Cross your Heart Page 19

  Someone whom I hold in high-regard reminded me today that this path I took, the one that shot me into the public eye was one I chose, knowing the reality. Knowing that my journey would hold consequences that I may not like. That my life and the choices I make would be up for debate, up for ridicule. I don’t disagree. I think where I failed was expecting the world to be kinder than it is.

  You want my story? You want to see the scars of my soul? They’re not pretty. But the treacherous obstacles of life rarely leave wounds of beauty.

  When I was fourteen I fell in love with my best friend. Yes, that best friend was none other than Reid Rivere. I was young, impressionable and caught up in feelings I was too young to understand. Did he walk away from me the moment I confessed how I felt? Yes. Did I hate him for doing so? Yes. Do I blame him for hurting me the way he did? No. On reflection, Reid was as innocent as I was when it came to feelings of love and affection. We were eighteen. Teenagers. He dealt with the uncertainty of our friendship after that moment in the only way he knew how. As I did. That’s where that story ended. There was no pining. No unreturned phone calls or messages that were ramblings of hurt feelings and unrequited love. We moved on as best we could, and we remained estranged for ten years.

  My career has been as smooth as a river rapid. I’ve tipped, flipped, and soared; sometimes all at the same time.

  At the age of twenty-three, I auditioned for a movie with Director, Martin Vale. A man I greatly respected. A man who I would’ve cut off my left arm to work with. Problem is, he wanted my body, and for me, that was a price too costly to pay. Angered by my rejection, Mr. Vale made it known that he would ensure my career would suffer. Yes, this is a man who has stood forward with the exact movement pushing against this type of behavior. Maybe my situation is a one-off. Maybe my interaction with him was at an incredibly weak moment in his career. Maybe his support of women, just like me, in the very situation he forced me into, is because of the way he treated me. Maybe it’s not. I will likely never know. But Martin, should your eyes or ears fall across my words, know this, you don’t need to threaten to never work with me again. I may not be as esteemed as you in this industry, but the truth of this situation is that it is me who will never work with you, not the other way around.

  My relationship with Damian Harrington is one of my greatest regrets. I fell in love with the version of a man that didn’t exist. Not in real life. Behind closed doors, Damian could be caring and thoughtful, but standing in front of the world, soon as that door opened, a different version of him appeared. One that dabbled in illicit substances that would make him angry and unhinged. Someone I didn’t recognize, nor did I want to. One that pushed the love we had aside to sleep with more women than the population of my hometown. But in the beginning, he was a man I trusted. A man I put my faith in. One that destroyed that by leaking a video I sent to him in private many years ago, in happier times. Was sending an intimate video to my significant other smart? Likely not. Am I the only person to have ever done it? I’d say with complete certainty, no. This was a complete and utter invasion of my privacy. I was humiliated. I felt violated. Imagine, for one second, that someone you had once loved let something so private out into the world for everyone to see. Imagine meeting anyone, from a stranger in the street, to the director you are hoping to work with and wondering whether they’ve seen you in the most vulnerable of positions. I’ve been accused of leaking this hideous video myself… please, if I was to do something so reckless, I would’ve got a better angle…

  The attacks on my person have been relentless. I’ve been vilified by situations I’ve had little to no control over. I’ve been berated for the way I look. I’ve been attacked for quite literally, knowing people.

  To answer some of your questions. Yes, my dad is proud of the person I am. No explanation needed. No, I didn’t manipulate James Valentine and Reid Rivere for my part in Firefly. That is more offensive to them as men at the height of their careers than it is me – trust me, I’m not that powerful.

  Time and time again the media and their misguided audience have decided I’d be a fun pin cushion. Stabbing me with their hateful words to humiliate me further. Enough is e-fucking-nough.

  Yes, Reid and I are involved. At least, we were until I kicked him out of my apartment a few hours ago after Dallas Montgomery accused him of taking out a restraining order against me. Another life lesson, your words affect more than just the person you’re targeting. It’s a domino effect. Don’t push or it all falls down. Anyway, as I was saying, yes, Reid and I are involved. Behind the scenes of this judgmental world, we fell in love. Even with the incessant death threats and insults that slid into my DMs for being linked to him in any way. (Well, I think we did, the jury is still out on whether he loves me back). Newsflash, just because you crush on a person in the public eye, it doesn’t offer you ‘ownership.’ You don’t get to decide who Reid loves any more than he does. You don’t get to attack another human being because you don’t deem them as worthy of another. Two people fall in love and in a hateful and violent world, that’s a miracle in itself. Let it be and keep your ill-informed and unnecessary opinions to yourself.

  I hit a low point today, one that I’ve been fighting against for months. Every nasty comment, every hateful taunt has weighed so heavily on my shoulders, today, they gave out. I fell. But finding myself standing at the cliff of self-reckoning, I discovered something.

  I love myself.

  In spite of my failures and falls, I’ve persevered. Something I will continue to do, no matter what the world chooses to throw at me. Because I deserve to keep going, I deserve to survive, I deserve to win.

  This entry has been written, not because anyone is entitled to the secrets of my soul, but because I made the decision to show them. If, for no other reason, it lets others struggling to know they’re not alone. I stand beside you, and on the days it all feels too heavy – I’ll share the burden.

  Throw your daggers. Pull me down if you must. Know that the only person it causes pain is you. You’re letting hate spike in your heart and soul and it’s a poison, one that’s nigh impossible to rid yourself of.

  As dark as this world can seem at times, diamonds exist in the shadows. Small beacons of light that prove love is stronger than hate. It’s more powerful and it’s more resilient. To the people who offer compliments without agenda, to the people who choose to build others up instead of pulling them down. I see you, fireflies. I see you lighting the way. I love you. I appreciate you. You are the future.

  All my love, Roxy.

  Twenty-Five

  Take Two

  Roxy

  “Who riled you up enough to drop that post?” Brooke bristles, moving the screen of her laptop to let me see her. “I feel replaced.”

  Settling back into bed, I sip my coffee. “Me, myself and I.”

  She hmphs. “Well, tell you and yourself that I would’ve high-fived you for finally speaking up.”

  “Noted.” I chuckle.

  “I’m proud of you,” she praises. “That took a lot of guts, babe.”

  “And a few glasses of wine.”

  She smiles.

  “Funny though, Mom said the same thing. You two are crossing over into one another’s path. It’s confusing me.”

  Brooke laughs, Spencer copying the sound.

  “Is Momma’s laugh funny?” She coos, making Spencer giggle again.

  “That’s a nice sound.”

  Still smiling at her son, she nods. “The absolute best. You should come and stay with us. He’s good for the soul.”

  I watch his chubby face, little hand picking up a pretend phone to hold it to his ear. “Heyo.”

  “I might do that. I’ve just got this premiere in a few days and then I’ll crash your and Spencer’s party.”

  “Why Facebook?” She changes the subject back. “Why not an interview or something?”

  “I considered that,” I tell her honestly. “But I didn’t want my words to be minced in any w
ay. I needed to say what I needed to say. Nothing more. Nothing less. Social media gives the haters a platform. Why can’t it give me one too?”

  “It was genius,” she commends. “How are you feeling about it now?”

  My head tips left and right. “Still raw. I’m waiting for a whole lotta backlash.”

  “I haven’t seen any,” she tells me. “It’s having the shit shared out of it, but all ‘louder for those in the back’ type captions.”

  “That’s good I guess.”

  “I didn’t realize it was hitting you so bad.” An apology sits heavy in her voice and I find myself shaking my head.

  “Some days it would, some days I’d shake it off like nothing. I think the buildup recently was just unrelenting. Then Reid and I have been doing god-knows-fucking-what to one another’s hearts. Maybe I’m just being extra sensitive.”

  Her eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? Babe. Any one of us would have cracked by now. I know I would’ve been Britney circa 2009 years ago. You’re strong, Roxy. Stronger than the rest of us.”

  “Reid accused me of being malevolent…” I trail off, waiting for her to deny it.

  Spencer blabbering in the background, Brooke frowns. “I’m gonna need context for that.”

  “Am I a bad person for wishing that for once someone else had to deal with the shit I have in this industry?”

  “Firstly, you’re being a little close-minded, of course, other people are dealing with this shit, Rox. You don’t have to be famous to be on the receiving end of cyber-bullying,” she reprimands warmly. “Second, it’s not one of our best traits as humans, but we all do it. Give me one single person who denies ever wishing their shitty situation was someone else’s and I’ll happily call them out as a liar.”

  I finish my coffee, sliding it onto my bedside table. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Her head shakes. “There was no question, Roxy. There was a statement, if you want me to dispute it—”

  “Am I?” I cut her off. “Malevolent.”

  “No,” she answers easily. “Not at all. A little self-consumed at times, but we’re all guilty of that.”

  My cell buzzes, my ex-publicist’s name flashing on my screen for the twelfth time this morning. I ignore it, switching it on silent and placing it face down.

  “Hey.” Brooke pulls my attention. “I’m going to send you a link to a video.”

  “Of what?”

  “Reid’s ex-girlfriend being interviewed.”

  “Why would I want to watch that?”

  She groans. “Trust me. I’ll email it now. I’ve got to feed this guy, but call me after the premiere and let me know when you’re arriving.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “Bye, Spencer,” I call through the screen and he picks up his little phone again.

  “Bye.”

  “Blow Aunty Roxy a kiss,” Brooke instructs, which he does on command.

  I blow one back, waving as we say goodbye.

  The link Brooke was talking about comes through with a message to fast-forward to four minutes in. Sighing, I open it tentatively.

  Sofia Jensen comes onto the screen, blurry enough that I can’t curse her beauty. Trust Reid to date a supermodel. A tall, waif-like beauty with the perfect shade of brown hair and skin like molten chocolate. She’s exquisite; and I’m equally envious and enthralled by her all at once.

  She’s being interviewed about her latest collaboration with a cosmetics giant, her skincare line releasing in the fall. I do as Brooke asked, my finger across my iPad to find the four-minute mark.

  I watch Sofia’s face twist in irritation, the topic moving from something she’s worked her ass off for, for a ridiculous question about myself and Reid.

  “Why is the world so obsessed with this girl? She’s like everybody else.” She readjusts her hair, shifting in her seat. “I don’t know her, so why would I hold an opinion of her?” she tests haughtily. “What I can tell you, from actual experience... the world labeling her as obsessed when it comes to Reid Rivere, trust me when I tell you that if it’s true, it’s not one-sided.”

  The interviewer probes her more, and she sighs in boredom.

  “I dated Reid for a few months, throughout our short-lived relationship, every time Roxy Monroe’s name was mentioned, his ears would prick up like a dog listening for its dinner. He’s as obsessed with her as the world seems to think she is with him.”

  She goes on, refusing to talk anymore about Reid or myself and I find myself wanting to reach out and thank her for being a decent human being.

  whiskey_on_the_rox: Sofia. You don’t know me, but I just saw one of your press interviews – I just wanted to say thank you. Skinline looks fabulous, wishing you all the best. R xx

  She follows me almost immediately, responding to my message without delay.

  sofia_jensen: No worries, Roxy. I just spoke the truth. Reid was as invested in your career as he was his own. He’d force me to watch your movies and gush over how talented you were. He was right. Remember, people are lame. I saw your post, I shared it. Cheering for you, babe. X

  I call Reid, but his phone goes straight through to voicemail.

  “Hey, it’s me. I don’t know if you’re ignoring me, but I’d really like to talk to you. Call me back? Please.”

  I throw my phone onto my bed, on a huff. On second thought, I pick it back up, dialing a stylist friend.

  “Beauty,” Michelle answers. “I want to kiss that beautiful face of yours. That post brought me to tears. I fucking love you, girl.”

  “Thanks, honey. Super short notice, but I was wondering if you could help me out sourcing a dress for my premiere tomorrow?”

  “Babe, you know I’ve always got you. I have a black Burberry number that has Roxy Monroe written all over it.”

  Relief washes over me. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

  “Once or twice. I’ll have it sent to your apartment today… and Roxy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You need me, you call me. No matter the time of day. I don’t want you suffering through this social media and tabloid bullshit. It’s a fucking joke, don’t let assholes pull you down.”

  “I appreciate you.”

  “Love you, babe,” she sings into the line. “I’ve got an appointment, but I’ll call you later this week?”

  “Sounds good, Mish. Love you.”

  I hang up on a smile, feeling a little stronger with every minute that passes.

  A loud knock sounds at my door and I rush from my bed, hoping like hell it’s Reid on the other side.

  “Oh, hey, Ari.”

  He stumbles through my door, hand clenched to his heart. “You wound me.”

  “Have you heard from Reid?” I ignore his theatrics.

  “No. I kinda thought he’d be here.”

  I gnaw on my lip in thought. “I can’t get hold of him. Can you call him? See if he’s just ignoring my calls.”

  “I did. I have. No answer for me either. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. First, after that epic face-of-books post, I wanted to check you were good. Second, I thought Reid would be here for the three of us to hang out.”

  He pauses for a brief moment.

  “Actually, third, I don’t want to take a date to the premiere. I was hoping the three of us could go together.”

  “That’d do great things for my image.”

  He laughs on an exasperated groan. “I didn’t even think of that. Why is the world so quick to assume that just because we’re friends, we’re fucking.”

  “You are male and I’m female,” I educate him, dropping onto the couch. “The rule is that friendship isn’t possible for our complicated species.”

  Falling onto the couch across from me, he kicks his shoes off, leg thrown over the back of the three-seater. “I’m not gonna lie, I think about whether I’d fuck a woman or not when I meet her. Isn’t that human nature?”

  “No,” I argue. “I don’t think about fucking every single male I meet.”
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  “Not even me?”

  I throw a cushion at him. “Apologies to your ego, but my eyes and mind were trained elsewhere.”

  “Baxter,” he teases. “Makes sense.”

  He thwarts another cushion aiming for his head, knocking it to the ground on a bark of laughter.

  “Are you okay? Really?” His mood changes, face lining in worry.

  “Yeah,” I assure him. “I am. Not so much last night. But as I started writing that post, I realized I was consumed by negative energy and feelings; anger and sadness and animosity and hate.”

  I lay down on the couch, shifting to my side, mirroring his position, watching him. “Then I felt all that toward myself because I’d let them win. I’d spent so long building my defenses up against all of the disapproval and hatred, I forgot I could let the good stuff in. I was living in this bubble of self-forged protection, forgetting there was positivity and love being shined my way as well.”

  “What did your publicist have to say about it?”

  “Please.” I roll my eyes. “I fired my publicist after the Damian debacle. He was as useless as ejection seats in a helicopter.”

  His laugh starts off small, growing louder by the second before he’s laughing so hard, he begins coughing, his face turning an impressive shade of red.

  “Fuck, Roxy.” He wipes his eyes.

  “What? You’ve never heard that saying?”

  “No. It’s bloody brilliant though.”

  “Well,” I grumble. “After all his intervention, I felt like I’d been ejected from a helicopter. It was a bloodbath.”

  His face turns serious. “I wish I’d known Harrington was responsible the night of my party.”

  “Why? So you could carry on like Reid?”

  “Dickhead deserved worse.”

  I shrug. “It’s done. I’ve now called him out. Taking it further or having someone beat on his ass every time they cross his path isn’t going to erase the video’s existence. I need to move on with as much of my dignity as I can muster.”