So, Spencer might've been right.
Okay — he was definitely right.
I did almost blackout as soon as I left his place, but I managed to get myself to the nearest restaurant before said blackout happened in full. And while this restaurant was located in some off-putting, mostly empty diner near Hollywood (too close, really, if you know the type of weirdo shit that goes down in Hollywood) the staff was nice, they brought out my food quickly, and most importantly— they didn't recognize me.
I'm not Beyoncé-level famous or anything—and thank God for that—but there's been too many times when someone has recognized me solely off our resemblance. They'd probably never seen a modeling campaign of mine in their lifetime, which is fair, but the adjacent fame / haunting nepotism never fails to set off alarm bells in people's heads. And, I mean, why wouldn't it? My face has been plastered side-by-side with my mom's in tabloids and on television too many times for people to ignore, so I really can't blame them. I think inheriting most of her features doesn't help my case either — especially the eyes.
Ugh, these distinctive ass eyes. God, it's a blessing and a fucking curse.
Even with the fragile state of our relationship, or lack thereof—I should say, I still think my mom is the most beautiful person in this world. Physically, at least. But who she is as a person tells a different story, and when I look into the mirror and see her eyes staring back at me everyday, I can't help but feel all those mixed and negative emotions of anger and defeat. Because it's impossible for me to separate myself from her through distance when I am her. But what can you do?
There isn't anything I can do. This is just how it is.
Sometimes I think I was cursed from the start.
I finished my burger and strawberry milkshake in less than fifteen minutes and dug out two crinkled twenty dollar bills from my back pocket, extremely thankful I'd worn these jeans because I'd stupidly left my wallet at my parent's house. Speaking of them....
My waitress was kind enough to let me use her cellphone to call Blue, who'd immediately given me an earful about the current state of the Carter manor. I hadn't really realized how much time had passed until she mentioned it (screamed it, actually), and when I realized it was nearing five o'clock and nobody in my family could reach me for the better part of six hours, I genuinely did feel bad. Like okay, yes, I needed a break from everyone for a bit, but I had zero intentions of disappearing for the entire day.
This is why I can't drink around Spencer anymore; it has never ended well for either of us in the past, and my grown woman body can't handle getting blackout midday anymore like we're nineteen. It's literally not possible, along with just being generally irresponsible. I should've known better.
And I didn't blame Blue for being pissed at me either. She said that our parents were ten minutes away from calling the cops and filing a missing persons report....again. What's the likelihood of this happening to someone as much as it's happened to me? This would've been—what—the fourth time?
"You sure you have someone coming to get you, honey?" Amanda, my very sweet and probably fifty-or-so year old waitress, asked me. "My shift doesn't end for another couple hours, but I can drop you home if you need me to."
I smiled and glanced at the clock on the wall. 5:23 it read. "I'm sure. She'll be here soon," I assured her. I'd been sitting here for almost an hour at this point, so my drunkenness was starting to fade and the headache was settling in.
I'm just praying to God that I'm not too sick to drive home within the next two hours or so because I refuse to stay at my parents' house another night. I'll walk through the hills until sunrise before that happens.
