III Faces #4
“I did everything that I could to help her stay alive,” Mitchell said. “There was nothing else I could do. I had drunk a couple too many glasses of wine to fight effectively. And I had smoked too much pot.”
“This is your wonderful person friend,” Peck said. “And I’m a villain somehow.”
“No,” Westfield said. “Just troubled.”
“Come home,” Dr. Westfield said.
“No,” Westfield said.
“Come home,” Dr. Westfield said.
“I need to hide from a serial killer!” Westfield said. “And you guys are mean to me. All day, every day, cruel and mean. You break me down, all day, every day. I don’t want to live with you two.”
“Come on,” Mitchell said. “I have decided. I’m no longer helping your brother and father if they are against you. I apologize. I’ll take you somewhere safe, Westfield. And find you an actual source of money. Promise.”
Then they were out the hotel door and away from Dr. Westfield and Peck and into Mitchell’s car - which still had Caitlyn’s blood stains on it.
Mitchell started to drive, quickly but carefully.
“We made it away from them,” Westfield said. “For now. Where do I stay?”
“I don’t know,” Mitchell said. “We will find you money and a place to stay. You must have someone.”
“No,” Westfield said. “I have no one who would favor me over my father. I don’t know where I can go or what I can do. And I’m eighteen. I’m not a minor. I can’t get put with a family.”
“We will find something. Madelyne and I will not let you end up homeless, okay?”
Waylon sat in his room, brooding.
In his room sat a series of pictures of the pretty and popular girls and the social culture that they represented. He loved and hated them simultaneously. He followed them on every social media platform.
He looked himself up for a few seconds and saw the awful things people were saying about him. He turned the damned thing off. They would never cease making fun of him.
He lusted for Madelyne and felt guilty about it.
That rotated over and over in his head.
Those pretty people hated him so fucking much.
He went onto his blog.
He didn’t dare present it to anyone, but he wrote it.
“I’m running out of belief. I thought that eventually, life would become tolerable.
I would find friends. Someone would pay me to do an acting gig.
But no. No acting gigs, no friends. No boyfriend, no girlfriend.
It seems that reality acts in a cruel and cold manner towards me.
I have to continue to believe in Mitchell, Ai, and Madelyne.
That they are good people, that they don’t hate me, that they have value, that they are wonderful people who would be friends with me if I just got a part or said something interesting finally.
I am losing faith. When are things going to improve?
When is my life going to become something better? ”
Waylon looked at the television. An old episode of a comfort food show played on the television - one of those where the characters saved the day by the end of every episode.
“Lies. The media and the arts are lies. “In these lies, the pretty people date the ugly people. This is a falsehood. It doesn’t happen in real life. People tend to date people who look similar to themselves in terms of physical beauty. That’s how it works.
“So the ugly people get a raw deal.
“Consider how to help society, to help people.
“And Macmillan. He needs me to succeed. People won’t film his movie because it doesn’t make sense. Well, sometimes art doesn’t have to make sense.
“I don’t understand. I want to help them. Help them against the bullies and the haters.
“I know - I need to help people. I need to help people. Caitlyn - I’m sorry.
“I’m sorry. She died. It’s a shame. I need to do something about that. I will stop this.”
Madelyne sat there and hardly remembered where she was or what she was supposed to be doing there.
It didn’t seem to matter anymore. She noticed the auditorium and guessed that they were rehearsing for the play.
Mr. Simon sat with her in the front row of the auditorium’s seats.
She didn’t know why she cared about the real world anymore when the world inside her head was so much more important - and felt more real. The real world sucked.
Madelyne wasn’t well.
“You’ve been caught being racist,” Melody said. “You don’t know enough black people.”
“No,” Madelyne said in her head. She couldn’t speak aloud now - not to Melody. She had gotten used to talking to her in her head. This was better. My boyfriend is a black person, she thought.
“Yes,” Melody said. “You are a worthless racist idiot. You should make it up to Macmillan. Kill the person who gave him a bad review. And you want to cheat on your boyfriend.”
“No! Jesus.”
“You lack the spine to affect real change in society,” Melody said. “I’m disappointed with you.”
“Melody, you are bothering me,” Madelyne said. “I need you to go away.” She focused in her mind, making certain not to think about Melody.
Melody sat there, next to her, smoking a joint.
“Wow,” Melody said. “This play’s interesting. Do you even understand the irony? The symbolism? Hmm.”
“Fuck yourself,” Madelyne said. “You were supposed to go away.”
“And yet we are stuck together for the next few decades, until they can invent better meds. You are stuck with your beloved little me.”
“I don’t love you,” Madelyne said. “You are a monster inside of my head. I hate you more than life itself.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Melody asked.
“I don’t know,” Madelyne said. “I cannot just will you out of existence. I have a data file on methods of dealing with you. None of them work, but it makes for some interesting reading.”
Madelyne supposed that she had to pay a little attention to the real world.
She noticed that they were indeed getting ready for the play.
The problem with the play? Ai didn’t care anymore.
She showed up for the play rehearsal just sitting there, saying nothing, with a bodyguard right behind her.
The bodyguard was a large Latino man who said absolutely nothing.
The actors stood on stage, acting their hearts out. Madelyne walked onto the stage.
She started the scene and immediately kissed Lilian, passionately, on the lips, with everything she could. She played the scene perfectly - a scene about two lovers, one who was dead, a recreation of something that was lost forever - destroyed by a stupid staph infection.
“The key to acting like lovers is to tap into what connects the two of you,” Mr. Simon said. “Let’s go over the dynamics between the two characters. Madelyne, your character is a rich model who has everything.”
“Yes,” Madelyne said. “I am a rich model who has everything. I need nothing in life. I get everything that I want given to me. It seems like I have the perfect life.”
“It’s irony,” Mr. Simon said. “Your character’s life might not turn out to be as perfect as we previously thought.”
“I can’t trust anyone, including my lover,” Madelyne said. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were talking about reality, not the play.” “Offense taken,” Lilian said. “Mads, my character loves you. I love you. I’m here for you, no matter what personal problems you are going through.”
“You have no idea what I’m going through!” Madelyne said. “People lying to me, surrounded by people I can’t trust, everyone wanting my body, everyone wanting everything from me.”
“I understand what it’s like to be a teenage girl,” Lilian said. “I understand. I’m a teenage girl, too. I know what it’s like, boys lying to you, girls lying to you, everyone wanting something, catty games, the whole thing. I’ve seen everything, Mads. I’ve lived through everything, too.”
“She understands,” Melody interjected. “She understands what it’s like to be a mentally ill fuckup who is barely in charge of the drama kids. In fact, maybe she should be in charge of the drama kids. I sense a coup. Everyone loves Lilian more anyway.”
“Are you in charge?” Madelyne asked Lilian.
“Are you in charge of the drama kids?” “For a week now,” Lilian said.
“We love you, Madelyne. But you are sick. Very sick. You can’t even notice the world around you most days, much less run the drama kids.
I love you as a friend, and I’m glad to do the play with you, but I’m the leader of the drama kids now. ”
“Fuck,” Madelyne said.
“Yes,” Melody said. “Gut this bitch. She dared oppose us.”
Madelyne walked out of the play rehearsal. Mitchell followed close behind. He walked over to her and hugged her. They stood just outside the auditorium. She hugged him.
“My life has collapsed,” Madelyne said. “I’m not going to succeed at anything, not with this…illness.”
“Yes,” Mitchell said. “It’s hard. Art is hard. Life is extremely difficult. And it’s going to be harder with your schizophrenia.”
“How could you agree to work for her over me?” Madelyne asked.
“You lost it,” Mitchell said. “You started to act crazy.” “Oh,” Madelyne said.
“You started to talk on your phone when it wasn’t on,” Mitchell said. “You started to yell at the walls.”
“God fucking damn it,” Madelyne said.
“We’re sorry. You’re a wonderful, beloved friend, but you’re not in charge of anything until you get better and find something new to be in charge of. Lilian’s our girl. She’s the new queen bee.”
Madelyne thought about it.
She was hardly competing for an Oscar at this point. She wasn’t even competing to get a gig on a streaming show. She just needed to finish the day. That was her new goal: to finish the day successfully, and to remember that she would never stop trying to make it as an artist. Never.
Madelyne decided to talk to Macmillan.
She sought him out suddenly.
School had ended for the day. She called him.
“Hey,” Madelyne said.
“Hey,” Macmillan said. “Madelyne, right? I didn’t recognize your voice.”
“Yes,” Madelyne said. “I need you to check something. Check who’s been watching us, watching our social media, spying on the drama kids.”