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“Uh, they’re extras.” Becca still kept her gaze on the floor. “You were partying with them last night and, uh, invited them here.”
“What?” She whipped her gaze back to the disheveled bed with a scrunched brow. “I did?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.” Had she slept with them? One? Both? Being that they were naked, and she’d awakened the same way, it wasn’t a leap. The coffee soured in her stomach. How the hell could she have fucked two men and not remember it only a few hours later? Rubbing her tender forehead, Michaela fought for an unconcerned tone. “I need to use the bathroom. I want them gone by the time I get out.”
“What? Me?” Becca squeaked. “You want me to get rid of them?”
One of the men stirred but didn’t wake. If someone had offered her the exorbitant sum she’d earned from her last movie, she couldn’t have recalled his name. Or the other one. Had they both touched her, kissed her, been inside her? Jesus, had she taken them into her mouth? She pressed a hand to her rolling stomach. Michaela wasn’t shy when it came to sex, and this sure as hell wasn’t her first threesome, but not remembering a single detail of the night, including the fact she’d had sex at all, well, that was a new low.
And frankly, it rattled her to her core.
Never let them see your weakness. You’re going to be a star.
Her mother’s advice rang loud in her ears. Michaela straightened her shoulders as she glared at Becca. “Yes, you. What the fuck do you think I pay you for?” she snapped as she stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door with enough force to shake the entire trailer. There, she’d done her part in waking the guys. All Becca had to do was kick their asses to the parking lot.
She blew out a breath.
Finally, alone.
Michaela rested her hands on the tiny sink and bowed her head. The empty cocaine vial still sat there, mocking her.
So she’d lost a few pounds recently. Since when had anyone in Hollywood complained about women being too skinny?
Fucking Francola.
The growls and curses of displeased men exiting her trailer had relief flooding her. She took a breath, closed her eyes, then raised her head. As she opened them, finding her reflection, Michaela let out a sharp gasp. A sunken-cheeked, sallow-complexioned skeleton with purple smudges under each eye stared back at her. Now that Francola had ripped her blinders off, she barely recognized the shell of a woman in the mirror.
Her hand shook as she lifted it to probe her gaunt face. Cheekbones that used to be the envy of women across the globe now jutted out in harsh lines.
Enjoy being a star, my beautiful girl. Just don’t let them take away who you are.
Her eyes closed as she pressed a hand to her heart the way her ailing mother had done all those years ago when Michaela told her she planned to move to Hollywood. They’d both known the end was near for her mother, and Michaela wanted her to pass knowing her daughter would fulfill their dreams. At the time, she’d laughed off the advice, too high on the prospect of fame and fortune to recognize the true warning there.
Now, dozens of movies and millions of dollars later, she used chemicals and sex to chase that high. The one that had long worn off. And to fill the void of living a vapid, superficial life devoid of any meaningful human connection.
Last night she’d been too stoned and wasted to remember fucking two strangers. This morning she lost her coveted role in what was projected to be the next big blockbuster. And right now, images of her flipping off her director and sensationalized accounts of the encounter were popping up on every social media platform available. Stories of the temper-tantrum-throwing starlet would be trending within minutes.
But despite it all, only one problem dominated her mind and demanded immediate action. And that was the empty vial of cocaine. She longed for a hit to pull her from the crushing fatigue assailing her. If she couldn’t have that, the half-full bottle of vodka she’d seen on the table in the trailer would do. Though it wouldn’t energize her, it’d numb the pain and the voice in her head now screaming she was a failure.
And that was a serious problem.
Who had she become?
No longer able to look at the husk of a woman now crying in the mirror, Michaela jerked back from the sink. She hit the wall hard. The crash seemed to dislodge a sob wedged in her gut. She sank to the floor, weeping as despair washed over her.
She was tired. So tired her bones ached, and her soul held a heaviness that weighed down her entire being.
If she just had something to combat the exhaustion, she could think clearer and find a way out of this mess.
