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Okay, so I’ve fucked up.
Felicity’s a big fuckup.
A weak moment.
I just want to rub salt into Farrah’s open wound. She wants me, and I love the fact that she begs like a goddamn whore.
And yeah, being the dick I am, it’s payback for leaking mine and Milana’s relationship to the press. Not only did I begin fucking Felicity, I ran my mouth off to the press about Farrah’s baby daddy being a big Hollywood CEO.
It took the heat off me, and was fun while it lasted. Nothing more satisfying than watching Farrah scream like a psychopath in the middle of a live show. But like anything, it was short-lived.
Milana always found her way back to me through my lingering memories.
To know her is to love her, and never to forget her.
Occasionally, something will trigger a memory of us. Like the time I was sitting at Olive Garden and Barry Manilow showed up. I remember smiling to myself, wishing she were with me so we could take a selfie. She would have fucking loved it.
Then, at other times, the taste of her skin becomes this focused memory and lingers on my tongue taunting, teasing, and itching every nerve inside of me.
Those were the times I would get high, and that cycle’s nasty.
I stare at my wall for too long, and as the darkness shadows the room, my mind becomes radiantly clear.
We both need our cards laid out, all or nothing, ride-or-die type of moment.
Fix what we both simultaneously broke.
I refuse for Katerina to grow up damaged like I have become. Gina may have fucked me up for good, but I’ll be damned if my daughter has to experience the same fucked-up life I’ve endured.
And I swear, I will fucking slit Gina’s throat if she dare hurts my kid. Not only her but her pathetic excuse of a husband. I’m done with her emotional blackmail. She may have allowed me to be abused as a kid, but that cycle needs to be fucking broken.
As for Carson, the sleazy prick, I made sure he got what was coming to him. Tax fraud. It’s a fucking little bitch when the IRS finds out what dodgy deals he’s been doing behind their backs. Jail time suits him. At least he’ll get fucked in the ass more times than he’s attempted to rape women in Hollywood. The man deserves everything he gets. I just should have seen the signs. Never let him lay a single finger on Milana. God, I’ve fucked up so many times. I should have fucking killed the bastard right there and then.
Okay, stop.
Focus. I need to find her.
I text my new personal assistant, Deidre, asking her to book a private plane to Alaska. If Milana will be found anywhere, I suspect it will be near, if not with, her mom.
Deidre is like my knight in shining armor, or whatever the fuck that saying is. Though, I’m glad to have chosen an older woman to be my personal assistant, my biggest problem is whether she will retire in a year to Boca or Palm Springs. She’s efficient, makes sense of my chaotic life, and invites me to dinner once a week with her and her husband. He’s ex-military but plays a mean game of chess.
She’s a blessing and nothing like the women before her, who just wanted to suck my dick and have me take them in like a stray cat.
I explain to Deidre my reason for going, knowing she will be supportive. So, she’s done her duty, booked the plane which is due to leave in two hours.
Fuck. How can I pack a bag, shower, and take care of the baby?
I contemplate calling Em, but know she will give me her typical bullshit response and ramble on about me taking charge of my life. That, and Carrington will probably come looking for me with a baseball bat. The fucker’s a possessive prick. Ironic, considering Em was mine first.
So, I make the executive decision to leave the baby in her carrier, watching her stir softly while I bring it into the bathroom. I spend one minute in total, not my usual hour and jacking off time. As soon as I get out of the shower, I throw on whatever’s clean I can find—jeans, white tee, and my gray hoody. Grabbing a small backpack, I throw in boxers, toothbrush, and a spare set of clothes.
My driver, Jerry, arrives promptly, looking at me with curiosity.
“Don’t ask.”
Within an hour, we make it to LAX without any attention from the paparazzi.
As the plane begins to take off, Katerina sleeps peacefully and gives me the much-needed time to close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
