Jacen's POV
"Wake up."
The words were harsh and demanding, making it clear that defiance would not be tolerated. But still, I had to try. Moaning, I rolled over and away from the voice, pulling the covers over my head.
"Jacen," the familiar voice replied shortly, accompanied by a kick to my bed. "Wake up."
"Go away Odette," I whined in annoyance.
"Jacen Alexander Sage get your ass out of bed right now or I will mount it over the fireplace," she vowed.
"It won't match the décor," I informed her sourly, "But do whatever you like. As long as you let me sleep I do not care."
"Jacen I am already pissed at you, don't make it worse," she threatened.
"Oh fine," I groaned, throwing myself into a sitting position. Vertigo overtook me as I pressed a hand to my spinning head. It took a moment for my vision to clear but when it did I could see Odette standing next to my bed, looking royally pissed.
"And what time did you crawl in last night?" she asked, her arms crossed over her chest. The move was meant to make her look more intimidating. She could use all the help she could get; she didn't exactly look threatening in her jammies.
"I don't know; midnight maybe," I mumbled.
"You were trying to avoid me, weren't you?"
"No I was trying to avoid my warm bed and over the counter pain killers," I said sarcastically, "I mean, you know how much those suck when you have a hangover."
"Don't be a smartass Jacen," she said angrily, "I was really worried about you yesterday! You didn't come home, you didn't call . . . You could have been dead in a ditch for all I knew!"
"Clearly, I wasn't. And if I was and somehow came back to life, then we have more important things to deal with because I may be Jesus."
She gave me an annoyed look. "Stop joking. You may not have been dead in a ditch but you could've been! I mean, you run away, you drink, you do drugs, you disappear for days at a time . . . You're reckless Jacen. You have no common sense so every time you vanish I can't help but worry that you're dead in a ditch! I-,"
"Okay where is this damn ditch you keep talking about?" I demanded.
"You know what I mean Jacen," she said, giving me an intolerant look, "It's very possible that one time you'll go to one of these parties and never come back. I mean, you're irresponsible. You can't even take care of yourself. I mean, look at you! You're all banged up! Look at that awful bruise! Did you get in another fight?"
"Yeah. With the floor. As you can tell, it won."
"Did you fall?"
"What a stupid question. Of course I did. More than once," I muttered, kicking the blanket off of me. Underneath, I was fully dressed. I'd crawled into bed last night wearing everything but my boots.
"How much did you have to drink?" she interrogated me further. Sometimes she changed subjects so fast it made me dizzy.
"I don't fucking know," I said, getting annoyed, "Do you honestly think I take out a measuring cup and measure out each shot before I take it?"
She sighed. "Did you do any drugs?" Another subject change. Delightful. My head was spinning.
"No," I said automatically, rubbing my eyes and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
"Are you sure?"
"Well I did plunge a suspicious needle into my arm. But the sickly guy who gave it to me said it was just water. Well that or heroine. I guess I forgot."
"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.
"Jacen!" came Odette's voice from outside, "Don't take all day in there!"
"Okay!" I shouted back dismissively. Though, it was still enough incentive for me to stop daydreaming and actually bathe. I scrubbed my entire body with soap, desperately trying to get the scent of vodka and Rosalyn to leave me. And then I shampooed my hair twice trying to get rid of the grease and smoke, but that didn't feel like enough times, so I did it two more times.
Once I had rinsed all the soap off of me I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. The cool air felt unnatural against my flushed skin as I grabbed a towel and dried myself off hastily. I shook out my hair, letting droplets fly everywhere before wrapping the towel around my hips and going into my bedroom.
I went into my dresser and grabbed myself some boxers and then went into my unnecessarily large closet and picked out a clean pair of jeans, a wife beater, and my brown aviator jacket that I zipped up nearly all the way. It hardly mattered what I wore after all; when I got to the set they would inevitably dress me up like some life size doll anyway. I shook off the thought, grabbing my snakeskin boots off the floor near the door and trouncing down the stairs.
Down here, the TV was on to E! News, where a chesty blonde was discussing the rumors that Molly North was pregnant. I knew for a fact those were false. I'd hooked up with Molly before, if she was pregnant, I would've gotten a call.
I went into the kitchen where Odette, fully dressed in her signature blouse and pencil skirt with her hair pulled back in a severe bun, was cooking breakfast with her phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder. I listened to her conversation, half interested, as I went and got a gallon of milk out of the fridge.
"Don't worry Viviane, he'll be there," she was saying, ". . . Yes I know I said that last time but this time I mean it . . . Yes I'll be sure to keep an extra close eye on him this time. Okay, bye Viviane." She hung up then and made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat.
"Glad to see good old Vivie still has so much faith in me," I mumbled as I got a glass out of the cabinet.
"Can you blame her for not trusting you?" Odette asked as she flipped the omelet she was cooking in the skillet, "She's your publicist. When you mess up, she takes the heat. It's her job to nag you."
"Wait - if that’s her job - why are you here?" I teased, grinning cheekily as I poured myself some milk.
She gave me a look over her shoulder. "Cute," she said as she transported the omelet onto a plate which she then handed to me, "Now eat."
I looked at it for a moment, making a slight face before placing it on the island. "What's in it?" I asked cautiously as I went and returned the milk to the fridge.
"Cheese, peppers, mushrooms, and bits of sausage."
"Ew. No thanks. The only mushrooms I’m interested in are illegal,” I proclaimed, scrunching my nose up in disgust.
"You need more protein. It's good for you."
"I couldn't agree more. And you know what has lots of protein? Chicken nuggets. Let's get some."
"No," she said sternly, pushing the plate towards me, "You need real food. You keep insane hours, work constantly, and party when you should be sleeping. You can't afford to be filling your body with garbage."
"It's worked for me this far," I muttered.
"Just eat," she said, getting a fork and slamming it down next to the plate. I sighed heavily and resigned myself to eating the disgusting omelet. I sat down at the island and picked up the fork. I glanced up at Odette, hoping she would decide to have mercy on me. She glared down at me unwaveringly and I sighed again, cutting off a small piece of the omelet and lifting it to my mouth.
But then, lucky for me, the doorbell rang.
"Oh, that must be Liam," Odette said, rushing off to answer it. Rajah was already barking savagely as if she thought we were under siege. Many an innocent mailman had fallen prey to her protective nature.
"There is a God," I mumbled, clasping my hands together in prayer for a brief moment. I jumped out of my chair and knocked back my milk before throwing the glass carelessly into the sink. It made a surprisingly loud sound and I winced as I raced off.
But I stopped around the corner when I realized that the person at the door wasn't Liam.
"Odette," said the person, nodding in recognition.
"Rosalyn," Odette returned with contempt clear in her voice.
I'd been under the impression that Rosalyn didn't even know where my new place was, but obviously she did. Because there she was; standing on my front porch, dressed in sinfully tight jeans, sexy leather boots, and a sheer white blouse that looked startlingly bright compared to her hair.
"Jacen here?" she asked, trying to peer around Odette. Automatically, I took a step back, my mind racing. If I went out the back I could avoid my interview and Rosalyn. Seemed like a pretty sweet deal.
"He's not here," Odette lied stiffly. I could understand why Odette hated Rosalyn - I did too sometimes. What I didn’t get was why Rosalyn hated Odette. Odette was never openly hostile or anything; just her usual, passive aggressive self. But maybe I was biased.
"Oh really? Jacen!" Rosalyn called into the house, leaning around Odette. Her voice held the kind of entreating note that one would use when trying to lure a pet out of hiding. "Jace, are you in here baby?"
I calculated my odds of sneaking out the back door without Rajah giving me away, but I pushed those thoughts away. I refused to be afraid of Rosalyn. The idea itself was ridiculous.
"It’s only my fucking house," I replied derisively, coming into view. Rosalyn smiled a smug smile and directed it at Odette, as if she was proud that I had come at her call. Her self-satisfaction made me wish I'd stayed hiding just so she wouldn't have a reason to brag.
"There you are Kitten," she sung haughtily. I cringed at the disgusting pet name. Thank god nobody but Odette was around to hear that.
"Here I am bitch," I said in return and when she frowned I went on to say, "What? I thought we were doing a thing. You call me an animal name, I call you an animal name. No? Okay."
I caught Odette smirking out of the corner of my eye. She knew exactly what I was doing. "Well I guess I'll leave you two alone for a moment. But make it quick, we have somewhere to be," she said shortly, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice as she closed the front door and then slinked away, back into the kitchen.
"I wasn't aware you knew where I lived," I said, leaning against the banister, "Gotta say, kinda freaked out that you do."
She smiled, her sharp little canines catching the light in the most unsettling way. "Oh sweetie, you have to know by now. You may be able to hide from your fan girls out here in the sticks, but you can't hide from me."
"And on that disturbing note . . ." I mumbled.
"Oh relax. I had Pat give me directions. Jesus kid, you're wound way too tight."
"Whatever. So why did you come here?" As if I didn't already know.
"You weren't there when I woke up yesterday," she said, sliding forward a step and pouting as if she was actually upset.
"I know."
"That hurt my feelings boo," she said in a baby voice, closing the distance between us.
I snorted. I wasn’t sure what was more ridiculous - the idea of Rosalyn having feelings or that I could possibly hurt them. “Why? Were you hoping to spoon or something?” I retorted, giving my shoulders a strug. “What can I say? I had to get my bike.”
Her dark eyes brewed with the stirrings of annoyance. “Last time I checked your bike can’t give you a good morning blow job.”
"Yeah but it also can’t talk so things kinda balance out,," I muttered, rocking on my heels, "So is that it? Cause you know you could've just texted me." Granted, I wouldn't have answered but still.
"No. I also wanted to invite you over to my place for tomorrow night," she said, "I'm having a little . . . get together. Much more low key than Isabelle's party. Just a few of my close friends. You'll be there right?"
I knew she was only inviting me so she could show me off in a more concentrated environment to even more of her friends. I wasn’t sure whether I cared or not though.
"That depends."
"On?" she prompted.
"How many fucks I decide to give about this," I said, examining my nails simply because I knew my nonchalance would bug her.
"And by that you mean . . . " she trailed off, closing the space between us as she rested her hands on my belt. "How many fucks I decide to give you - is that right?"
I chuckled, throwing my head back as I rolled my eyes. "Yeah," I said as she began to shamelessly rub me through my jeans. I guess the fact that we were in the front room of my house and Odette was home didn't bother her. "That might help your case."
“Oh yeah?” she prodded further, her voice low and sultry as the hand that wasn’t busy getting me hard came up to knot in my hair. She gave it a sharp tug and I suppressed a groan of pleasure. That fucking bitch - she knew me too well.
“Yeah,” I replied dumbly, too turned on to form a proper sentence. I would’ve settled for getting that embarrassing breathy tone out of my voice.
She grinned, flashing her bleached little teeth dangerously. "Good," she replied, sliding the accused hand northward, up my chest. "So I'll see you there?"
"Yeah. I'll be there," I replied, "Now get the hell out of my house."
She laughed, but I hadn't been kidding. "Alright babe," she said, pecking me on the lips, "See you tomorrow. Text me."
"You know I won't," I said as she opened the door and gave me a little wave before closing it behind her. I sighed gratefully and pulled myself off the banister and went into the kitchen where Odette was texting away on her phone, looking totally absorbed. But I knew her and I knew when she was faking. She had been eavesdropping on me and Rosalyn; I could tell by the set of her mouth.
"You know you can hear better from the living room," I told her.
"Are you suggesting I was eavesdropping?" she asked, pretending to sound scandalized.
"No. I'm downright saying that you were. Though I bet you’re wishing you hadn’t - given the little show there at the end.”
Odette made a face like she had just sucked on a lemon. “I’d rather not be reminded of that, thank you.”
“Nobody asked you to listen,” I reminded her casually. Perhaps a different, more normal, person would’ve been embarrassed. I couldn’t seem to muster it. I’d shot one too many steamy sex scenes for movies to get bashful over something like this.
Odette sighed in annoyance and defeat. "I don't understand why you ever got involved with that woman. She's manipulative and self-centered. Not to mention much, much too old for you."
"She's twenty two," I pointed out with an eye roll as I sat back down at the island. "Several years younger than you."
"My point exactly, and aren't you always saying that I'm old?"
"No. I say that you look old. Twenty eight is young. You just don't take proper care of your skin," I said with a mock snooty voice, lifting my chin haughtily for affect. She gave me an annoyed look and shoved the plate of eggs at me.
"Just eat your damn omelet."