Page 20 of The Burdens We Share
She obeys immediately and I feel my lips curl at the satisfaction of her obeying me. I wonder if she’d obey me in other ways, in other scenarios.
The little devil gathers her script and gives me a harsh look, “I’m only listening because I’m too tired to argue.”
I smirk, “I’m sure that’s the only reason.”
She rolls her eyes at me and walks right past me, making her exit. I follow behind her, never more than a foot away.
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WE SIT AT Asmall, family-owned restaurant in a secluded part of the city. It’s pretty empty and quiet aside from the dozens of paparazzi lined up outside waiting to snap a million photos of Ivory and I together. I’m sure tomorrow I’ll have to remove a million photos of her and I from the internet. I’m sure I’ll even find an article referring to me as her boyfriend. The thought doesn’t entirely irritate me.
She uses her fork to push the measly pieces of lettuce around her salad bowl. She ordered a mixed salad and barely took two bites. She just keeps staring into the bowl silently with a sad puppy expression on her face. I’ve never been the comforting type. I struggle with the emotions of others and with myself. Maybe at one point in my life, I was expressive and happy. I even had a pretty good sense of humor.
That was only six months ago but it feels like a lifetime. A lot can happen in seconds, let alone months. When my life changed that night, I knew it would never be the same again.Iwould never be the same again. So as much as I would like to comfort and support Ivory, or at the very least understand her emotions, I’m incapable of doing so. Some may call me a cold-blooded piece of shit and they wouldn’t entirely be wrong, but I can’t change who I am. Just like I can’t change the fact that I’m drawn to the pink-haired brunette across from me.
I devoured my dinner, completely starved after the events of the day. We barely said two words to each other at this table and I feel like I need to say or do something because her face looks sadder and sadder by the moment. “How do you feel about the movie script?” I know it’s a very random and very small-talk type of question to ask, but I want to get her talking. I want her mind on something else.
She looks up at me through dark lashes and I can already see the light coming back into her eyes, “I think it’s really good. Martin definitely knows what he’s doing. He captured all of our story perfectly.”
“Whatisyour story?” I ask to keep the conversation going. I already know her story by heart. I could tell it to you just as good as she can.
My mind wanders to the file I keep locked up in my desk before I focus back on her face as she speaks. “I grew up in New York, moved here five years ago, met the girls at a dive bar, and the rest was really history,” she shrugs as if her rise to fame was no big deal.
I know everything about this girl, but she doesn’t know that. I just want her to keep talking to me. The sound of her voice does something more to me than a picture of her ever could. “What about your family?”
The exhaustion returns to her face, “What about them?” Iknow how her relationship is with her mother and brother. Her mother is a serial dater, much like Harvey’s mother. Ever since her husband died, she’s been searching for his presence in any man that comes her way. No boyfriend lasts very long and before you know it, she’s onto the next. As far as her brother Sam goes, he’s a troubled sixteen-year-old. He drinks, parties, does drugs, hangs out with the wrong crowd, and gets himself into quite a bit of trouble. From my research, I found that Ivory’s mom seems to rope Ivory into disciplining Sam. She depends on her daughter for help raising her own son.
“Are you close?” I’m fully aware that I’ve invaded every ounce of privacy that Ivory has by digging into her entire past from the day she was born to the present. I’m aware of that fact and never once did I claim to be a good man.
She nods, “I’m close with my mom. We bicker a lot and sometimes we don’t really see eye to eye on a lot of things, but we’re pretty close.”
“Do you have siblings?”
A faint smile appears on her lips, “Yeah. I have a younger brother named Sam. He’s sixteen and a bit of a wild child.”
“How so?”
She rolls her eyes, “He just gets into a lot of trouble. I think I’m partly to blame.”
There’s something I didn’t come across in my research. She blames herself for her brother being off the rails. Why? “What makes you say that?” I ask, intrigue and curiosity in my voice. It’s one thing to do all of my research on my own, but to hear it from her lips directly…that changes things. Makes things more interesting.
Ivory drops her fork and props her chin up on her hand, “I’m his ‘cool’ older sister. I’m a rockstar and a big name in Hollywood and when he and his friends see me in the news or in the tabloids for partying too hard, getting into trouble, anddoing drugs, they think it’s cool to do the same thing.”
I never thought about it that way. She makes an interesting point. “Why did you never stop doing any of those things?”
She shrugs, frowning, “It became a way of life. I didn’t really know any other way to live. It was addictive too. I’m sure you’re aware of how drugs work.”
I nod before I ask, “But you truly believe your brother’s behavior is your fault?”
“I don’t think it’sallmy fault. But most of it probably is,” she admits. She looks almost disappointed, in herself most likely as she speaks.
I lean forward on the table, creating less distance between us, “You do realize that if anything, your motivation and your passion should be what your brother takes inspiration from, not your partying days?”
Her lips part slightly and her eyes look brighter. “Holy shit,” she whispers.
“What?” I look behind us to see if she notices something behind me that I didn’t. Suddenly, I’m on alert.
She laughs and I turn back around to face her with a questioning look. “You were just nice to me!” She points at me and I shake my head at her.
