Chapter 2
Ani
The sound of pounding on my door jars me out of a nap. I’m disoriented and I take a long moment to realize it’s probably Shane.
I open the door just as he tries to kick it again. I roll my eyes. His hands aren’t so full he couldn’t use the doorbell. Or called me.
I wonder how he got in the building.
It hurts my head to think after getting up so fast, so I head back to the couch and recline on it.
He’s looming over me a few moments later. There’s a bag in each hand. I assume one is takeout based on the aroma. The other looks like a selection of samples.
“Did you even bother to put on makeup? You’re a mess.”
I spent an hour on it this morning. Plenty, considering I stayed in, but clearly not long enough for his standards.
I give him the only reply that comment deserves. “Fuck off.”
He laughs. “Touchy today, I see.”
“Is that Chinese?”
“You didn’t say you wanted any,” he says in an annoyed tone.
I raise an eyebrow. Or try to, anyway.
“Did I need to?” I ask.
I check my phone, but don’t see any messages from him.
I’m supposed to share my feelings, she says.
Right.
“It would have been nice if you thought of me,” I point out.
Ugh… so passive. I try again.
“It was a selfish prick move, Shane,” I say instead.
And now it’s too strong. I only seem to have two modes lately. Passive or bitchy. When did all my other masks move out of my reach?
The Bitch is the better mask, though, so I let it stand.
He just shrugs it off, evidently already used to my moods and sharp tongue. I doubt he would even understand my point, anyway.
He plops down on the couch next to me and dumps out the cologne samples, multicolored bottles clattering on the glass of my table. I feign interest as he talks about each one.
Then I get up to grab some mineral water and eat small bites of cucumber at the kitchen bar.
He wolfs the takeout down, letting out intermittent large belches. I bet his agent would have a fit if she knew about his meal and portion choice.
It’s tempting to take a video, but I don’t. I hate that sort of thing. That isn’t the stepping stone to engagement I’ve ever wanted to take.
Not to mention it would backfire.
If he was to post a video of me eating like that it would go viral, likely with pig sounds added and the video altered to give me four extra chins.
If I posted one of him, it would probably balloon his base and I’d be persona non grata as he posted videos about how abusive I was and how he’ll have mental scars for life.
I’ve seen him use eyedrops right before a video to elicit sympathy. It’s his speciality.
Another ping on my phone, this one letting me know I have an email, pulls my attention. It’s my anonymous account.
The no kill shelter received my generous donation and would like a name for their social media donor announcement.
I tap back that I’ll happily remain anonymous, but I hope they send me updates on how it’s used. Pictures are always appreciated. It’s one of my only true joys left.
I’m pleased with how well it’s been working to pull cash out of my incidentals account and place it in one where the Witch, who doubles as my manager, can’t see how I spend it.
She’d take that bit of joy I get from it and twist it into something “worthwhile.”
I’ll let her keep assuming I have a drug habit. She’s spun that non-existent issue a few different times for the tabloids. I might hate how I live, but drugs have never tempted me.
Well… non-prescription ones, anyway. I roll my eyes when my galloping thoughts remind me that my valium script ran out years ago and so what’s in my system right now is just as illegal.
Shane comes to look over my shoulder and I quickly exit my email and open up the cat videos I keep on standby for moments like these.
He snorts in derision. “Is that all you did today?”
“Cats are adorable,” I grouch back.
He snorts. “Dogs are better.”
“I thought you said animals are disgusting, and you’d never get one?” I shoot back.
“My agent said it would improve my image if I got a dog,” he replies. “Preferably a manly one.”
“A manly… dog?” I drawl.
My attempt at humor slides right over his head. “Yeah. Like a malador or something.”
“The mix?” I ask, confused.
“No,” he says with a sniff. “I don’t support anything but purebreds.”
“Interbreed vigor is…”
From the look on his face, I already lost him. I spend a moment trying to figure out what dog he means, instead. “Malinois?”
“Yeah, that,” he says, waving a hand. “She said I can share dog training tips. Oh! I could maybe start a line of manly shoulder holders for it.”
I blink, wondering if maybe he’s still confused about the breed. “For what?”
“The dog, Ani! Don’t be dense. You need to read more. Not just watch fucking cat videos.”
I open my mouth to let him know the size of the dog he’s talking about, then close it. If he’s going to be an ass, two can play that game.
I raise my voice in excitement. “Yeah. Why don’t you get a little bitty cute bag mockup and make a video about how your Malinois is going to love sleeping in it.”
His eyes light up. And who said my acting skills were deplorable?
“You better not steal my idea,” he whines.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say in my best chirpy tone.
“Good,” he scoffs. “You’d look dumb and desperate, anyway.”
I pull in a slow breath. I need to drop this idiot. Why did I go out with him to begin with? I wrack my brain. They’ve all started to bleed together in my mind.
That’s right. He’s the nephew of… someone. I never bother finding out who they are anymore, though I only sleep with the ones I’m attracted to.
I’ve wrested some semblance of control from my mother.
I haven’t had sex with this current idiot, thankfully, so there’s no chance of videos circulating. Not that I haven’t had plenty of mainstream scenes that left little to the imagination.
He tries to make a pass, pawing at one of my breasts, like I’ve thought it into being, but I move off the bar stool.
Maybe I’m being hasty.
I walk to the other side of the apartment to give me time to think it over before I tell him off. I don’t come up with one. Well, except that if I break up with this one, it will just be another person in an endless string of people using me as I use them.
Not to mention she’ll just send someone else my way.
“Always the tease,” he grumbles at me.
He looks wounded. As if sex was something he’s owed. And not even because he bought me dinner, the asshole.
I’ve had plenty of those sorts of creeps in my life and he’s somehow ranking worse.
There’s no need to keep this one around, I decide. I think back to my phone call right before my nap. Mother already has her eyes set on a new person. Might as well bail on this guy and get some peace.
“You can’t even pick up food for someone else.” I tell him. “You aren’t boyfriend material.”
He scoffs. “Whiney cunt. Everyone knows you open your legs for anything that moves.”
“Well, that must say a lot if you can’t meet my famously low standards,” I slap back.
His fists clench and I wonder if I’ve taken things too far. He didn’t seem like the hitting type, but I wonder if I’ve missed the signs.
“You’ll regret it,” he seethes instead of physically lashing out.
My body relaxes back into the Bitch when he confirms my instinct.
I let out a laugh. “I’ve heard all of it before. Just get out.”
He goes back to the coffee table and angrily gathers up his samples. He doesn’t bother to clean up the food mess.
He slams the door behind him, and I click the deadbolts into place. I watch the lobby monitor until I see him move past the key card protections.
I’ll feel better when he exits, but he takes the opportunity to livestream in the lobby. I don’t care what he’s saying, so I don’t turn on the monitor volume. And of course I’d never support his channel by watching it.
He must have had a lot of pent up frustration because he just keeps going on and on. I let out a yawn and go to fill a wine glass.
It starts off as a reasonable serving, but the more I glance up to see his outraged gesticulating in front of his phone, the bigger the pour gets.
I’m sick of all the fools.
I take a gulp and when I lower the glass he finally leaves. Good riddance.
It’s dark out as I go out on my small balcony to enjoy the night breeze. There’s jasmine in the air from a neighbor’s planter and a deep breath of it helps soothe some of the rough edges of my mood.
I settle on to my outdoor chair, tucking my legs under me, then take another gulp.
Is it time for a new career? I’ve been at this since I was a child and never liked it. Not a single damn moment. The culture is soul crushing.
Let’s face it, though. I have no marketable skills beyond lying to people. I suppose that gets people plenty far in life, but I’m sick of it.
My hands shake and I take another gulp. I don’t like the taste of wine. I’ve also never really liked anything that changes my mental state. Yet here I am, trying to numb myself with alcohol after popping valium.
It’s working, too, since I’m a serious lightweight.
A flash of my father’s distorted features as he lay in one of his stupors comes to me. Yet another terrible memory.
I eye the rest of the drink in my glass. Am I turning into him? After swearing I wouldn’t? I set the rest aside, no interest left for it.
Except without it, my mind just keeps whirling.
I never wanted fame, so why should I care if it’s waning? Except she’s pushing me harder and harder.
Fuck it. It’s time to get out.
Although… I might not be able to change careers. Not yet, anyway.
I snort out a disgusted breath at my mental swings.
Never. I’ll never be free.
Considering how many legal moves my mother has made, I’d be destitute if I tried to defy her. I know I have a very healthy retirement account, but that’s many years from now thanks to some unfortunate papers I signed when I was younger and far dumber.
I push that thought aside, though the reminder of just how legally difficult it would be to escape spikes my anxiety.
I’ll just keep acting. Why the hell not? I wouldn’t be able to support the few causes I do without my “drug money” account. I’d take my miserable self with me to a new career, anyway.
That doesn’t mean it isn’t time for a change, though. The sex isn’t even that good. They’re pricks. I should just stop dating, I tell myself for the thousandth time.
Have I ever just been with myself? Gone more than a week without a date or party? Fuck. No, I haven’t. Why does that feel desperate and pathetic?
Giving up on dating isn’t enough, though, my gut tells me. I need to be celibate. At least long enough to figure out who I am. What I want.
I sit pondering it for a while. Then go fill a large water bottle and start chugging it.
The longer I think, the more sober I feel, the pinpricks at the back of my head dissipating and my body heat returning to normal.
Yep, it still sounds like a great idea. No more sex. No more men. No more career climbing with my body.
I think of all the time I’ll have if I’m no longer trying to make other people happy and my heartbeat picks up pace. What would it be like to focus on what I want?
I think of that for some time, but eventually have to move on when nothing sounds good.
Or it does, but it also sounds intimidating.
Then I realize it’s been so long since I thought about what I wanted I don’t even know any more.
It’s too depressing to keep pursuing that line of thought, so I shut it down.
I look at the time on my phone. Hours have passed and my idea to be celibate still feels right. It brings a sense of peace I’ve rarely felt. It’s one way I can have some control.
I laugh, giddy with the sensation.
Then doubts creep in. Prickles of unease spread as I think of what my mother will say and do in response.
I force myself up out of my chair as a distraction. I make a cup of tea as I solidify my plan. She controls enough. She can give up control of my sex life. I ignore the small voice pointing out that it is her main strategy.
I can’t keep living like this, but it also feels hopeless to try to change it if I let myself think in detail. I won’t do anything if I analyze it to death.
I’m settled back in my chair, trying to pull back up the fleeting sense of peace when I hear the front door locks snick open one after the other.
What the hell? It’s the middle of the night. I check my phone. Nope, not Tuesday.
My condo is easy enough to keep clean, but it’s nice to have some help with it when I’m on contract. I barely get any sleep when I’m working, let alone have time to vacuum.
“Is that you, Page?” I ask as I hear the first footsteps.
She’d never come this late. A spike of fear rises.
“Mother?”
No. She would have bitched at me for eating Chinese takeout and leaving it out the moment she opened the door and saw the table.
I start to get up, but rough hands push me back down. After a brief attempt to struggle, a needle is jabbed painfully into my neck.
I recognize Shane’s cologne. How did he get in? He never even had a key.
The dizziness starts as he moves in front of me, a sick grin spread across his handsome face.
He lets out a series of tssks. “Didn’t even help me expand my following… It’s been all my own hard work.”
“You sick fuck,” I spit out. Then my mouth stops following signals from my brain.
“Might as well make you useful by clearing up some debts,” he says cheerfully. “Hopefully they won’t mind all the silicone.”
He lets out a bark of laughter.
I’m cursing him inside my head and trying to make my useless lips work as I fade out.