Big Bad Wolf
We stay in my dressing room that whole night, tangled in each others bodies. Her eyes never leave me, drinking me in, in a way I’m not used to, in a way that makes my heart feel heavy in my chest, a way that makes my stomach sick with nerves—I love it.
I don’t remember the last time I cried, because I don’t cry. I have other ways of stress relief that aren’t our bodies way of humiliating us.
That night when I let her run her fingers over my face, as if commiting my bone structure to memory, I feel a strange prick in my eyes, my nose burns and I feel wetness sliding down the side of my face, dripping down my temples.
Skye's fingers pause on my cheek, her eyes concerned. "Hey," she whispers, brushing away the tears. "What's wrong?"
I shake my head, unable to find the words to explain the storm of emotions raging inside me. How can I tell her that I'm terrified of losing her? That the thought of her walking away from this, from us, is tearing me apart?
"I'm fine," I manage to choke out, but my voice betrays me, cracking on the words, my eyes wet with my own unperceived sadness.
Skye shifts closer, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me against her chest, her skin is bare and soaked in warmth, she smells like the perfume I never failed to smell on her. "It's okay," she murmurs, her lips pressed to my hair. "I've got you."
And just like that, the dam breaks. Sobs wrack my body as I cling to her, all my carefully constructed walls crumbling in an instant. I cry and she shushes me, suffocating me in her love, in what she won’t be able to give me maybe 4 hours from now when she tears herself away from me to go play face with America, when she goes on this tour the entire world seems to be waiting on.
When I have to pretend this isn’t the happiest i’ve ever been.
I speak through the stuffiness in my voice, the sobs threatening to fall from my body. “Nothing’s going to change after this, it’s going to be what it always is,” I press my face into her sternum, not caring how my tears soak her skin. “You’re going to leave, go on tour, kiss your boyfriend on the red carpet, and you won’t be sober like this. I’ll go back to my movies, ill go back to putting on a show because that’s what I do,” I pull myself out of her hold, she gasps a bit from how sudden it is and her eyes are hurt, I pretend not to notice.
I jump up, forcing myself to dress, forcing myself to get out of this situation.
“Wait, please just—”
I turn on my heels to look at her, cutting her off, im still crying. “What am I waiting for Skye? You?” I scoff, laughing humorlessly through my tears. “I’ve been waiting on you for almost a year, Skye! I can’t keep…I don’t really know you, are you really you when you’re like this? Or are you—you when you’re high? Are you you when you’re calling me a stupid ass bitch when I flush your stash cause you come to my place high; or are you you when you’re crying hugging my knees begging me to forgive you, not to leave you?” I cough through my cries, pulling on my top. “Who are you?”
I pull my shoes on, I refuse to look at her, If i look at her i’ll fold. “I can read people and you know that, doesn’t matter who they are. But you? You’re a fucking chameleon, I can’t seem to pin who you are beneath all that pretty.” I snatch up my purse, stopping just before I step out the room, I don’t look back however.
“I love you, but figure out who you are before you say you love me back.”
I’m gone.
——————————————————————————————-
Two days later I wake up to my phone blowing up, shit hitting the fan, the world crumbling into a sinkhole and taking it with me.
My phones blowing up, I glance to my bedside the red blaring 4:26 am. I pick up my phone, answering it without checking the contact name. “Do you have any fucking clue what time it is? Huh? Newsflash, it’s 4 in the fucking morning.”
The voice on the other line is familiar, my agent. “Paul’s dead.”
I sit up, clicking on my bedside lamp. “What?”
“The event he and Skye Riley were at a few hours ago. They’re saying they left the event high, radio silence for maybe 45 minutes. They crashed off a barrier into the ditch below. He didn’t make it. It’s everywhere, they want you to come in and film the last scene and they’re going to edit the rest. They don’t want it coming out for a while, but the trailers did well, its highly anticipa—”
“Are you fucking serious?! Someone’s dead and you’re worried about—is Skye okay?” I scream into my phone, shrill, angry. “Is she okay?!”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.” His voice is small.
“You’re fucking useless you know that? So fucking useless. You’re fucking fired.” I hang up the phone and block his number, jumping out of bed. I clench my phone in my hand, running my free hand through my hair. What the fuck? What the fuck!
I pace my bedroom, my mind racing. I grab the first thing I see that isn’t the phone in my hand and I smash it.
“Fuck!” I scream.
Skye. I need to find out if Skye's okay. My hands are shaking as I scroll through my contacts, searching for someone, anyone who might have information.
I call Skye's publicist, then her manager. No answer. Straight to voicemail. Fuck.
I throw on some clothes, not caring what I look like. My heart is pounding as I grab my keys and rush out the door. The cool night air hits my face as I climb into my car, my fingers fumbling with the ignition.
As I speed through the empty streets of Los Angeles, my mind floods with memories. Skye's laugh, her touch, the way her eyes lit up when she sang. The argument we had just days ago seems so trivial now. I’m so fucking stupid.
I don’t know where i’m driving, it’s dark out still.
I do the only thing I can think off, pressing the call button on my steering wheel, I speak.
“Call Frank.”
‘Calling frank’ the automated voice speaks out, I force a soft lilt into my voice, he sounds like he’s been up.
“Hey! I was beginning to think you forgot about me princess, how are you?” How this stupid fucking prick is one of the biggest in the industry, I will never know.
“Hi Frankie! I couldn’t sleep, I heard about my friend Skye Riley and I’m just worried out my mind. Do you think you could help me find out which hospitals she’s in? I really just want to make sure she’s alright.”
He laughs on the other end, the fuck is so funny? “Aren’t you a sweetheart? Listen, she’s high profile, they have her at one place, one place only. Come by, you still have my address, Ill tell you where she is when you get here.” He drops the call.
I pull over, beating my fists into the steering wheel; I scream until my throat is raw, I feel like crying, screaming—fuck—I don’t know what to do with myself.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Frank's place. I know where it is. I've been there before, for industry parties and "networking" events. The thought of going there now, in this state, makes my skin crawl. But I have no choice. For Skye. I pull back onto the road, my knuckles white on the steering wheel. The city lights blur as I drive, my mind racing faster than the car. What if I'm too late? What if she's... No. I can't think like that. She's going to be okay. She has to be.
As I approach Frank's gated community, I slow down, trying to compose myself. I can't let him see how desperate I am. That's not how this game is played. I punch in the code at the gate, surprised I still remember it.
Frank's mansion looms ahead, all sleek lines and paid luxury. It’s about 4:50 now, the suns gonna rise soon and I still don’t know shit.
I jump out of the car, disheveled and still in my pajamas, shorts and a midnight blue long sleeve, only having socks and my overly expensive burberry slides my aunt gifted me when she’d decided I was finally of some use to her with this career. I’m at his door in an instant, hair a mess bare faced,
Vulnerable.
I ring the doorbell, once, then twice, and a fourth time
The door swings open, and there's Frank, looking like he just rolled out of bed himself. His silk robe is askew, and the stench of stale whiskey wafts out into the pre-dawn air.
"Well, well, well," he drawls, his eyes raking over me. "If it isn't Hollywood's golden girl, looking decidedly... tarnished." He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms.
I give him a narrow look. "Now, now, darling. Come inside. We'll talk."
Every instinct screams at me to turn and run, but I force myself to follow him into the house. The interior is all chrome and leather, it’s tacky.
I follow him, my slippers sinking into his plush carpeting. I let out a shaky breath, I feel so, unreal? Like i’m still in that half awake state, yet the feeling has yet to fade, it feels sorta neverending, im unraveling.
“Frank, please I—I really just want to know where Skye is, I just need to know if she’s okay. Please,” for once I’m genuine, nothing in my tone screams phony.
He doesn’t say anything, simply leads me to his office space, it’s vast. He sits motioning me to sit across from him, I do, resting my hands on my legs. I press my eyes shut in frustration, I forgot my phone in the car.
I open my eyes tilting my head.
Frank leans back in his leather chair, studying me with an unsettling intensity. "You know, I've been in this business a long time," he says, his voice low. "I've seen stars rise and fall. I've seen scandals buried and careers ruined." He pauses, his eyes never leaving mine. "But I've never seen someone quite like you. I’ve been watching your career, your rise, i’ve been watching you.”
I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, trying to keep my composure. "Frank, please. I just need to know where Skye is. That's all I'm here for."
He chuckles, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. "Oh, I know why you're here. The question is, what are you willing to do to get that information? I’ve been waiting for a call from you since I saw you in that tight little long sleeve number, the one with the sequins? How long has it been 4? No 5 months going on 6.”
My stomach turns at the implication in his words. I've dealt with men like Frank before.
“Don’t think I haven’t been watching you, I don’t know why but there’s something about you, something I see in you. I could make you the biggest star this world has ever seen, give yourself over to me. How do you think you got a role in a film with Paul Hudson? God rest his soul, but you have what? 4 acting credits, only 1 big film? You really think talent got you that role?”
I feel as though the room flips on an axis, my stomach clenches.
“I won’t lie and say you’re not a very talented young woman, because you are exceptional, but talent doesn’t get you anywhere in this industry. I can get you further than you could ever go alone. I see your drive, I see how you read people.”
This isn’t about Skye anymore, he doesn’t know where she is, he could but he doesn’t, he doesn’t know a fucking thing.
“I’m not here to go further, If you don’t know where she is then I’m leaving.” I stand up, but I don’t get a chance to go any further before he stops me.
“Do you want the whole world to know about the little affair you and your addict have been having?”
I freeze.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me, especially with the world knowing about her addiction, you want to fuel the fire even more? A little homosexual scandal? Come on, you know they’d tear her to shreds.” I picks up his glass and sips it. “Don’t insult me with the whole ‘I dont’ know what you’re talking about’ spiel, I have cameras in your dressing room, I must say you put on a show,”
I can feel my breath leave me, my mouth is dry and my knees feel weak.
“You look good on camera in every sense.”
My blood runs cold as Frank's words sink in. Cameras in my dressing room. He’s been watching me? My mind races, trying to find a way out of this nightmare.
"You're bluffing," I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
Frank smirks, reaching for a remote on his desk. "Am I?" He presses a button and the screen on the wall flickers to life. My heart stops as I see clear footage of Skye and me in my dressing room, compromised, intimate.”
I feel sick. Violated. Exposed. But beneath the horror, a rage begins to build. How dare he? How fucking dare he? I feel my eye twitch.
"What do you want?" I spit out, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
Frank leans back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "I told you. I want you. Your talent, you under me, signed under me. I want you to be with me. Or this little thing gets leaked, along with photos, everything.”
I press my eyes shut, fuck, fuck, fuck! What do I do?”
I take a breath, I’m not thinking about me for once, if she’s alive, she doesn’t need this on top of everything, it would kill her, I know her.
“Don’t, I…I’ll do what you want. I need to know she’s okay, I’m not doing shit if she’s not okay.”
“She’s alive, critical condition. She’s in surgery for a broken back and a broken leg. A bunch of cuts and wounds too. She’ll live. Paul didn’t get so lucky, a damn shame.”
I look past him, into the sky.
“I knew you would call me, nobody else was going to answer some B-listers call about america’s pop sweetheart, im your only connect. Anywho, when she’s out you won’t be seeing her again, you will have no contact with her, is that understood?”
“It’s understood I whisper.” I storm out, running ti my car. Once i’m in and it’s on I slam on the peddle, driving off, breaking the little lifting thing when I crash into it. I’m going 90 in a 20, I’m at Skye’s apartment, unlocking the door with the spare key she gave me. I’m in her closet, I steal a hoodie, a shirt, I spot my crewneck on her unmade bed. I want to scream, I don’t.
I clutch Skye's stolen clothes to my chest as I sink to the floor of her bedroom, overwhelmed by her lingering scent and the memories that flood my mind. The reality of the situation crashes over me in waves - Skye fighting for her life in surgery, Paul dead, and now this twisted deal with Frank.
I allow myself a moment to break down, muffling my sobs in the soft fabric of Skye's hoodie. But I can't stay here long.
Forcing myself up, I stuff the clothes into a bag and hurry out of the apartment. As I drive, my mind races. I know I can't see Skye - not with Frank's threat looming over us, so I go home.
I sink to the floor of my apartment, curling into myself.
A harsh cry escapes me, like i’m being suffocated. I can’t take a breath, I’m doomed. I have nothing to say for once, no plan.
I’m not the big bad wolf.
Im little red.