Harlow
Four Months Before the Murder
I inhaled, letting the smoke fill my lungs as I watched the waves crash against the jagged cliffs below. I knew the THC was kicking in because I started thinking of the waves as a metaphor for my life, on the cusp of crashing into a million little pieces. The perfect mindset for songwriting.
I cry for a life that’s shattered, like the shards of glass on the floor
You’ve tainted anything that mattered, now I fear what’s in store
I scribbled the lyrics down in an old composition notebook I found in the kitchen drawer. I usually wrote in my phone, but I wanted to disconnect for a couple hours.
Because no one can hear me, I’m a powerless ghost
Devoured by darkness, got too close
As I let the lyrics flow onto the page, I started to forget my anxiety; when my brain was piecing words together, it provided a distraction from the heavy weight pulling my heart into my stomach. I cocked my head to the side as I reread the lyrics, sighing.
There were a few with potential. The rest were garbage. But I knew that to improve them, I had to keep going. Tell myself no one would hear them anyway. This was just for me. So I strummed the chords of my guitar—A minor to C to G minor—and sang softly.
“If you were a different shade… of red. And I wasn’t… held captive by the thoughts in my head…”
My throat stung as I repeated the last two lines.
“Maybe it would have worked. Maybe it would have lasted. But we’re… we’re…”
I paused, trying to think of two toxic substances that shouldn’t be combined. But “we’re like ammonia and bleach” didn’t have the poetic ring I was looking for.
“But your… darkness is overpowering. Slowly devouring.”
I nodded, writing it down.
“And my heart breaks…” I continued. “To watch this love souring.”
God, you’re pathetic. Rolling my eyes, I scratched out the last line. Useless. Basic. Talentless. I could hear the cruel comments in my head.
“Three things you can hear. Three things you can see.” I whispered the command to myself as I threw my pen down, trying to stop the downward spiral in its tracks.
Waves crashing. Seagulls squawking. Wind whipping…
A ship on the horizon. Grass beneath my feet. The beach beyond the cliffs below.
I instantly felt better by remembering where I was. At my beach house in Maine, away from the chaos of the city. No paparazzi or crowds. Just me and my guitar.
And the Scott family, ten minutes up the coast…
I groaned, annoyed at my own brain for the reminder.
I had bought the home when Colton and I were at our happiest. Like with him, it was love at first sight when I saw the Georgian-style mansion.
Its understated extravagance, arched hallways, and intricate carved-wood walls made me feel like I’d been whisked away into another time.
Starry nights, champagne on ice. Bodies as one, souls intertwined. Once upon a summer.
I silently sang the lyrics to my bestselling song as I reminisced on the summer that had inspired it.
Before it all went wrong. I remembered the first time Colton had brought me to his parents’ lavish estate in Maine to meet his family.
How nervous I was, terrified they wouldn’t like me, especially after I’d mentioned it to my own status-seeking mother.
What are you going to wear? You should really plan all of your outfits ahead of time. Do you know who his grandfather is? Don’t mess this up!
I sucked in another hit of weed, embarrassed at all the energy I’d spent worrying back then.
When, now, it didn’t matter one bit. Sure, they were nice to my face, but I would have never fit into his family long-term.
The only one I got along with was Casey, Colton’s brother’s wife.
We still stayed in touch, but the rest of them could go fuck themselves as far as I cared. Especially his mother.
Denise Scott liked to pretend she was a modern-day Jacqueline Kennedy.
She carried herself with the right amount of grace and elegance, balanced by a slight coldness.
Or maybe that was just how she was to me.
I could tell from the moment we met that Denise hoped I was just a phase her golden boy would grow out of.
If Denise Scott only fucking knew what her son was really like. What he liked to do behind closed doors.
I pulled my woolen coat tight, shivering as the cold breeze whipped around me.
*
I tapped the screen of my phone once I got inside.
I’d left it on the kitchen counter on purpose, to ensure uninterrupted songwriting time, and now I’d have to deal with the consequences.
Face the fact that both my personal life and professional life were hanging on by a thread, despite how successful and happy I appeared to the rest of the world.
“You were supposed to be in hair and makeup an hour ago. Where the hell are you?” the first text from Sam read.
“This isn’t cute anymore. You can’t keep showing up late. I’m happy to give you time if you need it, but this isn’t the way to go about it. Charlie is starting to lose patience and frankly so am I…”
I let out a loud exhale before responding. “Just reschedule, I’ll head back tonight, okay. Relax.” I added a “sorry” for good measure. Not that I meant it.
I flung the phone back on the marble counter and walked over to the couch, grabbing a cushion to squeeze tight.
Going back to New York was the last thing I wanted to do, to keep singing a song I hated.
I wanted to stay holed up here as long as I could.
Until I could shake this feeling. Of guilt.
Shame. Sadness. Eating away at me like parasites.
Trying to stay in control, but I’m slipping away
I’m spiraling down, wondering what to say
Not that it matters, no one need listen
All that’s worth saying are the secrets I’m keeping
I curled up in a ball and cried hot tears as the lyrics came, not bothering to write them down.
Present Day
If I had to share one lesson learned from this tumultuous year, it’s this: You have to look out for yourself and take control, no matter the cost. Because the price of sitting back and crying, of playing the victim, is far too high.
It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and you have to fight to survive.
So even though part of me knows I deserve to rot in a jail cell for life, the other part tells me everyone gets what they deserve in the end. And that I did what I had to do. I shouldn’t be punished for that. And if put in the same situation, I’d do it again.
The truth is, I only have one regret. And it’s not what you think.