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“Had being the opportunities word,” Ronnie added. “That woman was so coked out, she looked like absolute shit the last couple years. I heard she had a heart attack, too.”
Their conversation pinged around her head, not registering fully. She felt like a small animal, caught in the blinding headlights as they barreled toward her on the highway. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stare at the TV.
Had they found her?
If so, how long before the paparazzi appeared on her doorstep and upended her entire life once again?
“Las Vegas seems like the type of place Scarlett would hide,” the female newscaster stated. “She’s always been a, let’s call her a party girl. Scarlett’s people have not confirmed she is in Vegas, but the man who snapped the photo is positive it’s her. He said he spotted her in the casino gambling.”
What? Casino? Vegas?
Mickie blinked then blew out an unsteady breath as the fog of shock began to clear. The photograph, pixilated as it was, could not be her. The woman in the distorted image had long, platinum blond hair, was skinny as a rail, and tattoo peeked out from the waist of her very short shorts. Mickie should have been relieved. The picture wasn’t her, and now the public assumed she was hiding out in Vegas. In reality, this article insulated her from discovery for a little longer.
But instead of a reprieve from the stress, all she felt was a bone-deep sickness. Though the woman in the photo wasn’t her, that was how the world saw her—an unhealthy woman who had no respect for her own body or others. The stark realization that despite all the changes she’d fought to make, the world still saw that Scarlett made her soda rise to her throat.
It shouldn’t matter what anyone thought.
It didn’t matter. The days of living life in the public eye were long over. Even knowing and believing it, she couldn’t shake the sense of failure. It was as though every hour of therapy, self-reflection, and hard-won victories vanished in the wind.
Her three friends continued their back and forth, unaware they were discussing her right in front of her face. The experience was surreal in a way she’d never thought she’d experience.
“Wait until Keith hears about this one,” Ronnie said as she tossed her pizza crust back in the box on the coffee table.
“Ha, he’ll probably just grunt and look disgusted.” Jagger leaned back, crossing his ankle over a thigh. “I think he threw a party the day she disappeared from the limelight. She’s like his least favorite actress.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty safe to say he hates her,” Ronnie continued. They were oblivious to the fact she’d been sitting statue-still lost in her head since they uttered the name Scarlett.
They had her attention now, though.
“He hates her?” Her voice sounded small and terrified.
“No,” JP cut in with a laugh. “He doesn’t hate her.”
“Oh.” Thank God.
“What’s a stronger word for hate?”
Her stomach dropped out.
“Hmm…” Ronnie tapped her chin. “Despises? Detests? Oh, loathes.”
JP snapped, then pointed to his sister. “That’s it. That’s the one. Keith loathes that woman. She basically embodies everything he hates. Rich, high-maintenance women who want everyone’s attention.”
Mickie shot to her feet. If she didn’t get out of there in the next ten seconds, she’d get sick all over the floor.
“Who do I loathe?” Keith asked as he re-entered the room.
Oh, God, she couldn’t hear him say it. It’d squash the last of her self-esteem. “I’m gonna get some air,” she said though no one’s attention was on her.
“Scarlett,” Ronnie announced. “Your favorite actress. Someone spotted her in Vegas.”
Then, as though a car wreck she couldn’t look away from were occurring right in front of her, she watched Keith’s expression morph into one of absolute revulsion. “That woman should do the world a favor and crawl back under whatever rock she’s been hiding beneath. She’s seriously everything that’s wrong with this world.”
Ronnie shot her a see-told-ya look.
Mickie couldn’t respond. She couldn’t even breathe. With one change of channel, the entire secure world she’d fought like hell to build collapsed around her. How on earth was she supposed to look the man she’d come to lo—like a lot in the eye now that she knew he hated her?
No, not hated, loathed.
Stronger than hatred.
They were still discussing her failures and shortcomings as Keith reached the couch. “Hey, why are you up? You feel okay?” he asked, forehead scrunched. “You look a little pale.”
She blinked. A world-famous actress would should have been able to sit through the rest of the game with a smile on her face and act as though everything was peachy. But he just couldn’t muster the energy to pretend anymore. Not now that she knew Keith hated who she’d been. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t that woman anymore. All that mattered was the disgusted glint in his eyes when he heard the name Scarlett.
