by Pamela Ann
This was, as the folks would declare, ‘first-world problems,’ burying the real, the gritty, the horrendous. Most people were ill prepared to confront the real monsters of this world and the lengths they’d go through to appease such hunger. We were so caught up in this unreal reality that when the bubble burst, an outbreak of melodramatic meltdowns would undoubtedly ensue.
My ‘moment,’ or what I would describe as ‘the unwelcome unraveling of neurosis,’ had to be dealt with alone. A habitual decision due to the nature of my past. Survival was self-taught at a very young age. It was wholly ingrained in the very fabric of me; thus, sharing or seeking professional help after a traumatic incident wasn’t an option I’d ever consider.
It wasn’t necessarily about having to verbally go through what happened, but more about preservation. I was self-reliant; asking for help wasn’t a part of who I was. Besides, the best doctors would merely offer to fill their patients with prescription pills. Pill popping addiction, on top of this bizarre disruptive hysteria, would surely put me in a mental institution. As a result, I found it best to deal with it in my own way. Being here with River was in part tackling a portion of the problem.
So, here I was...playing the role of a jet-setting hussy. A role I would undoubtedly nail in every sense of the word.
As I guessed correctly, sex would be the easy part of this ordeal. River Ellis’s unpredictability and hefty bouts of temper would be the hardest part to deal with.
The tension between us as we left my room as we headed toward the elevator, was indescribable. Due to the late hour, I was relieved we didn’t encounter people as we stepped inside the lift.
Instead of pressing the button to take us to the lobby, River pushed the penthouse one. I didn’t have to take a wild guess where he was staying … Of course, he’d be staying in the best room the hotel could provide. Ari, his manager—and number one pimp/cheerleader combined—wouldn’t settle for anything less. Only the best of the best for his chief cash cow.
River Ellis surrounded himself with people he employed. I couldn’t name any of his friends not on his payroll. How could he differentiate between what was fake and real? I liked Phoenix a great deal, but it couldn’t be denied that being River’s best bud came with major perks and great opportunities. Did he have someone looking out for him, without anything attached?
Petra, perhaps? Yeah, the compliant Bulgarian model centered her entire universe around him. The pictures I had caught sight of the two made me barf a little in my mouth. The adoring eyes and River’s rehearsed smile and praise were too fake even for Hollywood. Too cliché. Too gauche.
My opinion, or lack thereof, wasn’t due to my particular dislike of River, nor was it founded on jealousy. It was the disdain, when the moment finally hit me, that River was living in his own fucking perfect bubble—a fucking delusional world—full of people I called his army of minions, the ‘go-go gofers.’ He’d gotten so used to the people rolling down the damn red carpet where he was concerned. It was safe to assume he believed it was his God-given right to be granted anything and everything he wanted. Drilled with this high and mighty mentality, this sort of lifestyle became the new norm. So here came me … bashing and smashing barriers, too wild, too uncouth compared to the women he’d gotten used to over the years. He wasn’t accustomed to dealing with my kind of crazy anymore, yet this didn’t dissuade him. In his heart of hearts, he truly believed he and I could overcome any hurdles that came our way. Yet, at the very first sign of trouble, River failed to deliver on this promise.
Of course, I knew he’d go berserk after learning about what I had done. But to go to such extent to hurt me after he swore we were going to work through it together … Well, that got me all sorts of livid, the hell hath no fury kind.
His lack of consistency shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did, anyway. Love and stupidity went hand in hand … What could I say? Love made me a complete idiot.
River chose his pride over me, over us. So much so that he didn’t waste a second before replacing me. That hurt badly. Irrevocably.
The asshole could have all the Petras in the world. Heck, he could go ahead and drown in their limitless superficiality, but I’d stay keeping it real. Hollywood—the glamour, the fame, and the money—was good and all, but the downside of leading such a fast-paced, high-profile life was precarious.
If not careful, it could create a vacuum of emptiness, dimming the light out of everything you touched, you saw. Any trace of positivity would become nonexistent. And as for hope, you could kiss that goodbye, too. It was the same as getting close to the sun. You get awestruck by its beauty at first glance, but the longer you stared, the more you became blinded by it. I’d seen it all happen around me. It was what River was these days. Where had the authenticity, the rawness of his work, his persona, gone?
It pained me to admit, but I was disappointed to see he caved to the carved-out puppet Ari had made him into. River was ruled by money—his preferred currency these days—and the fucker made sure I realized it.
The contract obviously pissed me off. But I also understood how River’s mind operated, and when he put his mind to something, getting him to back-off and forget it was not happening. It was either I confided what truly happened that night with Juan or conceded to his outlandish demand. Since I had vowed to carry the burden of my guarded secret to my grave, giving him my body in exchange for protecting my heart—my life—was a no-brainer.
So, here we are, I starkly reminded myself as I glanced at the screen panel which indicated the levels. Ten more to go until show time.
Not only was I jet-lagged and my body sore from recreating the fighting scenes we had to reshoot for the past two weeks, the thought of what the next few hours entailed made me uncomfortable. Maybe it wasn’t the right word to properly describe how I felt, but it was close to it.
After River had woken me up less than half an hour ago, he hadn’t tried to touch me again. It was not like I wanted him to, because physical contact was the last thing I needed at the moment, but it was rather painstakingly obvious he was taking extra precaution to ensure he kept his hands to himself. Back in the day, he would be all over me, touching, kissing me whenever he could. These days, the atmosphere between us was like this—strong and tangible.
While he silently stood next to me, total bitch that I am, I didn’t make a single effort to try to make lighthearted conversation to ease the tension. He stood close enough that I could feel the heat of his body and smell the faintest hint of his cologne. Each time my nose sensed it, this dull, numbing tinge echoed in my chest. It wasn’t profound or anything, but it was there.
Acknowledging its existence didn’t ring the alarm bells or anything, because I knew with every fiber of my soul I wasn’t in love with him anymore. It had died with him. Maybe it had happened the moment he burned everything at the Promise Tree or when I found out I miscarried after the car accident, or maybe it was after I gave back his grandmother’s ring. I wasn’t sure which exact moment it was, but I had no doubt it had perished that very day.
It seemed a lot had to be buried around that terrible time. Surviving what I had endured should’ve made me stronger, but I hadn’t felt weaker until I had wondered what would become of me.
I feel nothing.
I am nothing.
A nobody.
I was a nonentity. A usurper of this body, of this splendid life, who didn’t match what I truly had become within—a prisoner of my dead rapist. My life revolved around pretending to be someone—something—I was not. Cara Quinn was a stranger to me, but it was who I was supposed to be, so I played the part while hiding behind the mask of her pretty face to conceal the ugly within.
Feeling nothing was my new normal. So, if an opportunity presented itself which provided a temporary remedy of nothingness, I would relentlessly chase it—no matter how short or fleeting it was. In that short span of time, I was in control. I saw it more as a confession or a tribute in the most twisted sense of the word�
�to keep reliving that very traumatic time of my life. Yes, it was beyond demented, warped, and revoltingly perverse, but it made me feel good.
I wasn’t in denial. Of course I knew this could be some sort of Stockholm syndrome or a severe form of PTSD, but someway, somehow, this was my way of dealing—curing myself—so I indulged with gusto.
After River and I had severed ties, he was officially dead to me. So, imagine my surprise when he pursued me out of nowhere. Following the crazy lifestyle I’d been entertaining, having him reemerge in my life the way he had made me think twice before rejecting his offer.
At first, all I cared about was getting under his skin as a way of payback after he had treated me so abysmally after Sweden.
Sure, I had known I messed up big time when I made out with Juan. But he vowed we’d work things out amidst everything I’d done. A gesture I mistook as a second chance—an olive branch. I’d been apologetic, feeling like a total monster for daring to even hurt him. But no amount of sorries or groveling could take back what had happened. The weeks that had passed after our reunion in Sweden, River had immediately distanced himself. He had never attempted any kind of communication, it had always been me reaching out to him.
There had been nothing I could do. I had been stuck filming in Spain with the man I cheated on him with while he traveled across Europe, touring with a legion of willing and desperate women throwing themselves at him. It didn’t take long for River to dispense with me without a word of notice. And according to the bitch-face Willa, he’d been seeing Petra weeks before that tragic night with Juan.
In some odd way, this contract was an even exchange. My secret would remain as it was, and he’d never know the truth … He never would.
Sex was an appropriate consolation, but much more for him, it seemed. However, I was not going to deny and pretend River’s sexual pull didn’t stir the nasty inside of me. He was, and always would be, the most gorgeous—the closest to a perfect specimen I’d ever set eyes on. Trust me, after three months of filming with my ultimate God-idol named Bass Cole, River reigned and remained at the top. Some might disagree, obviously, but to me … River just had the danger-like quality about him, the bad-boy gene, which I undoubtedly found irresistible. Like most hopeless women centuries before me and after me, it was utterly impossible to resist the bad ones, sex-game strong notwithstanding.
With that in mind, the man could truly, deeply, madly, fuck the living daylights out of me. Six months of smashing sex with the stud could even be a good thing. Besides, I wasn’t in any danger. Apart from my body, River couldn’t penetrate me even if he tried. I was too far deep, too entrenched with Juan controlling me.
I lived, I breathed … for him. He was the first thing I saw when I woke up. The last thing I saw before I slept … and even then, he never left me. He came alive in my dreams. Stuck in the unreachable abyss of my subconscious, there and only there, he’d possess me once again, over and over, until I’d scream, begging for him to stop.
Juan …
Where did I begin?
He changed my life. My entire world, abruptly entering it and leaving it in such a drastic fashion, he utterly ruined me so devastatingly. After years upon years of experience learning how to survive being an unloved orphan, I never once imagined I didn’t possess the necessary skill to fight the psychological cancer he had left behind.
Embittered, it sickened me to know that in five months’ time I was obligated to promote the film we had made together. There wasn’t a day I didn’t wonder if I could survive and stomach watching the film. It could possibly trigger and endanger the façade I had carefully put in place.
How could I sit there for almost two hours and pretend there wasn’t a knife wedged in my heart? Was I capable of appearing composed, as if I was having the grandest time of my life while being scrutinized by the audience around me? More importantly, was I good enough of an actress to take on such a challenge?
The question remained unanswered since we apparently had just arrived on the fortieth floor.
The moment the elevator doors opened, the most tantalizing scent of mouthwatering food sautéed on something amazing blew past me, making me involuntarily growl. With my mind distracted, any nerves I had were eased. I hadn’t realized I was actually famished until now.
“I requested one of the hotel’s chefs make us something while you got ready.” The voice informed right behind me as we stepped out of the lift.
Ah, the high-roller life. I expected nothing less. His standards vastly differed from mine. Switching careers sure was a good call for his already fat bank account. Must be sweet to have everyone at his beck and call. A total far-cry from the boy who rummaged every penny he possessed so he could buy a present on my fourteenth birthday.
My stilettos reverberated against the mat black tiles in the entryway as we crossed the threshold, which led to a stylish greeting room that included a polished grand piano. My eyes roamed curiously about the massive expanse of room. Glass upon glass everywhere, properly showcasing the exquisite wraparound view of the beach.
“Are you sharing with anyone?” I found myself asking.
“No, why?” he promptly denied.
The place was massive and he was all alone? Right. “There are two living rooms,” I sharply noted, quite suspicious.
“Uh-huh … I can see that.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but his face remained unchanged, serious and impassive.
His nonchalance made me shrug. Instead of pursuing the subject, I decided it was best to take another course as we trod along, headed toward the dining room. Like the rest of the suite, its décor had quiet elegance, and I could only envision what this room looked like in the morning. The views would be spectacular, I noted as I diverted my attention to the other people in the room. There were about four uniformed hotel staff fixing, organizing, preparing as they set the dining table, a size good for ten people. Uncorked, chilled bottle of champagne sat along with uncorked bottles of white and red wine.
If he intended to get me drunk tonight, one didn’t need encouragement. Alcohol was an inevitability.
Another uniformed waiter emerged from what I believed was the kitchen, armed with an array of dishes on serving trays. Bluefin tuna; chicken tikka; a bountiful tray of oysters, scallop, and shrimp dumplings; seafood pad Thai; lamb cutlets; pork belly; wagyu filet mignon; Hamachi … There were a few more I couldn’t name. If this was for the main course, I was almost certain River hadn’t held back on dessert, either.
“You went all out. You shouldn’t have,” I murmured without meeting his eyes. Those lethal dark eyes seemed too keen for my own comfort. I’d been avoiding them whenever possible.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like these days, so I figured I’d get them all so you’d want for nothing.”
His admission took me aback. What did he mean by that? He had known me for over a decade of my life. He was the person who’d encouraged me to pursue acting, for crying out loud. What the heck was he talking about, then?
My frown deepened, my face contorting as I threw him a quick, puzzled glance. River had his hands in his pockets. Reserved. Distant. But those savage eyes never left me. They were trained on me, dissecting my every damn move.
“We’re almost done,” the kind gentleman informed us both. His over-glittering smile indicated he knew who I was, but it was done discreetly enough as most professionals effortlessly make. “Dessert, beverages, and cheese platter are all placed on the terrace as instructed. Would you need us to serve dinner, Mr. Ellis?”
“Ah, nah, we’ll be fine by ourselves. Thanks for getting everything done guys. I know it’s hella late, so I really appreciate it.” He pulled out several hundred dollar bills and tipped the grinning fellas.
“Anytime, Mr. Ellis. Please let us know if there’s anything else we can provide you with. Have a good night.” They bid us farewell before leaving us to our own devices.
Without the staff moving and shifting about, the low almost-sile
nt hum of the air-conditioning system was too deafening for words. We both stood in the dining room, hovering a few feet away from the dinner table, sober as a duck, and with no clue how to proceed.
Wait—
Could it be …
Could it be possible he’s nervous?
He could very well be. This was so unlike him. Normally, he would’ve already pounced on me and I’d have major trouble pawing him off. I was naked in bed, for crying out loud, but he chose not to make a move. For some inane reason, he’d been … well, watchful to say the least.
Was something wrong with him? I had to wonder. The man was acting so strangely. I supposed everything was strange between us. So much had happened, too many painful words were said, too much hurt was inflicted. Yet amidst all of that, River had orchestrated this sham. Personal opinions aside, I knew I had to break the ice, or we’d be dancing around each other for the entire weekend. I, for one, preferred arguing than being in this limbo.
An icebreaker right about now would be nice. “So … Where’s your band of brothers and bitches?” As icebreakers went, mine was fairly reasonable. It had perfectly equal amounts of sass and spite.
“Exploring Miami.” River threw me a look, one that told his patience was being tested.
Good. At least we were getting somewhere. This whole silent treatment had been silent enough. It was time to get a move on.
Agitation. Jet lag. Animosity. A lethal combo for a woman like me. If he were a wise man, he would be pouring me a glass of wine, because if I was left sober while we’re in this awkward limbo, I’d happily use the ugly bitterness of the past just to piss him off. It would definitely be game over then.
“You should’ve gone with them. There’s no need for anything of this … There really isn’t.” I gestured toward all the effort he’d invested in such a short time. The food, the extravagance he was willing to shower me with. I appreciated it. Of course I did, but it was unquestionably unnecessary. “We’re not … you know … anything. Honestly, River, I would’ve been fine if you came in the morning.”