#phoebehawthorne

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 7

The Wire Saints Drummer and Hollywood Darling SPOTTED

I groaned and locked my screen before tossing my phone back onto the table beside the bed. The headline burned behind my eyelids even after the light disappeared.

A calloused palm—one I could recognize even half-asleep—slid around my waist and pulled me back until I was pressed firmly against a warm, bare chest. Rhett’s body fit against mine too easily, like muscle memory I hadn’t earned yet. His mouth found my neck, slow and lazy, and I bit my lip as heat pooled low in my stomach despite myself.

I still couldn’t believe this was my life.

I was in bed with Rhett-fucking-Monroe.

I was dating him. He was my boyfriend. And for one dangerously blissful month, we’d managed to keep it a secret.

Stolen moments. Backstage passes. Tour stops that blurred together. Hotels that never felt real. Flights booked under aliases. We lived in the cracks between shows and schedules, always chasing the next hour alone like addicts reliving that first night after the concert—sweaty, reckless, electric.

“Who cares who knows?” he murmured near my ear, voice thick with sleep. “It doesn’t change anything, P.”

I swallowed.

He thought my fear was about screaming fangirls or tabloids twisting a narrative. He didn’t understand that I’d already lived through the media turning me into something ugly and unrecognizable. I wasn’t afraid of them. I was afraid of what being attached to me would do to him.

“I know,” I said quietly. “I just… the unknowns worry me.”

I couldn’t be honest. Not fully. There was something lodged between us that I hadn’t found language for yet. We cared about each other—maybe even loved parts of each other. The chemistry was obscene. He made me laugh when I didn’t want to. He made me feel things

I’d taught myself to numb.

But something essential was missing.

A depth I needed. A safety I couldn’t feel.

I couldn’t show him the ugliest parts of me—the history, the damage, the things the internet had already decided were true. Every time I tried, my body shut it down. A warning I’d learned the hard way to listen to.

“We knew they’d figure it out eventually,” he said, voice casual.

Of course, he was never without a beautiful woman on his arm. That was the unspoken truth between us. He hated attending events alone and had even suggested bringing a decoy once, like it was some clever solution. But the thought of him touching someone else while I waited at home made my chest ache with something feral and humiliating.

“Yeah,” I said. “I just wish I could have one thing that was mine.”

He chuckled, amused, and rolled me onto my back, easing between my legs like the conversation had already ended. I bit my tongue, irritation flaring. Sex was his solution to everything. Not that I didn’t want him—but I needed reassurance, not distraction. And he didn’t even know what I actually needed to be reassured about.

I stared at the ceiling as his mouth traced down my skin, teeth scraping just enough to make me shiver. He left marks without asking. He always did. I groaned, half annoyed, half undone, and threaded my fingers through his hair.

“It’s not too late to deny it,” I said softly. “Say I’m just part of a music video shoot or something.”

He pulled back and laughed, sharp and incredulous. “No woman has ever wanted to hide me before, Phoebe. I find it ridiculous that you do.”

The warmth vanished.

He pushed away and climbed out of bed, irritation radiating off him like heat.

Rhett’s temper was something I was learning to tiptoe around. I sat up and watched him flick on his usual ice-cold morning shower—the one I’d dubbed psychopathic. Who willingly punished themselves like that every day?

“It’s not about hiding you,” I said carefully. “I just want privacy. That’s something I’ve never had from the press.”

I drew the sheets tighter around myself, suddenly exposed without him touching me.

He sighed loudly, grabbed a towel, and turned to look at me with narrowed eyes. “I just don’t get why you give a fuck as long as I don’t. What’s the big deal? I’m into you. You’re into me. We’re dating. Nothing anyone prints is going to change that.”

I almost laughed. Almost screamed.

He hadn’t lived through it. Hadn’t watched his name get stripped down to a punchline.

Hadn’t been reduced to headlines and comment sections that felt like public executions.

“I know,” I whispered.

He turned away and stepped into the shower. “Come join me, P. I’ll warm you up.”

He laughed, and the sound echoed too loudly off the tile.

I curled into myself beneath the blankets. Anxiety clawed at my ribs. Maybe I really was broken. Maybe I was exactly what they said I was. But I’d always believed that my person— the right one—would love me anyway. Even knowing the truth.

My phone vibrated again. I didn’t look.

My gaze drifted to the massive photo hanging on his wall. Rhett after a show—drumsticks tucked into his pocket, shirt clinging to him, that effortless smirk in place. The photo had been taken by his cousin, Alex Monroe, some prodigy photographer the industry loved to name-drop. I’d heard Rhett brag about it once, said it was the only shoot he didn’t have to fake anything for.

It had always been my favorite picture of him.

Until now.

There was something I hadn’t noticed before. Something subtle and wrong. Behind the charisma, behind the sweat and stage lights—detachment. A coldness that made my skin prickle.

His eyes were empty.

Not tired. Not brooding.

Empty.

Like dark wells with no bottom.

The realization sent a shiver down my spine.

The shower shut off.

Suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere but here.

I scrambled out of bed and began pulling on clothes from the floor—crumpled jeans, a tank top, my movements jerky and uncoordinated. I didn’t want to be naked in this room anymore. Didn’t want to be seen.

The second I reached for my bag, arms wrapped around me from behind, pinning me to a damp chest.

“Where are you going?” His voice was sharp now. “I cleared my whole day for you.”

I looked up and met his eyes.

That same cold distance was there.

“I just need to grab some—condoms. No, uh—female products.”

The lie sounded thin even to me.

He frowned. “You have a drawer here. And I’ve got condoms. Trust me.”

He laughed, low and confident, and my body betrayed me, reacting despite the nausea curling in my stomach. I knew I couldn’t get out cleanly. I’d have to wait. Detach slowly.

Carefully.

He softened, kissed me, grip loosening just enough to feel intentional. “Whatever has you worked up, let’s work it out, P.”

I breathed a little easier—but the warning stayed.

I let him back me against the wall, right beneath that photo, pinning me there. This was how we communicated best. Without words. Without space for doubt.

But even as he pulled me apart, even as my body responded, my mind screamed the same word over and over, louder each time:

Danger.

The part of me still dazzled by him won today.

But deep down, I hoped she wouldn’t keep winning for long.

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 6

Was this what I had been missing my entire life?

I kicked my heels off in the grass as my sister grabbed my hand and we screamed at the top of our lungs at the three gorgeous men on stage. The guitarist of The Wire Saints stepped forward and launched into the riff of one of our favorite songs. It blasted over the crowd at such a volume that I couldn’t even hear myself laughing or singing—much less Liv.

I felt alive. I felt like a teenager again.

Coachella wasn’t something I usually found myself at, but my sister and I were on a mission to do more fun things together. This counted, and I was more open to attending a large, celebrity-packed event now that it seemed I was an overnight sensation. Turns out a lot of people wanted to tell Alexis Grey she could “mail me a check for making her relevant.” That had given me a platform—and people wanted to pay me just to use it. It was ludicrous, and I was still adjusting to being positively known to the world around me. Much like being a sister was new—but in a far more pleasantly surprising way.

Livvy and I hadn’t stopped talking since that night we connected over wine and trauma. Our relationship had been easy, safe. I threw an arm around her shoulders and hugged her closer. She reciprocated by looping an arm around my back. We danced and jumped in sync until we were breathless and laughing, the song ending to the roar of applause and screams.

We’d shoved and prodded our way to the front of this outdoor concert for good reason: the views. The ripped and tattooed drummer, Rhett Monroe, had uncharacteristically left his place behind the drum set to join the lead guitarist and singer at center stage. The crowd hushed as we realized something different was happening. Liv and I shot each other an excited look full of expectation.

The lead singer, Kai, handed Rhett a mic and gave him a cheeky wink. He and the guitarist, Mick, shared a knowing glance that had us leaning into the metal barrier on pins and needles.

“HELLOOOOO COACHELLA!!!!

We screamed. Everyone screamed. Rhett chuckled and scanned the crowd with a grin that made my heart rate crank up a notch. God, he was too damn fine. His long chestnut strands were tied back in a bun I knew wouldn’t survive the night. I could already see the sweat—just from the first few songs—staining his black graphic band tee.

“Thank you, thank you.” He held a hand to his chest and ducked his head. My eyes snagged on the rings covering every finger, and suddenly my mind went south. Liv bumped my shoulder and giggled in my ear. “You’re getting drool on your outfit, babes.” I giggled and rolled my eyes at her. She wasn’t wrong.

“We’re going to try something a bit different tonight—just for fun. Anyone down to volunteer?”

Hands shot up all around me. Girls squealed, bounced, and jostled against me in hopes of being picked. I didn’t even bother trying to get my hand up above anyone else’s.

Rhett hummed into the mic as he scanned the crowd, that grin morphing into a smirk. His gaze paused—snagged. I didn’t realize he was looking at me until he pointed.

“You. What’s your name?”

The crowd went quiet, and I felt the eyes of hundreds of feral girls turn on me. Shit.

I’d never been bashful a day in my life, though. I flashed him a grin that looked much more confident than I felt. “Phoebe!”

“Phoebe.” He squatted at the edge of the stage and crooked a finger at me, beckoning in a way that made my insides turn molten. “Wanna come up here for some fun?”

I nodded. His gaze dropped to take in what he could see of me. This was dangerous. What the hell was I doing? I wasn’t this girl. Or was I?

Liv scooped up my heels and guided my feet back into them, gave me a giddy grin, and practically shoved me through the barrier the security guards had opened.

“Give it up for Phoebe, ladies—and gents!” Kai shouted, and the screams returned. They may have been envious, but curiosity won them over.

I followed the guards backstage, nerves churning in my stomach. I ruffled a hand through my hair, smoothed it over my clothes. I wished I had time to touch up my lipstick—but no. I looked stunning. Maybe a little sweaty, but so were they.

We rounded the corner—and I came face to face with Rhett-fucking-Monroe.

He held his drumsticks in one hand, the other casually tucked into the pocket of his tight jeans. I tried not to lick my lips. His eyes met mine—and immediately dropped over my frame appreciatively. He had to stop doing that.

“Phoebe.” He grinned and held out his hand.

“Rhett.” I slipped my hand into his. Callouses greeted me as his fingers wrapped around mine, tugging me forward. The guards faded away, and I was almost chest-to-chest with one of the dreamiest men I’d ever laid eyes on.

“We’re going to do something a bit…” He paused, his eyes dropping to my lips. “Burlesque.”

My whole body flushed at the word. I instantly knew I was either about to make a core memory I’d laugh about when I was older or this was the beginning of the best night of my life.

“Last chance to back out.”

I lifted my chin and locked eyes with him. “I’ve never been one to back out of anything. Bring it on.”

His gaze turned amused, and he spun on his heel to lead me up a set of stairs, then another, until we were standing behind his drum set—center stage, on a raised platform. The crowd was a hazy roar. I barely noticed. I had my eyes on him.

He slid onto his seat and spun around to face me, patting his thigh with a teasing smirk.

“Climb on, P.”

My mind lagged a second behind the command—but once it caught up, I couldn’t help the grin. This was definitely going to be a blast.

Hiking up my already-short skirt, I took Rhett’s hand, lifted one leg, and straddled his waist—for the whole crowd to see.

He chuckled in my ear just before spinning around in his seat and scooping up his drumsticks.

“Alright everyone! Give it up for Phoebe one more time!!! Lucky, lucky girl.” Kai laughed, and I could tell they’d be joking about this later.

The closeness of Rhett was overwhelming. I sank against him, smoothing my palms over his shoulders. I could feel everything—every line, every dip. It made me squirm before I could think better of it. His eyes shot to mine—something hot in his depths.

“Careful, or I might go getting ideas.”

I swallowed hard, shoving the reply that jumped to my tongue deep down. I definitely could give him a few of my own.

The song started. Rhett’s legs bounced me against him, his arms banded tight to my waist as he played, brushing every rippling muscle formed from honing his craft over my skin every time he brought his arms down then back up again.

The crowd roared. I laughed. This was easily one of the wildest things I’d ever gotten into. And I loved it.

I decided to just go with it. Shimmying up further on his waist, I slung an arm over his shoulder and glanced back at the crowd with a grin. Liv was definitely out there losing her shit and filming the whole thing.

Rhett’s legs moved again, lifting and bouncing me in sync with the music. I got why he’d offered the chance to back out. This could make a girl feral.

Chancing a look back at him, I found him watching me. He didn’t need to see his drums—he was playing from memory. His gaze said I was something he hadn’t seen before. It made my toes curl.

Grinning a little manically, I threw one arm into the air and danced as the chorus hit—singing loud enough to almost match the music. My heart soared. I didn’t know if it was the experience, the music, or the way this man felt beneath me.

As the song ended, I was breathless. Everything else faded except the man I’d been drooling over from the crowd. At some point he’d dropped a stick—I only noticed when he smoothed a palm over my thigh, resting it low on my waist. He spun us away from the crowd, and I knew I should get off his lap.

But I couldn’t.

He looked at me with such intensity that I couldn’t look away. His thumb brushed suggestively along the skin of my inner thigh, his eyes flicking to my lips.

“Meet me after. Backstage.”

Not a question. A command.

Heat rushed through me. That could only mean one of two things. Either he wanted to continue this ride… or he took pity on the girl who wouldn’t get off his lap. I bit back a full grin and simply nodded before sliding off and standing on shaky legs.

He stood—glorious, tall—and grabbed my hand to help me down. I went to pull away, but he held tighter, forcing me to turn and face him.

“Okay, Phoebe?”

“Okay, Rhett.”

Satisfied, he let go and gave me a slow grin, eyes sweeping me once more before he returned to his seat.

I left the stage giddy and dazed, like I had a middle school crush. By the time I found Liv again, I was impatient for the concert to end.

She practically screamed when I told her what had happened, shaking my shoulders. “Ohhhh my gooooood! This would only happen to you, Pheebs!”

We giggled together, and eventually I settled back into the rhythm of the concert—but damn if I didn’t still feel that man between my legs.

Tonight was going to be reckless.

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 5

Her Father’s Sins

Two Months Later

I had really done it and I had five minutes. Five minutes to psyche myself up instead of walking out of this recording studio and never looking back. I forced myself to breathe deeply, to count to ten, to open my eyes and look around the space where I would not only tell the world about my Dad's transgressions, but also mine.

The pleasantries passed between Alexis Gray and I easily enough and she didn't give me one second to back out when she turned and dove right into her podcast intro that we had all heard so many times.

"--this is the Gray Area. I'm your host Alexis Gray. Let's get into it."

Alexis was known for her loud opinions and even louder clothing and as she turned towards me I found myself wanting to look anywhere but directly at her. Her jumpsuit looked like it was some kind of paint splatter pattern and the chaos matched the look in her eyes. A wave of nausea rolled over me but I offered her my best practiced smile from years of painting it on in front of a nation.

This was nothing new. She was nothing new. This interview was going to help me. All I had to do was get through it and I could put all of this behind me.

"So Phoebe, tell us about what it was like growing up with the infamous Matthew Hawthorne." Alexis tilted her head with that gleam of mischief in her eyes pointed directly at me. I averted my gaze, took a deep breath and forced myself to remain calm.

"Right into the deep end, huh?" A fake chuckle punctuated my question. "Growing up in the Hawthorne house was much like any other celebrity child experience I think. We all go through our fair amount of shit with the media you know? There was always pressure to appear a certain way to make sure perceptions were consistent in public at events and during leisure time. The insane work hours, lifestyle and events. I think the only thing that might have been different for me was the girls..."

"When you say girls..." I chewed on the inside of my lip and internally battled the wave of anxiety threatening to capsize me. Perceptions. I pushed my shoulders back a little and exhaled. "I mean girls in their teens and early twenties. At the start of their careers. I never really knew their ages until I was an adult and could put a timeline together on my own."

"So I talk to a lot of Hollywood elites, as you know, and what I've come to observe is that most of them just want to come on my show and cover their asses by outing someone else. That's not what's happening here is it? I mean you were in your teenage years yourself when this started, correct?" Her accusation hit me in the chest, even though I expected some stupid bullshit from this loud-mouthed and opinionated host, I never expected her to undermine me before I even got to tell the entire story.

I kept a serene smile on my face, graciously some may call it in the future, and completely ignored her. "As you know, Alexis, I was on the sets with Matthew on his hit TV series as the niece of his character. I can't say that is when his behavior started since I wasn't around him at work before that time. I was only exposed when I joined him on set but I still didn't understand it.

Not until I was older and even then it was hard for me to come to terms with the fact that he was abusing his position of power and sexually abusing women."

Her eyes had stayed the same since we had started this interview. I could only notice the subtle changes in her features and body language. A slight smile was on her lips and her head was tilted in my direction like she was waiting on me to trip up. Everything had me on edge and I was suddenly wishing that I had taken up my friend's offers to tag along for moral support. I had been too worried that it would look like I was scared or had something to hide.

"And so you came to this grand conclusion just now? At twenty-five? Yikes. Gray area!" She loudly announced this like she had won some prize for discovering something that I'm sure most of the country had suspected now that my father was on trial for raping the most recent starlet that had come forward, Elaine Wentworth.

My blood was heating. I knew Alexis Gray would piss me off. I just hadn't expected that I'd want to throw my spikey heel at her face within the first twenty minutes. I was still working through all of this with my therapist and my friends but I knew that this situation wasn't my fault. As soon as my brain made the logical conclusion my self-destruction creeped in and whispered into my subconscious, 'you could've told someone sooner though'. Wrapped up in my inner dialogue I hadn't noticed Alexis turn back towards the camera she used for her intros until she spoke again, her tone high pitched and grating.

"We have a surprise guest today!" Pause for effect.

"Elaine Wentworth, welcome to the pod!"

You've got to be forever kidding me. I felt like a deer in headlights as the vaguely familiar woman sauntered onto the set and settled on a seat next to mine. I was going to be sick. "So Elaine, you remember seeing Phoebe around set when her father started grooming you, correct?" Allegedly. I wanted to scream the word at this dumb host. This entire case was still in court right now. Nobody in the media could be caught throwing definitive statements around like they were proven fact. I knew my Dad's team was going to have field day with this girl. Out of the edge of my line of sight I saw Elaine nod and my heart wrenched. Not for her necessarily but for the woman who couldn't sit in this seat next to me. Holly.

Holly had committed suicide. I defintiely blamed myself for Holly and it weighed heavy on me. She had been my close friend on set for years and I never could make sense of her disappearance until she had tried to come forward years ago and nobody believed her. Then she was just gone and I had never reached out or tried to hear her side of the story. "She was there. Flirting with the crew and acting oblivious to what she knew was happening in that trailer between takes and after hours."

The bitterness in Elaine's tone was enought to ice this entire room. It almost made me flinch but I refused to let my guilt over Holly tear me down to groveling on this podcast like Alexis was itching to make me do.

"Allegedly happening...Very bold of you to claim that I had knowledge of something that wasn't apparent to anyone until you came forward recently." My voice didn't sound like it belonged to me. I was quiet and subdued, almost beaten down by the weight of the knowledge that this podcast wasn't going to obsolve me or fix any of the shit I had been dealing with. This was a very very bad idea.

"Allegedly? Rich, Hawthorne!" Alexis barked a laugh at me and I saw Elaine straighten in triumph. So this is what she wanted this podcast to be about?

Okay.

I lifted my gaze to Alexis with a blank expression on my face before letting it shift to Elaine. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what my Father was doing to you. Even if I did, I was a kid still in many ways. I couldn't really have done anything. Taking your anger out on me for what he did will not fix the situation. Your bitterness is misdirected." My throat was burning and my head was spinning but I held the woman's shocked gaze as it collided with mine.

"If you want to win where it counts I suggest we both get up and leave right now.” Elaine's eyes narrowed into little angry slits at me before she turned her attention back to Alexis. "She knew." Alexis laughed again and shook her head.

"Oh I know she did and you're not going to obsolve your guilt here on this show. A woman is dead because you didn't take action when you could Phoebe."

"Ms. Hawthorne." I cut Alexis off before she could continue. My legs were aching to cross this room and walk out of this disaster area of an interview but I forced myself to sit still.

"I never said you could call me Phoebe." Her mouth opened and then shut and opened again but I plunged ahead before she could interject. "I'm not here to obsolve my guilt. I imagine I'll live with my guilt for the rest of my life. I will not speak about Holly. I will not speak about this alleged crime against Ms. Wentworth. All I know is what little suspicious and odd behavior that I observed. I came on this shit show to admit that I could have spoken up earlier about what I had seen but to also remind everyone that has been berating me in the media lately that I was a child and Matthew Hawthorne was my Dad. None of you believed this of him either until it was irrefutable. He was the golden boy of Hollywood, untouchable and as bright as the sun until he wasn't. None of you can speculate or even imagine what it was like to live in his shadow."

My chest was squeezing, my voice was raised and I was shoving the ridiculous bedazzeled mic out of my face so I could stand up. "I'll expect my check in the mail for making your numbers skyrocket Ms. Gray. Nobody listens to this show to hear you cackle and recite your one liners like a fucking parrot anyway.”

I tilted my head at her smiled sweetly before I turned and walked out the same way I came in. Neither one of them said a word as I slammed the door behind me.

Maybe the girl with the golden laugh was finally finding her voice.

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter 4

The next thing I remember is my head feeling like it weighed a million pounds and a rawness in my throat that I could barely swallow around. I cracked one eye open and groaned, something like a gravelly broken sound coming from the back of my throat.

“Pheebs?” Amara’s voice registered in my mind and it all came rushing back with a force that had me squeezing my eyes shut again to avoid tears that were burning the back of my eyelids. I felt her hands on my arms shaking me gently as silent streams of tears rolled over my cheeks and down my neck. “I—I’m sorry.” I couldn’t manage anything more than that, but it was okay. It was all we needed.

She crushed me beneath a hug that healed a cracked piece of me and I huffed around a sob as my hands weakly patted her back, my face buried in her sweet smelling strands. “I’m so glad you’re okay. If I hadn’t come back—”.

Emotion halted her words and I felt guilt creep in to weigh on my chest. Before I could dwell on it for long she pulled back and plopped a kiss on my forehead and crawled in beside me. That was Amara. Loving fiercely but never one to dwell on the deeper end of emotions. They were too hard for us both to process, especially out loud.

“Water.” I licked at what felt like mutilated flesh around my mouth and opened my eyes again to take in my surroundings. A bare but clean room with a window that told me it was nighttime. No sign of anyone else here but Amara and I was quietly relieved. I couldn’t deal with anything else and I definitely didn’t want to face anyone but her.

She grabbed the water glass paired with a straw and lifted it up for me to sip on until I had almost drained the whole glass. My throat felt a little bit better but my lips were still dry as hell. “Better. Thanks. Chapstick?”

Chuckling at my one-word requests she bounced off the bed and went to retrieve her little Gucci bag before returning with something that smelled like berries to rub all over my lips. “How bad was it?”

I pressed my moisturized lips together and tried to brace myself. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy to hear but I wanted to know. I had to.

She sighed deeply while applying some of the same chapstick to her lips and avoiding my gaze. “I’m not going to lie. It was bad.” I repressed the urge to apologize again. Another apology wouldn’t help with the consequences of my self-depreciating spiral.

“I—I don’t want to re-live it yet, Pheebs. They had to pump your stomach and…CPR.” I closed my eyes at that admission and swallowed. That explained my throat pain.

Silence stretched between us as I imagined how horrible it was for her to be my sole companion through this entire thing. I knew my parents wouldn’t be any comfort and I’m glad they weren’t here hovering or petting me. “You can’t do this every time the gossip outlets publish some stupid shit like this about you babe.”

I inhaled deeply and exhaled again. “I know. I just don’t know how to stop the spiraling.” I needed closure. I needed absolution. I didn’t know how the fuck to get either one of those things.

Amara climbed back into bed with me and drew the thin rough sheets up around us. “Maybe you should talk to someone about it.” I scoffed softly but the sound turned to a cough from my raw throat. She silently offered the rest of my water and pushed the call button on the remote that I hadn’t noticed was sitting in my lap.

“I don’t mean a shrink…god knows we have tried that shit.”

The nurse appeared and Amara held up the empty cup in a silent request with a smile. She seemed to be aware that we were having a heavy conversation and didn’t stick around to fuss over me yet.

“I mean pick one of this huge news outlets that try to reach out to you about scheduling an interview about what your Dad did. Just do it once and let them replay it for the masses and pick it apart if they want.” She set a hand on my head and tucked my face in the crook of her shoulder as her fingers traced down my tangled blonde hair.

“Who gives a fuck if they believe you or not? Get your side out there and tell the world who your Dad really is. Get it off your chest. Apologize on screen if you feel like you need to. Just do it so you can stop this self-blaming shit. Your Dad’s actions don’t deserve this much attention from you anymore.” She was waving her free hand around animatedly and I knew she wasn’t mad at me—but mad for me.

The nurse came back with a full cup of cold water in one hand and a clipboard in the other. She didn’t speak or interrupt as she checked vitals and took notes.

I licked my lower lip and nodded to myself. “Maybe I will.” I spoke quietly and thought about what Amara had said. Would it heal all my wounds and fix all my problems? No. But it could really help. And if I knew anything about this world I knew that nobody was going to save me. I had to do it for myself or next time I wouldn’t be waking up at all

[brattybaddiee]

Chapter Three

A rythmic thumping directly above my head told me Amara and her flavor of the night were awake and fully taking advantage of the morning. I groaned and rubbed at my sleepy eyes furiously before opening them and squinting at my surroundings. Last night was fuzzy at best.

We had spent all afternoon picking out outfits, fixing each other's hair, and pre-gaming for a coastal bar hop night with a group of Amara's friends. I didn't remember them all but a few were familiar to me, not enough to make any stand out in my recollection. Pushing the thick comforter off my body, I forced myself out of bed and groaned again at what moving was doing to my head. As soon as my feet hit the floor and were holding up my full weight the thumping against the wall became the thumping inside my head. “How the hell does she wake up ready to go with a hangover?”

I was amused despite my grumbling. I was thankful for that crazy girl. She took me in when I left home almost six months ago and we had been roommates ever since. It seemed to work well for us. Probably because we were exact opposites.

I stood in front of my adjoining bathroom mirror and peeked one eye open to stare at my messy reflection. Yikes. My blonde strands were standing up in every different direction and I was still wearing last night's oversized graphic tee. My make-up was still on and streaked in such a weird way I wondered what I had missed in my inebriated state. Clearly wild Pheebs had made an appearance last night. Maybe I'd see videos later.

I chuckled and winced at that thought before stripping off what little clothing I still had on and padding over to the shower to turn it on full blast. I conjured up a tune in my head and started humming as I stepped inside to rinse off last night's sins. I was determined to drown out the moaning now coming from under my roomies door. Even though my memory was cloudy I was sure I hadn't gotten more than a good grope last night. A shame.

I had just dried off and twisted my hair up in a towel when Amara started banging on the bathroom door. "Pheebs...have you looked at your phone yet this morning?" Frowning I wrapped a dry towel around my body and unlocked the door to a wide eyed, but clearly post orgasm Amara. "No...why?" My heart started pounding in my throat and I scooted around her to speed walk to my bedroom where my phone was charging. I yanked it off the charger and was horrified to see my notifications and mentions were at an all time high on Twitter. I even had a text from Mom.

I closed my eyes and looked over to Amara where she now sat on the edge of my bed looking every bit the concerned friend. "What did I do last night?"

The question made her smile. I knew she was amused by a memory despite my current panicked state. It was our natural trauma response around here. Laugh at the stupid things we did that got noticed and blasted on social media. If we didn’t laugh we would probably cry. She had a bit of decency though and bit her lip before lifting her shoulder in a shrug as if to make it less than what it was. “Oh you know. The normal things when you get tipsy. Yell about the injustice of the Hollywood elites, berate any man who dares to look at you sideways, oh and you danced on more than a few tables.”

My eyebrows bunched in confusion. "That's it? Come on. Just rip the bandaid off so I know before I look at these tweets." I was pleading with her. "Well, you may have given someone a black eye." She winces at that and I groan before lowering myself down on the messy sheets beside her. I flick open my socials and ignore all the tagged comments. I want the source. I scroll back until I find it and my eyes grow wide at the sight of the headline, 'Columbia Pictures Executive Walks Away With Black Eye From Phoebe Hawthorne'. "Shit." The comments were worse. Some claimed I was unhinged and losing it' since my Dad cut me off. Others were praising my bravery. I winced at those. If I was brave I would've said something years before my Dad got caught.

I looked over at Amara and she was staring at me, waiting for me to fall apart or rage. I opened my mouth to speak but instead I clicked on my messages and opened the text from my Mom. ‘I know you're only doing this for attention Phoebe. You weren't "enraged" at anyone's silence when you were benefitting from your Dad's success. Do us a favor and keep your mouth closed and your hands to yourself. You're only making yourself look more pathetic.’

Her words stung but they were true. I hadn't done anything when I found out. I didn't really know why either. Of course it was easy to blame it on being young, on a sense of self-preservation, or fear. In reality nothing excused it. Ignoring the text I turned my phone on do not disturb and locked it. "I think I'm going to stay in today. Take whoever is in your room and go have a good time." She gave me an odd look, clearly not expecting this calm reaction. "I--okay. Do you want to talk about it? I can stay home."

I swallowed the guilt and self-loathing burning up my throat and laid down, still wrapped up in my towel as I tucked my legs back under the covers and shook my head lightly. I fought to hold back tears that pooled like acid in my eyes. "No no. I don't want to ruin your plans. I'll be okay. I just need to be alone for a while." She was still staring at me even as she pushed off the bed and leaned over to squeeze my arm affectionately. "Call me if you need anything. I'll be home late."

"Okay." My reply felt small but it was all I could manage as she walked quietly out of my room and shut the door. I vaguely heard her and the man I hadn't caught a glimpse of, fumbling around to get dressed with flirtatious laughter floating under the door to tease me even more. I envied her. She had it just as bad as I did but it never seemed to phase her. Amara could keep moving on despite anything flung her way. Me on the other hand? I felt miserable and couldn’t even brave outing wrongs that I knew about or deal with the consequences of not taking action. Grabbing the towel I had wrapped around me, I yanked it off and chunked it across the room as our front door slammed shut with another giggle in its wake.

Pulling up the heavy comforter back to my neck, I burrowed deeper and reached for my phone like a glutton for punishment. I was surprised to find another text from my Mom. ‘Really we would all be better off if you just weren't around anymore." Like I knee jerk reaction I locked my phone again and slammed it back on top of the side table. The logical part of my brain knew it wasn't true but the one drowning in the pit of my worst thoughts about myself wondered if she was right.

As I dozed in my bed I sunk deeper and deeper into those dark thoughts until I was thinking of painless and oblivious ways to rid the world of me. A girl who hadn't done much in life for herself or for others. I wasn't an ally. I wasn't anything. I was only the daughter of a disgusting elite Hollywood couple who had no business reproducing in the first place. I'd just be fixing their mistake, right? At some point I had ended up in the bathroom and staring down at a handfull of various pills I had managed to find. They were all different colors and I had no idea what any of them were but surely that would be enough to do the trick, right?

My logic was screaming at me but my guilt screamed louder. Thoughts disappeared altogether and I found myself tipping my head back and tossing all of the pills to the back of my throat to swallow with tap water. Puffy nosed and red-eyed I stumbled into the kitchen and reached for a half empty bottle of booze. My brain couldn't register what kind it was and I didn't care. As long as it burned. Tipping my head back again I chased those pills with as much alchol as I could stand before I was struggling to swallow. Coughing and swiping at my eyes I tried walking to the living room but only made it as far as the edge of the rug before my world started spinning and I was falling.

I don't know where I ended up laying. I just knew I was naked on the floor somewhere in the house. A faint thought of Amara finding me like this made another wave of pain roll through me but it quickly disappeared from my mind. She would be okay. She was always okay.

As my eyes closed and the world around me grew dim I found myself smiling. I was finally fixing something that was wrong in this world. I finally did something.