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Regret drowns me as it usually does the morning after. Questions assault me about what I did, who I offended, and how pissed Jimmy is now.
I stagger to the toilet, fall down on the seat, and lay my pounding head in my hands. After relieving myself, I slowly open my eyes in the mirror.
Christ. I look like I belong on a street corner.
I use Jimmy’s face wash to remove all the smeared makeup and use his comb to brush out my long hair. There sits the toothbrush, my toothbrush, that he leaves out for me after nights like last night. When I feel almost human again, I figure it’s time to leave the bedroom in search of a glass of water and to face the music for my behavior last night.
I head straight to an empty kitchen. Opening the fridge, I find a supply of expensive glass bottles of water. Since when did he get so high and elite to not drink out of the tap? A bottle’s resting on my lips when I spot him out on the patio that overlooks the ocean. His back is to me and he’s on the phone, so I finish my drink while studying him to see how bad last night was.
When he bought this place on the beach, I told him how funny it was that he’d swapped a mountainside for an ocean. Our lives here are worlds away from back home.
He finishes up his phone call and rests his hands on the glass guards, gazing out over the rolling waves falling to shore.
Sometimes I forget he’s not the poor boy with knobby knees and jeans hanging to mid-calf who sneaked into my bedroom at night. His muscles are defined now. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of low-slung athletic shorts. Jimmy was always good-looking, even when he was the poor boy living on the side of a mountain a thousand miles away from here. But now he’s set to become one of Hollywood’s bona fide heartthrobs, and as happy as I am for him, I have mixed feelings about it.
Jimmy’s a dreamer. Always has been. Although I’m not, I can’t deny his dreams became reality. He’s worked hard to fulfill all the dreams we used to talk about. I’m not sure he ever doubted them, but Jimmy never shows me weakness. Sometimes I wish he would.
And here he is, on the pinnacle of getting everything he’s always wanted. Only one thing stands to ruin it for him, and as hard as it is to admit, that’s me.
He turns and sees me through the glass that runs the length of the open floor plan. Our eyes lock, and we stare at one another. His disappointment and my apology. The cycle of our relationship—or at least the last few years of it, since I got into modeling and was introduced to coke.
I’m drained, physically and emotionally, and I don’t have one ounce of energy left to expend rehashing our fight. If only Jimmy could pretend it didn’t happen, as I’m apt to do with most things, but Jimmy doesn’t roll that way.
After a minute, he steps toward the sliding doors and comes inside. I used to know what he was thinking from just looking at him, but now, since the drugs, it’s harder.
“Hey,” I say when he joins me in the kitchen.
“How are you feeling?” He reaches in the fridge and grabs his own fancy water bottle. He unscrews the top and downs a quarter of it in one gulp.
I shrug. “Been better. Been worse.”
He nods and presses his lips together. “I got a call from Elaine when she couldn’t reach you this morning. I guess you missed your call time on set.” There’s no judgment in his tone, just the disappointed eyes.
Panic hits me swift and sure, spreading out from my gut as if someone punched me. “Shit!” I scramble to set down the bottle and race to the bedroom to change.
“Hey.” He grips my forearm, and I still. “It’s too late. The client fired you.”
My arms drop and his do too. “Seriously?”
“I guess this isn’t the first time they’ve had a problem with you.”
Again with the monotone voice, but I know he’s judging me. Telling me what a loser I am that I’m missing opportunities to fulfill our dreams. Why doesn’t he just put a “look at me” sign above his head? He’s not a fucking angel either.
“Go have a shower and clean yourself up. I want to take you somewhere.”
I shake my head. “I want to go home.”
“You’re not going to go get fucking high. Get dressed.”
He knows me way too well. I stand in front of him, hands on my hips. “I’m not going to. I just want to go home.”
“I’ll take you there after a stop. Go get dressed.” He drinks more of his water, leaning back on the counter, eyebrows raised as he waits for me to do what he’s asking.
“I am not wearing that dress from last night anywhere. I’ll look like I belong on the corner of Hollywood and Vine.”
The corner of his mouth tips up. His reaction gives me hope that I haven’t fucked up too badly this time.
“I’m pretty sure you have some clothes in the dresser in my guest room. Maria always washes clothes you leave here.”
