Teen Idols And Happy Meals

Omelets And Babysitters

"Stop joking Jacen," she said sternly, "You know you've had a drug problem in the past."

"Drug problem?" I scoffed, "It wasn't a 'problem' until you found out about it."

"I'm serious Jacen. Did you do any drugs this weekend? No jokes or sarcasm or creative storytelling. I want a straight answer and I want the truth."

"My answer remains the same. No. Though you’re rather making me wish I had some right now."

She sighed heavily. "Good. Now go shower. We have to get going."

"Going? Going where?" I demanded, surprised although perhaps I shouldn't have been. If we were going out that explained why Odette had woken me up in the first place. I'd assumed she'd done it just because she couldn’t wait to bitch at me but this made more sense.

"You have a photo shoot with Interview Magazine in an hour," she told me, "You're going to be on the cover this week."

"I assume this means I also have to do an interview, right?" I asked, dread plain in my voice. I hated having people pry into my personal life. Some people may have said ‘private life,’ but I didn’t have the luxury of one of those.

"Well it is called Interview Magazine," she said, rather unhelpfully as she got up and descended the little steps that led down from the raised platform my bed rested on. "And go take a damn shower already. You smell like booze and sex."

"Oh that's just my new cologne. Don't you recognize it?" I called after her as I got to my feet, "It's called Eau de I Got Fucking Wasted. You like?"

"Just go shower," she said, not looking over her shoulder as she went downstairs.

I rolled my eyes as I jumped down off my platform, causing the floor to shake just a little. "Well then," I huffed to myself as I stalked off to my bathroom. I closed the door behind me, not bothering to lock it. I stepped inside my glass shower and turned the water all the way up. I then went to stand in front of the mirror to get a look at myself. According to everybody I'd encountered since then, from Odette to the girl at McDonalds, I looked like shit and I just had to see for myself.

One glance and they're observations were confirmed. My hair, in all its disgustingly blonde glory, was horribly disheveled. My skin was unusually pale, making the dark bruise on my cheek stand out severely. My clothes were rumpled as if I'd slept in them two nights in a row . . . because I had.

Feeling disgusted, I struggled out of my jacket and threw it on the floor. Now that my arms were bare I could see that there was a bruise on my wrist and another on the opposite arm, just before the sleeve of my t-shirt. I hadn't been kidding when I'd said I'd fallen multiple times.

I pulled my t-shirt off next, which reeked of booze and sweat. I pulled my torn jeans off, which I probably would never wear again, and then my boxers. I could now see there were bruises on my knees as well.

Either Rosalyn and I had had some really weird sex, or I’d fallen more times than I thought.

Stepping into the shower was like stepping into a new skin. The hot water felt amazing on my gross skin and greasy hair. I stood there for a while, reveling in the heat and the steam and the solitude. I loved showers. Absolutely loved them. When I was little, so little that I still took baths, and my parents were fighting especially loud, I would go in the shower with all my clothes on, turn the water on, and just sit there.

I loved showers now for the same reason I had back then; because they were peaceful. Nowadays, it was rare for me to be alone for more than a few minutes. There was always somebody there, except when I was in the shower . . . usually.