Skye
I had told Jamie I will give him another chance, and I will! Honest! But as soon I hit the comforter of my own bed, I realise how damn hard that is going to be. He has done nothing to deserve it. Absolutely nothing. Well - that is if you didn't count turning my head to mush and invading my dreams - then he had done nothing other than kissing me and promising me a pile of freaking gold - metaphorically speak of course, no one got a pile of gold. It isn't fair that he can do that to me, reduce me to a puddle of teenage hormones in a matter of freaking fucking milliseconds. Actually, it sort of pisses me off. He said he loves me. Love... what the freaking fantastic fuck is that? Does it really exist in other places than books? Who freaking knows? We're too busy looking for our next conquest to notice even it hits us smack in the face. For all I know, Jamie totally can be in mushy gushy love with me, but then again he can also totally be kidding both himself and me.
He kissed another woman, and I knew that realisation isn't going to pass anytime soon. In the car with is sent and personality all over me I hadn't been able to think rationally. Not even the least. I had been too busy secretly gawking at his muscular arms and perfectly messy golden hair, to care much about anything. Because of one simple fact: I desire him. What? I did! And it gave me the biggest disadvantage on the planet. Because even though my heart is still aching from what he did. My cheeks are always red, my pupils forever pitch black and panties slightly dampened after being near him. This is of course an exaggeration, but you get my point. I have absolutely no idea how Jamie and I can ever be together again, after what he did. Other than maybe, with time. Until I stop hurting and maybe even move on, then maybe. But that involves getting to know someone else and I seriously don't feel up for that.
God... How could I have told him I could give him another chance? How could I have been so unbelievable stupid! I sigh heavily into my pillows, feeling the urge to scream, but no doing much about it, seeing as I - despite my unexpected lusty nap in the car - am exhausted. So I just lay there, my head pressed into my pillows, still fully clothed, before long sleep overcame me once again. And can you guess what , or should I say who I dreamt about?! That Bloody bastard...
***
'Lust is not the same as love, lust is not the same as love, lust is not the same as love,' I recite the mantra in my head as I brush my teeth the next morning, looking at my tired reflection in the mirror. It has been a while since I have really looked at myself. I had been too caught up with training and moving to LA to really care about my appearance. I look like the same Skye as always. Curly cobber-red morning hair. Square face, annoyingly full lips, they remained too big for my face as always. Somewhat high cheekbones, I could thank my father for all that. Or that's what my mother said. I believe her, since my mom had always dyed her hair blond - her natural hair colour being a mousy brown one - and naturally scolding blue eyes, seated over big chubby cheeks two great for her still small face. I look nothing like that, so I gathered I must look like my unknown father. I am happy about that. It gives me no ties to my mother what so ever, other than the blood running under my skin. O negative, same as my mother. I had found out when I was 11 and had fallen on my bike. I had crashed while hurling downhill at full speed. I hurt myself very badly, opening more wounds in my small body, than should be possible at my ages. I had even hurt my head and broken my arm in two places - just under the elbow and right at the wrist. It wouldn't have been that bad, if someone just had been around to help me. I of course had passed out, seeing as I was an idiot and hadn't worn a helmet. So two hours later someone had finally found me - somehow still alive - but there had been blood all over me, so much that I had needed a blood transfusion. Ever since then my blood type had just stuck in my head.
My mother had stroked my cheek that night as I lay dosed in the hospital and said, "Our blood runs strong, little one." It sounded like something from a medieval fantasy show like Game of thrones, but none the less my mother was and still is prone to say shitty family oriented shit like that. The next morning, I had asked her what her blood type was and since then I had known for sure.
I snap back to reality where I still stand staring at my tired reflection. The only thing that has really changed is my eyes, which look sadder and more lifeless than ever. Or maybe it is just morning grogginess. Who knows?
After staring at myself for a while, picking at a couple of zits, hopelessly trying to make them disappear, I hop in the shower to rub off the smell of old sweat and sticky crowded theme park. After using all too much time under the faucet I finally get out, dry myself off and walk into my room to get dressed. Blue jeans and a white tee shirt. Hair hanging around my face to dry naturally. Don't tell me I never make myself look pretty! (That's me being sarcastic)
Then it suddenly hits me as I pour cereal into a bowl for breakfast. Tom! Oh my god! Then one second later I have another realization, we start shooting tomorrow! The two bombs hit me one after the other as my brain suddenly out of the blue start working again. First of all, how could I have forgotten that I had run away scream from one of Hollywood's most eligible bachelors for a whole of four days! That must be a freaking record, I must I have Alzheimer's or something. Normal people don't forget shit like that. But then again my thoughts have been caught in the web of Jamie fucking, more than I care to admit.
I need to fix one issue at a time, I decide. I need to apologize to Tom, what mustn't he be thinking of me. After all he had been the perfect gentleman. He had done nothing wrong and then I had just run away like that, scream weird shit at him like a lunatic. I don't remember the details anymore.
After fixing my Tom issue I will move onto fixing my Jamie issue. Jamie will be working on stunts all day with Patrick and Evelyn, before the fight scene in the pandemonium and what not tomorrow. He can wait for now.
I pick up my phone to dial Tom, only to realise; I don't have his number... I sigh, putting my phone on the kitchen table before me. Merely to pick it up one second later, dialling my manager, Cassie Jones.
"Cassie Jones speaking," she says professionally as she picks up.
"Hey Cassie, it's Skye."
"Hey Skye? Is there a problem? Why are you calling me? Shouldn't you be rehearsing your lines? Has something gone wrong?" she drones already expecting the worst. With my previous career, I don't blame her.
"No, nothing's wrong," I interrupt her, "I just need a tinsy favour..."
"What Skye? What have you done?" she asks. She sounds like my mother, though nicer. Again I let it slide; it is not easy being my manager.
"Well, do you know what's being going on lately?" I ask.
"Yes." She just answers, like no explanation is needed.
"About Jamie, me and ehm... Tom?" I ask, trying to get to the point, while making sure she knew what I am talking about. After all there is quite a lot going on lately.
"Yes, I read the magazines Skye. Are there anything I need to know?" She asks; all business.
"No, it's just could you get me Tom's number?" I ask and she sighs into the receiver. She didn't waste time on asking me why I didn't have it already or what I needed it for. She is my manager, not my girl friend. She tells she will get it for me within the hour, after telling me not to do something to once again jeopardize my career. I tell her I was fixing it and that is that. The line is dead.
I get a text 34 minutes later containing ten small numbers. Tom's number. I dial it immediately, even though it's about 09.00 in the morning. I need to make sure there isn't any bad blood between us.
"Hallo?" a rich dark voice asks from the phone.
"Hallo, is this Tom?" I ask.
"Yes, this is him. Can I ask with whom I am speaking?" he tone is pleasant, nice, and so damn well-educated I might gag and swoon at the same time.
"Oh, it's Skye... We met a couple days ago. You help me out of ahhh,-" I trail off. He helped me out of what?
"As if I would forget you, Skye. It isn't often women run away for me at the speed you did " he carols at me happily, "are you all right?" he continues suddenly sounding worried, the change is so sudden I feel like I have trouble keeping pace "I was afraid you'd died in a ditch somewhere."
"I'm fine, thank you. Just had one hell of a night," I calm him.
"Yeah, I gathered as much, I hope you and your..." he trails of wanting me to finish the sentence for him. I just have no idea with what. Jamie isn't my boyfriend, it would be too odd and uncomfortable for me to call him tha,t after the damage he has done, but then again he isn't an ex either. So those two is out ruled. Can I get away with simply calling Jamie my friend? Well, right now I would have called him my 'problem', but that doesn't seem like a socially acceptable label.
"...friend." I say.
"Well, I hope you and you friend sorted things out?" he asks.
"Yeah I think we did, we're friends for now," or giving it a try - or something, I actually am not sure. I won't give him the label as my boyfriend - he doesn't deserve that. Hell. I don't deserve that after what he did.
"That's great to hear," he says in his smooth, dark high voice, "and otherwise you're okay? I heard you're about to start shooting soon? That show.. what's it called?"
"'Shadowhunters' now, the producers found a better name for it.. We start shooting tomorrow." I tell him. I suddenly feel terrified. We start shooting tomorrow. TOMORROW! I know I can't rehearse my lines any more than I have already done. But what if I forget them? What if I suck? Oh, dear god. The fans will kill me and eat me for supper. I am dead meat. Dead, I tell you! What the bloody hell am I doing here? I am a small time actress, not one of the Hollywood bigshots! Oh, crap! I suddenly desire nothing more than to be back at the small theatre in London, playing crappy plays night after night. That's where I belonged. Not here.
"You sound worried..." Tom half states, half asks.
"Oh it's nothing..." my voice suddenly become high pitched, "I am totally fine, you know? I am totally ready to be eaten alive by critics and the diehard fans. Totally ready..." my voice sounds more scared than I had intended it too, where the bloody fuck were sarcasm when you needed it? God... I could have talked to my friends about this, to Jane, Godfray, Rhys, anybody on the cast. But somehow I found it easier to talk to a complete stranger. Great... A famous stranger. Even greater! I'm a dumb fuck.
"You'll be fine," he assures me in his deep way too sexy to be legal voice. He would be excelling at phone sex, just mentioning it...
"Easy for you to say, you're already parading around Hollywood like you own the damn place," the worlds slip out before I even notice. A slam my hand over my mouth. Shit. Not the best thing to say to one of the world's most famous people. I sure as hell must be a bloody genius!
Tom chuckles deeply. The sound is sexy, nothing like Jamie's laughter which is so filled with joy, you can't help but break out in a fit with him. Tom's laughter is different, deeper, like those dark moody guys from romance novels. Though he is nothing like the sort. Tom is a sexy extraordinarily English schoolboy. I will not be surprised if he had gone to Eaton.
"Parading, Huh? That's a new one." He chuckles; I can hear the smile on his face. I huff bashfully, glad that he isn't mad at me for boasting what could be deceived as a very hurtful comment to his character. He keeps talking, though his tone of voice changes, "you know Skye, if you'd like, I could help you? I know load of way of dealing with the sort of stress which comes this world, maybe I know something you don't?" he sounds genuine and helpful. Like the true British gentle man everyone keeps swooning over. If I wasn't so damn emotionally unstable, I would have jumped him already.
"Ehhmm," I mumble, not really knowing how to answer.
"After all it does take its man to parade around Hollywood, as if you own the place," he says in a teasing manner. I feel like he is trying to annoy me, without being obvious about it. Like I am not 'man' enough to own those Hollywood pricks! I had gotten the role, hadn't I! But then again, I still hadn't dealt with any sort of fans or press yet, so that would be easily said. I have no idea what I am doing in this place. I am too much of a coward to admit any of this to anyone in the cast. They all seem so confident. Like that know exactly how they will handle everything along the way. Hells, Jamie, Godfray and Robert (+others) already have dealt with it! I am the one who has the biggest character and in addition is the most screwed.
I laugh at his cockiness and he chuckles shyly, like he somehow feels slightly ashamed of his comment, but then again proud, "Okay, I would like the help." I admit.
We make plans to meet in a couple of hours at a coffee place he knows. He gives me the address, makes some adorably lame jokes, before we both hang up. Afterwards I devour my breakfast in hungry slurps of cornflakes and milk.
I use one hour in the gym and when I get home I spend the next 2 hours in my room drawing. I draw Jamie, twice. But for some reason it's not quite right. The bone structure in his face just won't turn out the right bloody way. In the end I get pissed, and tossed the project away for another day. Then I began drawing Tom, or what I would remember of him. He is quite similar to Jamie in some ways, but so entirely different in others. I draw Tom short, curly brown hair, his sharp nose, thin lips, strong jaw and hawk-like yet friendly eyes. All of it. The drawing turns out perfect.
"Where you going?" Jorge shouts as he hears me unlock the front door to go meet up with Tom.
"Just out!" I shout as I shut the door behind me, leaving the building in a hurry.