Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 135517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Things had only just calmed down when that bitch decided that she was going to be a singer again. Everyone was all excited, and no one would talk about anything else. Her fucking song just had to top the charts and have her name on everyone’s tongue, and of course, it all swung right back to our past.
Now everyone was back to staring at me and whispering behind their hands wherever I went. That sickening fear that had dogged my heels from day one was back in full force, and I was not sure what my next move should be.
Before I could think better of it, I picked up Ryder’s phone and made a tweet about our love for each other. Next, I moved over to his Insta and posted one of our pictures from the award show and captioned it with ‘Me and my Wife enjoying the show.”
The comments came in quickly, and I started to calm down when I saw the love from our fans. If nothing else, I can always count on them to uplift me when things get too rough. I looked around in my purse for my pills and dosed myself for some added courage, and felt better in minutes as the drug worked its way through my system.
I felt lethargic in seconds, followed by a nice buzz that made me feel warm and alive. The one drawback about these pills is that they make me horny, and I live with a man that won’t touch me even if I do handstands in front of him while naked.
Tears of anguish ran furiously down my cheeks, and I pounded the cushion in pent-up anger as I screamed out my frustration. “What the fuck are you doing?” My head came up and around at the sound of Ryder’s voice coming from somewhere on my left.
I looked down in the direction his gaze had been locked and saw the damage I’d done to the cushions. When did I pick up the knife?
Chapter 11
*Elena*
Yes, this is a new chance, a new beginning. It has nothing to do with the entertainment industry, and it’s so far out of my comfort zone that I wouldn’t know where to begin, but somehow, I know, deep down, that this is what I need to be doing at this time. Not only will it help others, but it will go a long way to helping me. But where do I start?
For someone who wanted to lay low, my thoughts were leading me down a rather sticky path. But the more I think about it, the more sound it seems. How relieving it would be to just come out of the dark and stop living with the ever-present fear of always being found out.
The more I thought of it as the night went on, the more at peace I felt with the idea. Is this what I needed all along? Is this part of what had been holding me back? But where do I start? I doubt my management team would take kindly to me exposing something that I’d gone to such great lengths to keep hidden.
Their biggest worry would be, of course, what the public would think, and how my fans would receive my honesty in this way, but after spending three years in the dark, I find it rather liberating to rebrand myself.
I’ve always been the child star, the teen idol with the girl next door image, which is all true. But this just might be my chance to be more real than I’ve ever been. To shed some light on the parts of me that have been kept hidden in the closet all this time. Wouldn’t it be awesome to have no more secrets that can be used against me?
It’s not like I’ve committed a crime, and no matter how society treats mental illness, wouldn’t I be a great ambassador for the cause? I sat up in bed with new vigor. I don’t need to know where to start; I can just start with myself. I have a voice; I have a platform; I’m going to use it, dammit.
I pushed thoughts of the backlash out of my mind as I went for my journal and a pen. I’ve already been through the worst that can happen, so what now? What’re they going to do? Shun me? Will the offers dry up? Would I be put on the back burner like so many others before me?
So what? I’ve got a fat bank account; my family has been taken care of with homes and retirement funds that should see them through; what do I have to lose? My hands took over, and the words just flowed onto the paper until my hands began to cramp up.
A look at the clock showed that it was almost seven in the morning. I’d been writing for hours and could go for a few more, but it was time to take my medication which was for sure going to make me sleepy anyway, so I hid the journal under my pillow, did my nighttime routine, a few hours later, but whatever and got ready for bed.