Twenty-Four
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I pop the cork off a bottle of red wine and smile around the living room. Today, I am celebrating. Today, the house is finally done.
When mother died, she left me this old barn in the middle of the woods. It was small and falling apart, so I forgot about it for a long time; but a few years ago, I got the idea that it could be a perfect place to bring a girl.
Pouring myself a glass of wine, I wander around the cabin, admiring all of my hard work. I’ve been very clever with it all, I think. Very, very clever.
First of all, I boarded up all of the windows and exits. Next, I had electricians and plumbers come in. The men asked a lot of questions, but of course I didn’t answer any. I paid them in cash.
After that, I focussed on decorating. I bought all sorts from the local furniture shop: cupboards, a fridge, a couch. A nice big bed. The store wanted to deliver to my address, but obviously that wasn’t possible, so I spent all day driving back and forth, ferrying the furniture home. I had to take the long way around, circling through the city and then back again through the woods. I didn’t want anyone watching my car and getting a sense of where I might live. You can never be too careful. People are very nosy these days.
My best buy was the front door. The front door is very special. Reinforced steel, like the kind bank doors are made of. Even if Briar took a drill to it, she wouldn’t be able to get out. Even if she threw her whole body weight against it, over and over, it wouldn’t budge one tiny bit.
I suppose some people would be horrified if they saw this place. They would think it was wrong to try and bring a girl here. But I don’t think it’s wrong. Here’s my reasoning:
Women are shallow. They only care about appearances. They want men who are muscular and tall and good-looking and rich. But it’s all superficial. They don’t actually care about what the man is like as a person. That’s why guys like me can never find women, no matter how nice we are. Girls don’t even give us a chance to get to know them.
But if I bring Briar here, and keep here with me for just a little while, she’llhaveto get to know me. And then, she’ll realise how perfect we are for one another. My actions aren’twrong,since everything will turn out right in the end.
I reach again for the wine bottle, slumping in front of my computer. ThePlayerspress event will start soon. It’s being live-streamed online, and I want to be able to relax and enjoy watching Briar stealing the limelight on the carpet. I wonder if she’ll bring that blue-eyed guard as her date again. I’m not stupid, I know he’s just pretending to be her boyfriend so people don’t know he’s her bodyguard. But it still made me mad when I saw the pictures of them kissing at Briar’s charity gala.
No matter. In a few days, he’ll be dead. And she’ll be mine. The thought makes me giggle. The wine is getting to my head, but I don’t care. I feel great. In fact, I’m in such a good mood, I think I’ll send Briar a little surprise, just so she knows that it’s almost time. She must be tired after her flight to LA, so I’d like to cheer her up.
I pull down the waistband of my jeans and grab my phone to take a picture.
Twenty-Five
Matt
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The air is filled with screaming. Camera flashes strobe through the night like lightning. Fans press against the metal barriers, clawing and shouting and climbing over each other to get closer to Briar.
We’ve been at thePlayerspress event for forty minutes already, and we haven’t even gotten inside yet; we’re still stuck in the little fan holding area, so Briar can get her ‘allotted fan interaction time’. I trail after her as she moves down the line, taking selfies and scribbling autographs. Glen and Kenta shadow us on either side, hanging around in the background, but once again, I am playing the part of her arm candy. Which is pretty ironic, since I’m the only one of us she hasn’t slept with.
I rub my forehead. I feel like shit.
I’m exhausted. I spent half the night waking up from nightmares covered in sweat, and the other half listening to Briar moaning through the walls. God knows what the guys were doing to her, but it sounded like she came about fifty times. It’s weird to have a flashback and a boner at the same time, but I am glad to report it is possible.
I run my eyes over the crowd pressed against the barrier, looking for the usuals; people avoiding eye contact, people shouting obscenities, people with their hands shoved in their pockets. I hate working carpets. They’re death traps. Everyone is acting like a bloody lunatic, screeching and hollering at the celebs like they want to murder them. How the Hell am I supposed to pick out the ones who actually do?
As I watch, a guy with frizzy red hair leans right over the barrier, practically taking Briar’s eye out with the pen he’s waving in her face.
“Behind the barrier,” I bark at him.
He ignores me, leaning so far over I’m tempted to give him a good yank and watch him topple to the floor. My eyes catch on the picture he’s brought for her to sign. It’s a cartoon drawing of her naked. Jesus Christ. I grab it out of his hand before Briar sees it, crumpling it into a ball.
His eyes widen. “Dude! That’s myart,you’ve ruined it!”
I ignore him, turning to Julie. “That’s enough. We’re out of here.”
She gives me a stern look, but waves us forward out of the fan meet area. There’s a big white holding tent set up for all of the stars, where orderlies are noting their names down and staggering their entrances on the red carpet. I keep my hand on Briar’s back as we step between the hot tent flaps.
It’s busy inside. Hordes of celebrities huddle together in their evening wear, sipping champagne and examining their faces in compact mirrors. Each star is flanked by at least one security guard, so the pavilion is thick with huge, hulking guys in dark suits and earpieces.
Briar grabs a drink of water and touches up her lipstick, then Julie directs us out onto the carpet.
