Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 135517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“I know you’ve been asked this before,” so why ask it again? Can’t just one of you have an ounce of decency, just a jot of humanity in you? How much more will you take? Have I not bared my soul enough? Have you not seen enough of my underbelly?
I kept myself in check by digging my nails into my palms, hidden away from the view of the cameraman and his ever-ready device. The smile on my face felt plastic, but only I knew I was dying inside.
The headlines will say that I looked flawless and fresh. The same old Elena that I’ve always been. And no one, except mom, of course, and my very best friend who was waiting at home, would know that I’d gone home afterward as I had so many times in the past to throw up until my throat was raw.
No one ever seems to see the pain and suffering I’ve endured all these years because I’d become too good at hiding it. My ears began to ring as he opened his mouth to speak, and I willed myself not to pass out, not to give into the fear and dread that crowded my throat as I anticipated the words.
“I’ve seen the documentary; it was very well done, very commendable. How are you doing after all of that has come to light? Any change?” It took me a second to realize that he hadn’t asked the dreaded question, and for a split second, I saw a glimmer of humanity in his eyes.
I felt my nails slip from the crevices they’d made in my palm but was still too unsure to relax my hold entirely. “It’s… it’s been fine. My fans have been amazing; the support I received is indescribable.”
“It must’ve been hard revealing so much about yourself. I imagine you felt rather vulnerable while you were doing it.”
“Of course, but it needed to be done, not just for my mental health, but for everyone out there who’s just like me and doesn’t have a voice.” I relaxed even more now as I saw him relax, somehow interpreting that as the danger had passed.
“I commend you for doing that, for being brave enough to do it at such a young age when so many others wouldn’t dare.”
“I understand why they don’t. The stigma of mental illness is not something easily lived down. But sometimes you must walk through the darkness to get to the other side and save yourself.”
“Thank you very much, Miss Elena Gianni. It was a pleasure talking with you.” I reached for his hand with a trembling one, not quite believing that it was over, that for the first time in too long to recall, a reporter had not asked the question that was bound to send me hurdling back into the dark.
His producer looked none too pleased, but the reporter, Devon Hash, a man in his early forties or thereabouts, seemed to ignore the harsh whispers as he packed up to leave. I do not doubt as to what was being said. Everyone wanted the scoop; he was the first not to go for the jugular.
You’d think that three years after being left at the altar while my fiancé was across town marrying someone else, the commotion would’ve died down, but it’s the only Hollywood story that didn’t seem to have an expiration date. At least not one shortly.
I felt Mom’s warm hand on my shoulder and looked up at her, fighting back the tears of relief. There were always tears, no matter how these things turned out. But for the first time in three years, the tears were tears of, if not joy, appreciation for the man who had shown me kindness where I least expected it.
I was hustled out of there and whisked away to the SUV that idled as Mom and my assistant, along with hers, followed behind. I called out answers of hello to the paparazzi who stood around outside the studio waiting for a glance at me. It was only when I strapped into the backseat behind the driver that the shakes started. “Mom, I’m going to be sick.”
“I know, baby, put your head between your knees. I’ve got your bag right here.”
The buildup to the dreaded question that evoked the darkest time in my life was too much for my poor body to take. A body trained to expect the blow these last three years. The body that had suffered not only mentally but physically as well. And I wondered, not for the first time, how this had happened to me.
Chapter 2
*Elena*
I grew up when the world was so innocent to me. My single mom, a Jill of all trades, most things concerning the stage and acting, was my best friend and confidant—well, as much as a seven-year-old needs one.