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We were special.
Until we weren’t.
A text came through and all I felt was dread.
Because it was Clark.
Not Ari.
Clark had still been trying, texting me constantly..but now under the guise offriends. Most of the time I didn’t answer. Because why would I?
Clark: Thinking of you. Has Mr. Hockey Stick done anything psycho lately? I’m always here for you. I want to help.
I grimaced, a flash of anger skittering through me. Ari wasn’t a psycho. He was questionable…there was a difference. And the offer to “help” me was a joke. He wanted to help me alright…help me right back to New York. With the Shepfields. In high society. Stuck in a life I didn’t want.
It made me think of all the times Ari had offered to help me–the times he actually had. And yeah, he’d wanted me to be his and obviously done everything to make that happen…but he’d also always wanted me to be, well…me.
We had an argument once. Actually,Ihad the argument. Ari had been perfectly calm and wonderful. I’d been stuck in my head, in a self hatred spiral before a shoot, feeling completely inadequate and insecure because of the number on the scale…
“What if I don’t want to model?” I screamed. “What if I want to be a barista? Or keep waiting tables. What will you think of me then?”
“I think I’ll just set up shop wherever you're working and get nice and fat ordering food and coffee all day so I can be with you,” Ari said calmly. He gripped my chin. “Sunshine, the only thingIwant for you is happiness. In whatever form that takes. You don’t have to be anything for me to love you. You just have to be you.”
“You just have to be you.”
The words echoed through two more outfit changes.
Not for the first time, I wondered who I even really was.
The shoot finished, and I stepped outside of the warehouse, staring around the concrete jungle that was L.A. Most people thought of L.A. as Hollywood and palm trees and the ocean when they thought of this place.
But most of it was just…gray.
I walked down the sidewalk to head to my car, and I tripped, falling to the ground and scraping my knees and palms like an idiot.
“Fuck!” I winced, because my knee was definitely bleeding.
“Are you alright?” a voice asked, and I glanced over at a concerned looking man with bright green eyes.
They kind of reminded me of Ari’s.
“I’m fine,” I murmured, striding away quickly, not wanting to look at him anymore.
It was going to be like that forever, wasn’t it? Always looking for Ari in every face that I passed. When someone had your soul, pieces of you would always search for them.
Forever.
I got in my car and stared down at my palms. They were red and irritated, and the skin was scuffed. They would heal soon, my body had always recovered easily from injuries.
It was the inside of me that I’d never been able to get better.
But why was that? Why hadn’t I ever been able to figure my shit out?
I’d been a sad story since I was ten years old. And for the most part, I’d just beencontentwith that. Or maybe not content…maybe just unwilling to do anything about it because I never felt like I could.
I drove down the street, thinking about all the things I hated about myself…that I wanted to change.
A light turned red in front of me, and I pulled to a stop, pulling down the visor and staring at myself in the mirror. Taking in my reflection. Trying to find something that I liked.
