adra has been known for some odd behavior before, but with the release of Jude’s newest video, Writhe, Adra has turned a corner.
“Many people are calling the video voyeuristic hedonism. Others say its soft core porn set to a thrashing soundtrack. Here are a few clips our network will allow us to play.”
Jude’s song fills the dead air while images of my nearly naked body writhing on the bed play before me. I was high—so high—when we filmed it, and watching it now makes me a little uncomfortable. A shot of me on all fours, backing my ass only covered by white panties up to the camera is blurred by the program.
“That’s the type of footage that has MTV considering banning the video. We here at Hollywood Reel want to acknowledge that there are many more music videos that have crossed the invisible line, and we’re not weighing in on the video’s artistic merit, only that Adra Willows, once considered America’s cutest kid, has crossed a line, as has the video. This comes hot on the tail of her increasingly erratic behavior, from shoving a photographer, to gigg
ling non-stop during a red carpet interview, and flipping the bird while walking through an airport. It becoming clearer with every incident the actress is going through what some call a rough spot and others call a spiral down into the dirtiest Hollywood experience.
“We caught up with a few celebs to get their take on the situation. Liliana Addison has been a close friend of Adra’s since childhood.”
Lili appears, all smiles. God, she looks good as she stands outside her favorite café. “I’m not sure what’s going on with her. The video is obviously a strategic choice for her career, and I support her decisions. If I’m wrong and it’s a cry out for something else, she has my number.”
Regan comes back on. “Another Hollywood A-lister familiar with the sins and vices of the industry is director Collette Stroud. Ernesto caught up with her on the set of her new film Take It Back. “I don’t have an opinion on the video. I don’t know her personally, but she’s a fine young actress, and I know how difficult it can be navigating through a world designed to watch you falter. I also know that it’s easy to take a strong young woman who is exploring her sexuality and turn her into a slut. If she was a man, you wouldn’t be asking that question, right? Slut shaming isn’t new. Just look at what the media does to all those child actresses who grow up. These girls start out playing the cutesy girl next door on some kid’s show, but when they start taking grown up roles, everyone blasts them for not being America’s little princess anymore.” Collette pauses for a second, licks her lips, and then stares right into the camera. “Look, little girls grow up to be young women. Just because a young woman displays her sexuality in a confident way, doesn’t mean she needs help or something’s wrong with her. We need to stop pretending that growing up isn’t a natural thing, or that all girls need to stay young and virginal, even past the point of adulthood. I don’t know anything about her situation, but I think we all might do well to keep our hyper critical thoughts to ourselves.”
The screen flips again, and Danny smiles at the camera until the same question is posed by an unseen reporter. As the smile fades, I think about the years I spent with him. I don’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, I think now I can say that I did love him, but on the other, I don’t think we were ever right for each other.
“Adra? I don’t know. I don’t think I should comment on it.”
The reporter won’t take that as his final answer and pushes him to say more. “Well, some would say you know her best. What do you think about her performance in Jude McGuinness’s newest video? It seems like a complete change from the wholesome young woman we all knew when you two were together.”
Danny is composed as he answers. “Well, first off, I think maybe you should ask Jude McGuinness about his nudity and his role in the video and not focus solely on Adra. She’s a beautiful woman and can do whatever the hell she likes with her body. I don’t think I—”
“Is this why the break up happened? Is this why you aren’t with her anymore? Did you—”
Danny holds up his hand to the camera, but I can see him shake his head. “Don’t you people care about what you’re doing?”
“What are we doing?” the reporter asks.
“If you didn’t blow everything out of proportion, maybe she’d be a little better adjusted.”
“You don’t think she’s well adjusted?”
Danny rolls his narrowed eyes. “Just because she sneezes and it’s a slow news day, doesn’t mean you should exploit—”
“We’re not exploiting—” The reporter stops abruptly when Danny walks away. Although it’s nice that he was defending me, I still remember seeing him with Summer. I still remember that he cheated on me, but I guess my feelings have dulled a bit. I don’t hate him as much anymore.
Peter’s face pops up next. I can’t tell where they are when they ambush him. Like Danny, his smile fades a little when Regan asks the question. “You know, I think Adra is going to be fine. I can’t speak for the decisions she’s made or will make, all I can say is that the woman I know is intelligent, strong, and dedicated to her craft.”
“You don’t think her behavior’s a little odd?” Regan asks.
“Look, I think Hollywood changes people in unexpected ways. Some of us have skeletons in our closet, while other people’s issues unfortunately become fodder for shows like yours.” He looks right into the camera. “And I also think you can’t always believe what you see or read. A lot of what’s reported is nothing but smoke and mirrors, so be careful what gossip and rumor you listen to.”
As the show switches to Regan back in the studio, I wonder if Peter really believes what he says. Now that I’m not high, even I’m disappointed in my participation in the video.
Despite the support shown on Hollywood Reel I feel like I’ve done something wrong. For all the years of wanting to keep my clothes on, it seems I didn’t have much issue getting rid of most of them and simulating sex on film.
What’s worse is that when Elsie was encouraging me to go topless in films, I was at least making money. I did that video with Jude for free.
And now I have nothing to show for it but shame.
I knock back the rest of my whiskey and glance over at the bottle. It if wasn’t so damn far away, I’d take a swig straight from it. Why did I leave it across the room? Where the hell is Jude with that coke?
Chapter 33
Days or weeks or maybe months after the fallout from the video dies down, I sit cross-legged on the bed as I chew my nails and watch Jude pack. My chest is tight, and it feels like I’m not getting enough oxygen. “Are you sure you have to go?”
“Been planning this tour for ages, babe. New album, new tour; that’s how it works.”
I nod. “But maybe just wait a day?”
Jude stops and straightens. In an instant, he launches himself onto the bed. The bounce knocks his suitcase onto the floor, and all of his hard work is gone. When I’m underneath him, I study his caramel skin and finger one of his nipple rings.
He buries his face in my neck, and the sensation of his soft lips against my tender flesh sends ripples of lust coursing through me. Shifting and opening my legs, I relish in the feel of his hips nestling there. The buckle of his belt presses into me. I snake my hands between our bodies in an attempt to rid him of the belt and his pants, but he takes my wrists and lifts my arms up.
Jude wriggles his hips between my thighs. “Have I made you a needy girl?”
His voice drips like sweet nectar, but his words sends icy shots of doubt and worry through me. “Needy girl?”
He captures my lips with his, but as he pulls away, I see his smile. “You like my cock too much.”
He tightens his hands on my wrists. I’m not afraid. In fact, over the past several months, my body has grown excited by his displays of male sexual power, but still. I don’t want to be a needy girl.
Jude thrusts his hips. “Tell me. You like my cock.”
I bite my lip and shut my eyes. Maybe I should have a little bump of cocaine before engaging like this. It would set my mind right, and I wouldn’t have a flood of images assaulting me, showing me that as much as I say I want this, as much as my body responds, I don’t want to be a needy woman. I don’t want to have him looming over me, offering me orgasms in exchange for me begging him. I’m not this person I’m pretending to be.
But is it pretend? God, I don’t know anymore. All I know is that I like getting high more than I like anything else.
He thrusts again, and I know he thinks that my silence is a part of the sport of it. He is only playing the game we devised together. “No? You don’t like it?” Jude skillfully flips me over onto my belly and presses me into the mattress with the full weight of his body. “Let me make you want it.”
Even after he lets go of my wrists, my arms are still beneath me, and I stay still. I should end this in favor of getting high, but I say nothing as he pulls down my black yoga pants and positions me on my knees. I know what will happen. In the beginning, sex with Jude was u
npredictable. I liked that he wanted me to be active. He wants to know what I want to do in bed, unlike Danny. I liked that he didn’t treat me like a prim, proper lady, unlike Trent. But, I haven’t changed. I still give the power to him. In the beginning, I liked how out of control he was and he let me be, but now it seems more like a choreographed dance. The feeling isn’t there because it’s nothing more than muscle memory. I’m not really out of control with him. I can’t even say that I’m much of a participant. I just follow his lead.
Jude will use his hands to make me cave. I’ll tell him exactly how much I want him. I’ll tell him exactly what he wants to hear, and in return, as a reward, I’ll feel marvelous. It’ll be a mind-blowing experience, despite the predictability, just like every other time.
It still won’t fulfill me, though.
Getting high will. It is the chemical patch that covers the hole within me the best. Orgasms are quick to fade. The sensation left behind is not nearly enough, but the organic love and hope and confidence I get when I snort one little line? That lasts for much longer.
Before I know it, Jude has us both naked. As much as I know I should participate, I can’t seem to make myself. As he presses down on my back with his strong hands, I feel no urge to buck against him. I try to force myself to get turned on by his control, but I don’t.
My nose tickles, so with great effort, I manage to bring my arm out from under my body. Because of what Jude’s doing, my motor functions are little off, so instead of squeezing my nose, I have to make do with a flat palm pressed against my face. It takes away the tickle though. Jude gathers my hair and twists it in his hand. My body is under his influence but my mind is somewhere else.
He’s leaving in a few hours. I will be alone again, the constant victim of separation and abandonment. There is only one solace; one friend who don’t leave me. And as soon as Jude is finished with my body, I will embrace it like a lover. It will embrace me like no other lover ever has or ever will.