“You seem happy. It’s a side of you I haven’t seen in years. I like it.”
I close my eyes again and immediately picture Quinn. “I am happy.”
“That’s good, Hudson. That’s really good.” Our conversation drops off while our makeup gets finished.
I know paparazzi comes with my job. I get that people are interested in my life, especially when I was partying all the time. Everyone was waiting for me to fuck up. And I did—a lot. But I did a lot of what I did because I needed to numb myself from the constant criticism. I drank to forget the feeling that someone was watching me, judging every single thing I did.
Since I stopped drinking and going out as much, the paparazzi haven’t had much to talk about. They take pictures of me going to the store or walking down a sidewalk. It’s definitely not magazine-selling material anymore.
But Vaughn is right. They’re going to eat Quinn alive if they get our picture together. I’ve got to warn her about how intense it can be. For a moment, I regret even asking her to come because I hate that I’m putting her in that situation at all. The cameras are annoying, but they’re also dangerous. I lost my license when I crashed my car, trying to get away from some of them. It didn’t help that I drank more than I should’ve before getting behind the wheel. I hate myself every day for that decision, but thankfully, no one was hurt except me. I managed to get away from the paparazzi before I crashed.
Maybe we’ll get lucky, and no one will notice me since I’m still technically supposed to be in Georgia. I try to convince myself that it’ll work, but I know that as soon as I step off the plane, someone will recognize me.