Page 17 of Fragile Heart

CHAPTER7

Hudson

My head feelslike I repeatedly got hit with a bag of rocks. Without opening my eyes, I reach up to massage my temples. What the hell happened last night?

I rack my brain, trying to remember what happened yesterday to make me feel like this. I got home from an overnight shoot at like four in the morning and passed out for about ten hours since I’d been up for almost twenty-four hours. Then my mom called.

Fuck.

That conversation wasn’t fun. It never is with her. She always wants something from me and belittles me until I can’t take it anymore and give in. Yesterday it was more money for some kind of plastic surgery. The time before, she needed a new car. She’s never satisfied with what she has.

I’m not surprised Dad left her and moved to the middle-of-nowhere Wyoming. Living in LA was the last thing he wanted, but that’s where my mom lived, and he loved her. He eventually moved there to be with her, and then they had me. Mom pushed me into modeling and eventually started taking me on auditions before I caught my big break withChampions of Olympia.

Dad stuck around for the first two movies, but when they extended my contract, he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t like who Mom was becoming. I blamed him then, but I understand it now. This life isn’t for everyone, and most of the time, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. The public is ruthless. The people you’re surrounded by are vultures. And you never know who is genuine and who is using you.

It’s a tough lesson to learn, and I’ve gone through it over and over again.

After last night’s conversation, where she made me feel like complete and total shit for telling her no, my agent called.

He wants me to audition for some made-for-TV holiday movie. I’m done with those and have told him as much. I’ve done plenty, and now I want to branch out. This movie is supposed to do that for me, but my agent thinks I should take what I can get. Apparently, not many production companies want to work with me because of my history. It doesn’t matter that I’ve worked hard to get my shit together. They can’t see past what they’ve heard about me. I think it’s more about my agent wanting to make sure he’s still making money, so he wants to sign me up for everything offered to me.

I remember telling him to fuck off and hanging up on him.

Which brings me to why my head feels like this. The bar. I drank for the first time in thirteen months. Fuck. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ve been doing so well.

I’m pretty sure I had more than one drink, too. I remember sitting at the one and only bar in this damn town. Everyone left me alone, though, which was nice. But maybe if I’d been at home, someone could’ve intervened, and I wouldn’t be feeling like complete shit right now for drinking away my self-pity.

I blink a few times, remembering that I saw Quinn but not exactly what she said to me. I do remember the look in her brown eyes.Worry.

After that, everything is black. I don’t remember when I left or how I got home.

I shift in the bed and stretch out my arms before finally cracking my eyes open just enough that the light from the window feels like a knife going through my head. Why the fuck didn’t I shut the new blackout curtains I hung the other day?

I turn my head to the window, but it’s not where it’s supposed to be. I survey the room, my eyes stopping on the white dresser covered in pictures and ribbons and things. That is definitely notmydresser.

Oh, shit. Where the fuck am I?

After a quick glance down, I confirm I’m still fully clothed except for my shoes sitting on the floor next to the bed. The blanket I’m wrapped in is covered in pink hearts I know I’ve never seen before.

There’s water and a bottle of ibuprofen sitting on the nightstand, and I’m assuming it’s for me. If I don’t remember how I got here, then the person who brought me here definitely knows I was beyond wasted last night.

After swallowing two little brown pills, I fish my phone out of my pocket but see that it’s dead. I look around the room, hoping to find a clock, but no luck. I know I have to work tonight, but surely I didn’t sleep that long.

I groan and force myself out of whoever’s bed I’m in and slip my shoes on. I take a deep breath before opening the door, readying myself for the awkward situation I’m walking into.

There’s a bathroom directly across from the room I’m in, and a small hallway leads to the living room and kitchen.

I take the few steps to the living room and see a blanket folded up on the end of a couch that looks like it’s straight from the ’80s. It’s covered in an awful flower pattern that I didn’t think was even around anymore.

I hear a sound to my left and see Quinn in the kitchen.

Of course it’s her.

Of course she found me when I was at a low point and helped me out. I figured she was that type of person, and she proved me right.

I clear my throat, and she looks over at me.

“Good morning,” she chirps. She’s got her hair tied up in a bun and is wearing an oversized T-shirt and small shorts. If she were anyone else, I would think she’s hot. I mean, she is hot, just not my type of hot.

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