Residuals
The next six months pass in a blur, as though I stand just outside of my body. Watching teeth I went through 8 years of braces for smile just because they were asked to. I'm forced into my work, project after project to keep my mind occupied, photoshoot after photoshoot, party after party to keep my mind from drifting, but that gaping hollowness in my chest never goes away.
I see her face everywhere - on magazine covers, news articles, television screens. Everyone talking about her addiction like they have her all figured out, like they know she was just some starlet that was too weak to resist temptation when presented with it. She's in rehab, that much I know. I tried to call, a burner phone here and there but her number had change, the line had been disconnected. I can't see her, I can't feel her.
Frank keeps me on a tight leash, micromanaging every aspect of my career, my public image. He's true to his word - my star rises. I land roles only some can dream of, i'm on the cover of every zine you can think of, every talk show, every red carpet. I'm the perfect actress.
It's all ash in my mouth.
It all costs, my dignity, my resolve. He can't keep his hands to himself, there is no concept of a boundary. I've found myself on edge, a shell of the woman I once was under the scrutiny of his gaze. I used to know how to eat, to be a predator. I'm but a prey amongst these wolves, afraid of the day i'd be devoured over and over until I was left with a beating heart and closed eyes, skin and bone.
It presents now, I stand clad in my underwear in Franks home office, scrutinized under his gaze as i've been every week since Skye's accident. He wants me never changing, he wants nothing less of what he views as perfection. His little doll.
He has rules, for me, my image. What he wants to put forth is what goes forth no question. Before everything, I'd yet to build my image, what kind of actress did I want to be? I presented myself how I felt, stoic and unchanged, I took my work seriously, I knew I was the best and I kept that thought on the forefront of my brain at all times. It costed nothing to be cocky. Now, under Frank, I sell sex, a mans wet dream. I've been on the cover of playboy twice now, think Jenny Mccarthy, Pamela Anderson back in 89' bold campus issue. The only difference between them and I is a thin strip of cloth. It took a month to convince him I wasn't going fully nude for anyone, nor anything. I'm in every ad targeted towards a male audience in as little as possible. Maybe I could've been okay with it if I wasn't being forced into it, using men to build myself is what I had been doing, but doing it at my own expense leaves the experience bitter in my mind.
That all lead me to this weekly cheeks, I feel naked under his gaze, bare in my body, under his words of discouragement.
"You need to do something about that scar on your hip, stop smiling so much, you're getting smile lines, it's making you look old."
"You're the one that told me to smile more."
"Yeah well, I changed my mind. That stoic look you get, its sexy, keep it it makes you seem untouchable."
I bite my tongue, swallowing the retort that threatens to escape. Frank's rules are suffocating, his constant scrutiny chipping away at what little confidence I have left.
"Fine," I mutter. "Anything else."
"Yeah, no more carbs."
Later that night I'm at another overlit industry party, plastering on my smile as I work the room. The champagne flows freely, but I stick to sparkling water. I can't afford to let my guard down, not with Frank's watchful eyes following my every move.
A hand snakes around my waist, and I stiffen. "There's my girl," Frank's voice rumbles in my ear, his breath sour with alcohol. "Come meet the head of Paramount. He's very interested in you for his next big project."
I allow myself to be steered across the room, my skin crawling beneath the sequins of my dress. As Frank makes introductions, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a nearby mirror. The woman staring back is beautiful, polished to perfection, it’s me, or at least a version of me. I’m confused with it, where’s the quip in my mind?
But her eyes are hollow, devoid of the spark that once defined me. I force a smile, nodding along to the conversation, but my mind wanders, I ignore how far Franks hands wander down the curve of my spin, resting on the cusp of my ass.
I hold back a sigh and look at the tall men surrounding me, i’ve never felt smaller.
When they've seemed to forget about me I excuse myself to the washroom, my heels click against the polished tile of the ladies room, I don't look at myself till my palms are pressed into the counter. I set my bag down, finally meeting my own gaze.
I could cry.
I look beautiful, no doubt, but it's just not me, not who I was. I spend hours every night scrubbing my skin raw until I'm sure it's all gone, till I can find a discerning feature that makes my brain click, making me look like me.
My hair is down, 450 degrees of heat to make it straight. My dress presents too much cleavage, it shows me off in a way that makes me feel guilty, like it's not meant to be pleasant under my eyes but rather under those of others. I lean in close, startled when someone walks in, dark waves, its her.
I turn on my heels and they look towards me, confused.
"Sorry, sorry I thought you were someone else." The woman locks herself in the stall and I turn back to the mirror.
I hate who I am, but i'd do it all over again if it meant keeping the media from ripping her apart. I feel like a hypocrite however, I want to protect her but I can't even bring myself to say her name.
I'm back out at the party not too long after, taking my space beside Frank.
I watch the door as others are escorted in, I recognize Elizabeth Riley, but there's a woman next to her I don't recognize. One with short blonde hair, slightly grown out at the roots styled slicked back. I tilt my head hoping I can get a better view of her face, who is she?
By the force of sheer will they turn to face me, as though a magnet between us attracted our eyes to the others. My breath hitches in my throat, she stops slightly in her tracks, her smile dropping.
Skye.
Oh, my Skye.
Frank says something but his words fall on deaf ears, her lips part, brows dipping. His eyes follow my gaze, landing on her, his hand slides down my waist, resting on the swell of my hip, pulling me close to him, dipping to whisper in my ear.
"No."
I turn away from her, I couldn't bare to see her face even if I could. The disgust, the confusion.
"Try anything and it's over for you,"
I dig my nails into my palms, it hurts, I can feel the sting of the skin breaking, the warmth of my blood pooling.
I look down at my shoes.
If there was anything that described the feeling of someone's stare burning into the back of your head it would be her eyes on me, I can feel them. She speaks a little louder, plays up her laugh a little more. Franks drunk, I excuse myself to the washroom, the family one. It's far from the dining hall, a left a right and two more lefts. Before I can close the door I hear the patter of feet, and I'm being shoved into the washroom.
My eyes widen, i'm ready to scream, curse someone out until I see who it is.
I fall speechless, unsure. It's been over a year, she'd changed, I'd changed.
"I can't- you can't be here."
She looks at me, I can't read her expression, why can't I read people anymore, I can't guess what she's thinking.
"I can't be here?"
"No, you can't. I can't be seen talking to you."
"That's all you have to say? I haven't seen you in over a year- you're on the hip of Frank fuckin Right looking beyond depressed and you can't talk to me? What the fuck is going on?"
I press my fingers to my lips, unsure of what to say.
She looks desperate.
"You cut your hair," I whisper.
She lets out a breath. "I cut my hair, i'm a blonde now too, surprise.."
I let out a dry laugh.
"Are you.." she looks for the right words. "Are you fucking him?"
That's disgusting. "Oh my god no that's disgusting!"
She lets out a laugh of pure relief. "Why are you out there with his hands all over you then?"
My hearts pounding.
"Skye..." It feels like no time has passed, suddenly I remember her fully, I feel her. She smells the same even if her hairs a bit different, it looks like her. She looks like home. "I have to go back, he's going to be looking for me soon. When he sees you're gone, and i'm gone..I have to go."
She blocks the door and I give her a look. "Not till you tell me what's going on, you hate Frank Right, you told me you hated him and you're-"
"Fuck, Skye!" I whisper shout. "He's blackmailing me, since your accident i've been under him. I can't say I'm doing the best but I have no other choice. Please get the fuck out of the way."
"Why would he...if i'm gone and you're gone? I'm so confused, please-"
I shut her up by pressing my lips to hers, melting into the kiss, it's warm, but it's softer than it was, he lips aren't chapped. She cups my cheek, tilting her head. I pull away, I pull a signature sharpie out of my purse, pulling her hand forward. Sloppily writing down my new address. She looks so confused.
"You're beautiful, I love you, I've missed you." I peck her lips and start walking out. "Come by in three days, don't look like you."
I run out of the washroom, back to Frank, leaning into his side like I know he likes, I sigh.