Page 39 of Sweet Virgin


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He has no idea.

And it's all my fault.

I felt like an asshole for putting him in that position to begin with. I should have never let him get close, I shouldn't have gotten on that plane. . .

And I shouldn't have slept with him.

Nothing in my life ever went the way I wanted it to. In my head I had this childish dream that we could build a life, a world together. And now that was all shit.

I could never escape the show, I could never escape my father. He had just sat back, twirling his thumbs, waiting for me to fuck up.

And that's exactly what I did.

My father was able to steal my innocence all over again. It wasn't enough that he had ruined my childhood by making it his, it wasn't enough that he had crushed my existence into a small mirrored ball of what he really wanted.

None of that was good enough for him, he wanted more, and that meant demeaning who I was just to have the world in his hands.

Slamming a palm to my forehead, I closed my eyes as the car made its way downtown. Horns blared around me, the bustle of the city was mixed with voices and engines as the worst headache of my life crept in.

I couldn't explain the sheer anger that painted my insides red. My tears weren't bubbling up from sadness, they were rolling from hatred. I had lost complete control and I wasn't sure how the hell I was going to get it back.

Rubbing my temples, I kept my head down, trying to force all these emotions deep into my gut. I didn't want them, I didn't need them, and they weren't welcome.

“Miss?”

Lifting my head, I wiped my cheeks. “Yeah?”

“I said we're here.” The driver eyed me over the headrest, one brow wiggling up. “Do you need me to wait?”

Shaking my head, I took in a few deep breaths, and sniffled. “No, thanks.” Handing him the last ten dollars I had in my pocket, I said, “Here, keep the change, thanks again.” Throwing the door open, I craned my neck to look up at the Hollywood sign set high on the hill behind the building.

It was the star, the bright white light that all the hopeful actors and actresses looked up to when they first arrived looking for their big break.

To me it was an eyesore, an open wound that caused chaos in my life. It's what drove my father to move here and it's the wedge that pushed him and my mother apart.

She followed him and his dream, she let him divulge in the fictional reality he created for himself of being famous and walking the red carpet.

But as that dream seemed to stay out of reach, the strain it took on them was so thick you could cut it with a knife. She never wanted me to be exposed to that type of world, she wanted to keep me grounded.

Grimacing, I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat and walked into the building. The cool air swept over me, taking the heat off my shoulders and washing my body in ice.

A few faces turned to stare me down, watching me with rubber necks as I made my way down towards the studio door. Glancing at each and every person as I walked by, I gave them all the biggest, most sarcastic smile I could.

Fuck these people.

I could see it in their eyes, they knew why I was there. It never took long for word to get around, and by the looks on their faces, they had to have some knowledge of what was being dangled over my head.

And if no one was going to stand up for what was right, for me and what was mine, they could go screw.

Unfortunately, that's how it worked in this business. People did what they had to do to keep their jobs, to rise up the corporate ladder for a glimmer of a chance at being a name on the screen, a small blip in the credits.

I was the odd one out, I didn't want any of that.

But here I was, chained to this studio by something that wasn't for sale.

Standing outside the door, I held the cold steel in my hand, trying to muster up the strength to open it and not turn to runaway again.

Everything inside me wanted to go, I wanted to flee and take another stab at becoming someone else.