GAIL WESTBROOK CAN BE ANYONE.
Sometimes, she is a high school girl that struggles with life; a girlfriend that has been dumped, a woman with perfect hair because of her shampoo and most of the time, she's just an actress. It's been who she is since she was five. Her mother introduced her to an agency and they loved her instantly. It has been no surprise—Gail's appearance is her best feature. Or at least that's what makes her going in this business.
As the producer goes on about the new project they want Gail to be part of, she thinks of the script she's read a few hours ago. Gail can be anyone, yes, but she can't be a submissive stupid girl who gets abused by a man and enjoys it. She can't promote abuse like that—as if abuse brings more passion to the relationship. She's been thinking about this ever since she read the script. She isn't a picky person, generally, but she's sensitive. Especially about women.
She glances at her mother, who listens to the guy wholeheartedly, because of the amount of money they offer. That's the reason why she considers the offer more than once—the money. Things have been going off lately; she doesn't receive any offers other than some advertisement deals, but she doesn't want to go back to filming with this movie. This movie is a disaster in one word.
While she's lost in thought, her mother nudges her under the table and forces her to focus back on the boring conversation they have with the producer. "What do you say, Gail?" She asks and Gail immediately figures that the question is rhetorical. "I think the project sounds promising and—"
"Mr. Bach, have you read the script?" The man parts his mouth but she's known too many people to know that anything out of his mouth won't be an answer to her question. "I have. It's ridiculous and you clearly promote abusive relationships."
"I think you take it too seriously, Ms. Westbrook. The story is a bad boy story, what the teenagers love these days. I guess you're a little clueless about contemporary books." He doesn't look surprised by her comment, which gives off that he has heard this before. She can't believe he actually supports the idea and urges her to be part of this.
"Do you really support this?" She scoffs. "Okay, look, excluding the popularity, are you still fine with this kind of relationship?"
"I don't see how this affects our deal," he answers firmly. "I'm here to talk about your role. I don't have forever, Ms. Westbrook, so it's better if you directly tell me your decision."
She jolts with the kick on her leg and whips her head to her mother. She looks pissed off by her speech but she can't care less about it. She is not accepting this role, end of. "Right," she says, raising to her feet and leaning toward the man over the table. "Go find yourself someone else to fuck up."
While she storms off from the restaurant, she doesn't look back but she hears her mother trying to apologize from the man and tell him that she will convince her. The producer wouldn't want Gail from this moment on, so her mother's effort is in vain. They have lost this opportunity but Gail feels like she has done the right thing.
Outside, it's cold and she regrets leaving her coat at home. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she calls for an uber but she has to wait at least ten minutes. Bouncing her right leg, she sighs but she knows she has no other choice. A part of her feels bad for leaving her mother behind, too, but she can't really stand her right now.
However, her plans fall down when she hears her mother's voice in the background but angry as ever. She slowly glances back with a grimace, looking like a naughty child that's just been caught and her breath clogs up in her throat. She doesn't want to face her at this moment—she wants the feeling of pride to linger a bit more.
Gail tends to do crazy things when she's panicked or excited, and this is no exception. She immediately looks around and notices a jet black car halted in front of her. The driver gets off the driver's seat and buttons his front as he walks to the back door. All she notices is that the car engine is still howling and the door is open. Click. An idea lights up the dark corners of her mind and leads her to sprint at the open door in a swift manner. Luckily, the driver doesn't notice her since he's busy with something else—which she doesn't pay attention at all because of the adrenaline running down in her veins. Inside the car, it's as black and she stops a little to appreciate the gorgeous view before she shuts the driver's door. Taking a deep breath, she locks the doors and steps on the accelerator with all she has.
Once she drives away from the restaurant, the weight on her shoulders fall down and she releases a sigh of relief, knowing exactly where to go. It's dark now, almost eleven in the evening and the car lights are off, too, so she clicks them open and turns the radio on. A Spanish song immediately fills the car and she smiles when she notices she can fathom the words because of the lessons she'd taken in high school. Then, her eyes fall on the back through the rearview mirror.
Gail doesn't recognize the man on the back seat. She blinks again to reassure herself that she isn't hallucinating. Nope, he is still there with his solid expression and curious gaze. When she hopped inside, she hasn't taken the possibility of someone might be in the backseat into account. Panicked, she makes an abrupt halt, taking the guy by surprise as well and cause them to jerk forward. "Who are you?"
The guy leans forward and lifts an eyebrow at her. "Who are you?"
She notices she isn't the one in charge right now so she should be answering the question instead. "I am—I didn't mean to steal your car," she blurts out, her voice shaky. "In fact, I'm just borrowing it."
"Borrow?" He looks amused by her confession and that colors her cheeks when she notices she's being an entertainment. "Thought you mistaken me for an uber."
"I'd be sitting on the back if I thought so," she replies, rolling her eyes. "Besides, this car is amazing. Which year?"
"2019."
"Holy shit," she whispers. She's so amazed by this beast itself that she doesn't care about the courtesy in front of a stranger. "Power?"
"750 HP." Her breath hitches in her throat. Cars are her passion and the car beneath her feet is the king of them right now. She wants to kick the guy out and leave everything behind right now. She has everything she needs.
She used to love acting so much when it was all about it for her. She was just a kid and she didn't know about her mother's intentions. Lately, it turns out to be based on money—the purpose of her existence is based on money. She's considered successful as far as she can gain. She's tired of the insincere people in her life or having to hide in her hood whenever she walks out. All she wants is to take a breath—mother-free, paparazzi-free and stress-free.
"Where are we going?" The guy asks, coloring her impressed. Instead of all the questions he could ask, he goes with this one. He should threaten her with calling the police by now but he seems content with the situation he's in.
She starts the engine again, his question bringing her into her senses. She's going to the mansion she's bought in the countryside, far from home and unknown to everyone. She's purchased it for times like this, when she wants to escape the reality and now she wonders if she wants to take a stranger there with her. Suspenseful, she looks behind and meets the man's eyes. They are lukewarm brown and deeper than any pair of eyes she's looked into. The immediate feeling of trust fills her heart and she decides to let him. "Surprise," she says, turning her gaze back on the road and the car hovers.
She loses track of time when the only thing she hears is the sound of the engine and her breath. She temporarily forgets the existence of the guy until she lifts her gaze to check the road. He's been quiet en route, respecting her privacy. It seems like he decided to take a leap of faith in her as well as she does in him.
Since Gail shut off her phone and has nothing to keep her company during the one-hour drive, she daydreams of her living room: the lit fireplace with marshmallow roasting, bright red wine, and Beethoven or Vivaldi in the background.
"Didn't catch your name."
She stuns at the sudden question. She warily looks behind, seeing the guy's same curious gaze on her, rather amused than horrified, which she thinks that should be the latter since she's taking her to somewhere he doesn't know, and she's a complete stranger. "Didn't tell you," she replies back.
"Well," he says, "this is where you tell me your name and I tell you mine."
"You're kind of too friendly for someone who's got his car stolen."
"So you admit you're stealing my car?"
"No," she snaps, "I didn't steal your car. As I stated before, I'm just borrowing it." She flushes when she hears the soft chuckles in the back seat, and tips her head back as she accelerates. A satisfied grin appears on her lips as she catches the fleeting hiss out of his lips. "Sorry," she says airily.
The rest of their ride goes silent, yet the tension between them lurks in the air. She is proud to have shut him down, and she looks behind from time to time to check up on him, nonetheless. She can't believe she's been this bold—driving another man's car to her secret place. He can be a murderer; why would he kill her though? What if he's just killing people as a sport? The thought sends shivers through her spine so that she stops harsher than she's initially anticipated when she arrives in the driveway.
"I started to believe you want to kill me."
"Me?" She asks, puzzled. "Why would I want to kill you?"
"I don't know," he murmurs, pushing his door open. With a huff, Gail follows him out. She's kind of surprised that he isn't bothered to wait for her and walks toward her mansion instead. In lieu of walking, she actually stands there and eyes the guy for the first time.
He has a great posture is her first impression. His skin is dark and healthy, his body fit, and his hair is a dark shade of brown, falling over his shoulders in curls. As she figures from his accent, he isn't an American. Spanish? Who is he? He doesn't seem familiar at all but he must be someone known because he is rich.
He spins around and his gaze lands on her impatiently. She notices she's been awkwardly watching him for a couple of minutes and makes her way toward him without a word. Finding her keys in the bag, she unlocks the door and ushers him in.
He steps inside as if he owns the place and looks around with every step he takes. Gail feels like her life has been revealed to a stranger while he is staring at the family photos hung on the walls. She stops and watches him when he takes one of the frames on the table and stares at it for a while. "Your mother?" His voice fills the whole room as he's now looking at her. She inches closer to look down at the photo and notices it's from her fifteenth birthday party. She wanted to be Hannah Montana so she's wearing a blonde wig and pink clothes. She's smiling like a Chesire cat and her mother's arm is wrapped around her neck. She looks happy, too, happier than she does now. It is really sad that their relationship has changed a lot in years.
"Yeah," she says, as she's thinking these, her tone off and absent.
"She looks like you," he comments smilingly and she glances up at him, frowning because he sounds like they haven't met on weird terms but they have been friends forever. Then, his eyes narrow, as if reading something carefully, and he spells out, "Gail Westbrook." Dazed, he looks at her and says, "Damn, I knew you looked familiar. Aren't you that girl who played in Follower?" She notices her name is on the corner of the frame, and she silently curses for that. Now he knows her name and she doesn't.
However, she plays it cool. "Yeah," she says, "Did you watch it?"
"No," he replies, moving onto another frame. "But my sister did. She is a huge fan." He puts the frame and moves onward.
Sort of disturbed by his investigation, though the mention of his sister warms her heart, she decides to offer him to sit down. "How about you sit and I'll just get the fireplace ready and bring us wine?"
"Perfect," he says, his teeth extremely white when he grins. Gail thinks that he looks dashing—someone she would have gone for the night if the circumstances were different. Her eyes slide down from his face to his neck, to his chest and his two buttons undone shirt, which gives a sneak peek of the rest. Suddenly blinking, she notices he is looking at her, too, but she isn't sure if his look carries the same interest. Leaving him there, she goes to find a bottle of red wine. As she kneels down to light the fireplace, she can sense that his eyes are on her. He's watching every move of her like a lion watches a sheep.
After her dirty thoughts, she's not entirely sure who is the lion though. She dismisses her thoughts and fills the wine glasses with the red liquid. She hands him one and sits in a safe distance but not too far. The fire is wild in front of them and it gives the pleasant view that she imagined throughout the drive. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable in her heels, she slowly wears them off with one hand as the other holds the wine. When she unties them, she tilts her head up and catches the man's gaze on her. She takes a sip from her glass, keeping her gaze on him, and clears her throat. "What's your name?"
"Are we playing question games now?"
She notes that he is quite sneaky and sarcastic. "You know mine."
"But you aren't the one who told me."
Gail laughs because he annoys the hell out of her. "It's so hard to talk to you without wanting to rip your head off." She doesn't actually mean it and she is glad not to be alone tonight. This stranger's company oddly calms her and takes her mind off things she would mull over if she were alone.
He laughs at her comment and inches a bit closer. She doesn't scoot away; she's not afraid. "So," he says, putting his hand on the spot between them, "what made you steal my car tonight?"
She rolls her eyes. "I didn't steal your car." She remembers she's forgotten to tell her best friend about her sudden runaway but the guy pulls her down. She glances at him as she plops beside him, now their legs touching.
"I'm kidding," he says, his look humorous yet intense.
Having one of her legs crossed under her torso and the other swinging loosely from the sofa, she pivots her body toward him and props her head with her arm. "I was offered to play a submissive woman in an abusive relationship who actually enjoys it."
"It's not hard to guess that you didn't accept," he says, taking a sip from his wine. She leans forward to grab the bottle from the coffee table to fill his drink again. "I don't know how you deal with it. Heard filming industry is really fucked up."
Gail tucks her hair beneath her ear and sighs. "I like it most of the time but it can be exhausting. Lately, it's all about money and it makes me want to be a nobody."
"A nobody," he repeats thoughtfully. "I'd love that."
Gail wants to ask him what his story is, but she holds it back. It's not the place for diving into someone else's life. "You are," she says, "to me."
Grinning, he replies, "I want to stay that way. That makes me special." Then, he downs the glass and extends to her so that she fills it once again. "Shit, this wine is good." She gives him a wink as she refills herself. "A woman who understands a good wine and a good car. You're a walking dream."
"Now, at least tell me this: are you Spanish?"
"Mexican."
"Damn, can you be hotter?" She says, her tongue loose, and she slaps her forehead instantly. "Shit, did I say that aloud?"
"I guess so," the guy replies laughingly. "Don't worry. It's nothing I haven't heard before."
"I don't usually serve as a compliment machine but it's a side effect of wine."
"I actually don't care about compliments," he says, taking Gail by surprise. "Well, I will tell you a little secret, you ready?" She nods eagerly, okay with anything she gets out of this man. "I don't trust women."
"None of them?" She asks, confused. She doesn't expect for him to reveal such a thing. He seems closed off, yeah, but a women enemy? No. He shakes his head no. "Not even your mother?"
"Especially not my mother."
She sighs, feeling so related. "Damn, this hits home." She quaffs down her wine. "You know what? I trust nobody."
"Then, you trust me," he replies, and continues when she frowns, "You know, I am nobody to you." She normally wouldn't laugh at this lame joke but she throws a loud laughter, tipping her head back. "Glad to know you appreciate my jokes now."
"It was gross," she groans, tilting her head back and still laughing. "I don't know why I'm laughing at you."
"You're drunk."
"I'm drunk," she repeats after him. "Aren't you?"
Silence creeps between them when he finishes his glass, too, and holds her when she leans for the wine. "I think you should call it off for the night."
However, he doesn't release her hand and she doesn't tell him to. She awfully loves their warm connection and her body seeks for more. Her mind goes up and dares to think about his lips on hers, his curls tickling her face and his body flushed against hers. She wants him.Yeah, she wants a stranger that she coincidentally met tonight.
The thoughts vanish off when the connection ends. She blinks, noticing his hand back on his lap and looks up to find him smiling at her. She suddenly realizes she has zero information about him while he knows almost everything. "Tell me something nobody knows about you," she asks him. She suddenly feels sober, fully focused on him. "Come on," she says when he raises an eyebrow. "Give me something to work with. I've got no name, nothing."
"What do you want to know?" She senses his nervousness, but she's keen on pushing it further.
"Your darkest secret."
"Then I'd rather tell you my name." Gail nudges him playfully and he laughs. "People call me Santi—I mean my close friends."
"Santi," she says, gazing at him. "Nice name. I'm suddenly interested in your secret though." She shifts closer to him on the sofa and puts her head on his shoulder. She is slightly surprised when his arm swings around her neck to pull her a bit closer. Gail has never been someone to seek comfort from a stranger but she is undeniably attracted to Santi. Whether it's his mysterious aura or his charm, she feels intrigued.
"You're such a curious woman," he breathes into her hair. They are suddenly too close, too intimate but she isn't bothered by it. His voice is a melody to her ears and his body keeps her warm. It's been a month since she last had a company. His hand strokes her shoulder and she lifts her head to him, her skin brushing his jaw before her eyes touch his own.
Slightly motioning her body toward him, she looks into his eyes and asks, "Do you have a girlfriend?" There isn't a ring on his finger. All she needs is a no, but he replies with a kiss. As if they are both waiting for this, Gail responds with a deeper touch, hovering over him with a sharp moan out of her lips. He's hard to keep up with, so he's easily dominating the kiss, giving Gail no chance but obey him when he leads her through a fine frenzy. Her fingers clench into his curls while his hands follow the path through her legs. He lifts and hooks them around his waist and lowers her down on the sofa.
Gail doesn't know how they manage to make it work on that tiny sofa but she lets it be. His kisses are so captivating; she can't think of anything else when his lips are on hers in such a possessive manner. Gail has kissed countless men, either for her job or just because she wanted to. And she had good kisses from the hot guys that everyone wants to bang. However, she doesn't remember that she's felt like this before. As if she's losing control like she gives too much without getting anything back. It's dubious, dangerous but fuck, she loves it. She loves that she only knows his nickname and nothing else, so no strings attached, indeed. She can fuck him and let him go—because he is nobody. That's so attractive. Santi is like a gift out of nowhere, given to her after this bullshit she's had.
He suddenly lets go of her lips and direct his kisses lower and lower, tantalizing her about what is about to happen. Her eyelids automatically shut when his teeth graze the sensitive spot on her neck. He suddenly stops above her cleavage, his warm breath leaving soft touches on her skin. Unwillingly, she flutters her eyes open and tilts her head forward. He is back to his sitting form as if what's just happened didn't happen at all, and she suddenly stuns at how she's still lying on her back, panting and waiting. Running a hand through her hair, she slowly lifts her body and crosses her legs beneath.
"I should go," is all he says. Gail isn't sure if his words echo in her ears because of the empty space or the disappointment she feels in her heart. She expects I can't do it or Will we continue it here but not this. He clearly pretends that it never happened. This is the weakest, the smallest she's ever felt.
"Why?" She feels goddamn hurt and rejected because of a man she doesn't know at all and maybe, this makes the situation even more pathetic. When he doesn't answer, she decides to ask the question in her mind. "Did I do something wrong?" She levels his gaze and he seems confused. "Like what caused you to pull back, you know, I thought it was going well."
Directing his eyes on his hands, he replies, "You were perfect." Then, what? "I just," he huffs, looking at her once again with a half-grin, "I want you to remember me as a sneak peek."
"This is cruel, Santi. You probably should finish what you've started."
"I never said I am not, did I?" He gets on his feet, leaving her confused and desperate for more. She's sexually frustrated and deceived. She hates that he seems all reversed about it. "It was nice," he says smilingly, starting for her door. "Talking and all." Talking and all.
"Yeah," Gail breathes, dumbfoundedly following him out. She's fuming with anger but realizes it's useless to get mad at him. It's for the better; she might regret this in the aftermath—though she doubts that.
He opens the door, steps outside and turns back to glance at her for the last time. "It's nice knowing you, Gail Westbrook. You definitely colored my night." All Gail can do is to nod. They just stand like that for a while, not knowing what to do next. Should she hug him, kiss or just say goodbye? Will they exchange numbers? At last, Santi leans forward to plant a soft kiss on her right cheek, retreats in seconds and takes a few steps back. "Goodbye."
She's entirely disappointed. She has never felt this unattractive. Plus, he knows who she is. God, he doesn't even bother to get in touch again. "Goodbye," she whispers, looking into his eyes. His soft grin doesn't help, either, as he tucks a hand in his pocket and walks to his car. She realizes that she probably shouldn't be waiting for him at her doorstep and gives her back to him. "Hey, Gail," he yells, causing her to spin around. "My jacket."
As she finds it hung in the hallstand, she takes it and goes back. He still waits for her by his car and looks up with a smile when she returns. She throws it at him with a nice angle and he immediately grabs it in the air. "Thanks, good night."
Gail watches him get into his car, start the engine and disappear into the night. After she shuts her door, she rests against it and looks ahead to see her reflection in the mirror in front of her. The bite mark on her neck is the only reminder that he is real.
Hello!
Welcome to the edited version of Nobody. I'll mostly correct the grammatical errors and some minor details, but I hope you still enjoy it!
I wish you all a happy new year. 🎉 Hope 2019 brings us all happiness, success, health and money! Be a year with world peace, no poverty, no starving, and sustainability for Earth, humankind and other species. 🙏🏻💜
Thank you so much for Best Chicklit Story in The Fiction Awards. It was a pleasant surprise! I love you all so much.
Drop a ❤️ if you like it so far!
Also, if you're a first time reader, can you 😎 here?
The updates will be sporadic until I finish posting my ongoing story Somewhere Only We Know. But I hope to update once in two weeks or so.
Love you all,
Sev xx