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 snapped back into the here and now when the car pulled into the garage at my place, and the door closed behind us, shutting out the rest of the world, which is what I preferred these days. Long gone was my thirst for the spotlight, and where I once reveled in the flash of the camera and the call of my name from the crowd, I now wished to disappear, to be forgotten, to be left alone with my fears and sorrow.
“Sydney, you’re still here.” My best friend came out the door with her arms open to offer me the hug I needed. On days when I regret stepping one toe into this world of entertainment, she is the one constant that makes me grateful that I had lived the life I had.
You hear so many stories about the false friendships and relationships made and broken in the industry that it’s hard to imagine something as accurate as the bond we’d formed exists. “How did it go? You should’ve let me come with you.”
“That would’ve caused quite the stir.”
Sydney was even more famous than me, even though she was a musician and not an actress or musician like me. But we’d both made waves in the industry simultaneously, each holding firm in our respective fields.
“Come on. It’s time for some ice cream.” Though ice cream is my go-to choice for dessert, I have no taste for it right now. As usual, after giving an interview, I only wanted to climb into bed and pull the covers over my head.
“No, I just want to lay down for a while.”
“Fine, you go on up, and I’ll bring you some ice cream.”
“Ah, Sydney, maybe we should let her rest. She’s had a long day.” My friend and assistant Rachel piped up and were promptly ignored. I’m not sure why my two best friends could never get along, but they don’t. Some people might think it was jealousy, but they both get along equally well with the rest of my friend group, so I know it isn’t that.
I was too tired to dwell on it now, so I headed for the stairs as Sydney went towards the kitchen to get the ice cream. “It’s okay, Rachel. Let her do as she pleases.” She looked as if she wanted to argue, but then she thought better of it.
“Fine, I’ll be in my room if you need me.” She walked off in the direction of her room on the first floor, away from mine upstairs. Mom had already left to return to her place, and my aunt and uncle, who live here with me, were at work at this time of day, so it was only the three of us here now since the staff had already come and gone.
Upstairs, I only had enough strength to kick off my shoes and crawl into bed. Although the day didn’t turn out as horribly as expected, I still felt drained. Now that I think of it, I hadn’t had anything except the smoothie Rachel had made me for breakfast this morning.
Sydney soon appeared with a tray and two heaping sundaes, and my appetite was suddenly awakened. “Come on, sit up. We’re going to gorge ourselves like the pigs and zone out on Netflix.”
“Sounds a lot like Netflix and chill.” I quipped.
“Listen, you…you stay on your side of the bed, and I’ll stay on mine.”
We both broke out into laughter as she got settled in the bed next to me. “Ooh, what’s this?” She held up my journal slash diary that I’d forgotten to put away before I left earlier.
“Give it here.”
“Oh no, let’s see.” She held it out of my reach playfully, and since there was nothing more than my ramblings and poor attempts at songwriting, which I haven’t been able to do since the breakup, I didn’t put up too much of a fight.
“Oh my goodness, Elena, did you write all these songs?”
“They’re all a bunch of crap. It’s more like venting than anything.” She scoured the pages, page after page, of my feelings poured out in ink. When she started shaking her head, I knew there would be trouble.
“Oh no, girlfriend, I will if you don’t sing these. These are gold.”
Chapter 3
*Elena*
And so began a whirlwind of chaos. I had what you might call a manic episode spurred on by her words of encouragement and locked myself away in my room, rereading all that I had poured out of my heart during these past three years of hell.
Some words seemed so foreign to my eyes that had it not been my writing, I would’ve suspected someone else of planting them. When I came up for breath, it was growing dark outside, and Sydney was long gone.
The ice cream, at least one of them, was a melted puddle of cream and sauce and soggy fruit, and I was reminded once again that I hadn’t had anything to eat all day, but there was no hint of hunger in me.