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CHAPTER 39
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2021-05-02 14:40:43Then again, was I better off hiding it and allowing that dark cloud of closure to linger over me?
"You know, your silence is kind of freaking me out," I point out, trying to lighten the tense air. "Is this something that therapists do?"
It's obvious she doesn't get my joke. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sebastian. I'm just trying to put the pieces together from what you have told me."
She takes her notepad and starts writing some
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******************** February 18th, 2002 Los Angeles, CA SEBASTIAN I ran inside my front door with the widest smile on my face. I'm out of breath, sweaty, and so excited I can't seem to keep my head straight. My driver almost fell on our front lawn from how fast I ran inside the house, but after a quick apology I think he'll forgive me. "Gloria!" I scream, looking around our living room to see if she's anywhere in sight. The housekeepers are on ladders cleaning the windows, and jump when they hear my voice.
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I hadn't realized how hard I was gripping the table until I could feel my fingernails indenting the wood. I was so invested in Loretta's story, so drawn to the smiles and the frowns that she carried, that it didn't seem like I was even in my guest house, but following Sebastian around in his teenage years. So when she suddenly stopped talking, I was pulled back into reality. And realized that my fingernails were indenting the wood. But why had she suddenly stopped? "What happened in Garrett's office?" I ask Loretta quietly after a moment's silence. She mimics my body language—taut, nervous, anxious and stiff. The only difference is, Loretta knows the next chapter in Sebastian's story. I do not.
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I can't remember the last time I have been this nervous. But I can think of a few reasons why. Firstly, I am not keen on the idea of making a fool out of myself as Sebastian tries to "teach" me how to dance. I don't have the rhythm to ease this task upon myself, nor do I have the experience as I have stated before. Secondly, the eyes of the band watching us as they serenade Sebastian and I with their jazz measure makes my feet shake. There's only a modest number of them—about five people. But even if the number was five or five hundred, I would still be cowering in my heels And finally, the third reason as to why I am dreading the thought of allowing Sebastian Harrison to carry me off into a dance through this vacant ballroom floor, is a simple nine letter word:
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***** A part of me thinks that I must be hallucinating. What are the odds that Garrett Harrison would happen to be attending this function and I wouldn't know about it? And it isn't just some random drop-by; his tux says otherwise. "Mr. Harrison. What are you doing here?" He smiles, similar to the way he would smile at me months before. But now, it doesn't look too genuine in my eyes. "Why, I wanted to surprise everyone with my appearance. I came a little late, but it's the thought that counts, correct?" I manage a laugh. "Yes, yes, I suppose. I just...I'm just shocked to see you. I feel as if it's been so long."
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**I'm packing my things and going back to L.A. Or am I? No. I'm going to stay here, and tell Sebastian the truth instead of running away from everything. But is that the best choice? I'm in my hotel room, staring at my suitcase that lays on the ground. The room is quiet; my phone is on silent. I can't dare face the text messages from Sarah or even Sebastian asking why I immediately left the charity ball after I rushed out of the ball room Sebastian and I danced in. Unable to make a decision, I sit at the foot of my bed and sigh. Garrett's "threat" to me doesn't even seem like something that happened; it's hard to come to terms with finding out the man you practically looked up to was wearing a mask the entire time. After our encounter, I know have
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SEBASTIAN"I told Remy Callaghan that you would love to go out for lunch on Monday. That's a good sign! Getting Remy Callaghan to ask you out for lunch? What you said to that reporter about capitalists must have definitely did it."Sarah's voice is going in one ear and going out the other. Usually I'm open to hear about whatever the hell she has to say; she is my manager after all, and whatever she says must be important. But I can't help but keep my mind on the same fucking thing—the same fucking person. All morning, all my mind has been chanting:Leslie, Leslie, Leslie, Leslie!Can my brain just shut the fuck up for once!?"Hello, hell
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**"I'm pretty sure you, out of all people, know that Sebastian can become quite...difficult at times." Ingrid chuckles—a laugh low enough for me barely to hear. I can sense that she only laughs to try and make the situation more comfortable for herself. But for me? I'm still sitting on the edge of my seat. The fact that anything deep and hidden being revealed about Sebastian is so intriguing to me makes me question a lot of things. "Yes, I'm aware of that pretty well," I answer. "So when I first took him on as a client, it was really hard for him and I to cooperate. He was very headstrong, stubborn, and unwilling to listen to any proposition that involved him changing his lifestyle. I wasn't trying to change him, per say, but rather tone down his behavior in the public eye."
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The most awkward of awkward silences is plaguing the room at this very moment. Darcy stares at me, and I stare at her. We're both unable to say anything; the lasting effect of Sebastian's wrath renders us speechless. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Darcy." She forces a smile. "Don't apologize, Leslie. I should be the one apologizing; I'm the one who lied to you." I sigh and pace the room. Darcy's eyes, big and curious, follow my movement. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you couldn't say no to him anyway. Then again, who can say no to 'Sebastian Harrison.'" I catch myself saying his name like an upset five-year-old. Christ,
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**I come into consciousness shortly after I pass out. Claude has me on the sidewalk when I finally open my eyes. I hope that when I open my eyes, the last hour or so would be just a dream. But sadly, that isn't the case. "Leslie," Claude tells me. "I need you to breathe." This time, I take deeper breaths and keep a rhythm. In and out, in and out. My hands are tightly gripping Claude's forearms as I sit on the curb; I might fall over without his support. "I'm sorry. It just...I just—" "Don't apologize." He says to me, his blue eyes wise and trusting. "You need to get out of here; you've had enough for today."
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**I wake up the next morning and immediately get to work.I've been receiving calls about Sebastian's party since I opened my eyes—E! News, People, TMZ, POPSUGAR, you name it. Apparently, they all want to know the reason for Sebastian's erratic behavior at his house party and why he was so ballistic in the first place. Darcy and I have been commenting the same thing: "We don't have a comment on that at this time." The ironic this is, I'm the reason he was acting that way in the first place. Though, I'm the last person they'd expect to push Sebastian to that point.I sit at my dining room table, sipping coffee even though I'm not in the mood to consume much of anything, and sift through the rest of my emails on my laptop. I'm trying my best to keep 'him' out of my mind, bec
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** "This is Sebastian. You know the fucking drill." I sigh irately—one, for calling Sebastian twenty times already only to be led to voicemail, and two, for the voicemail's existence in the first place. I make a mental note to tell him to change it whenever he feels comfortable with talking to me again. "Hey, Sebastian. It's me again. I know for a fact you're ignoring me." I play with a stray piece on my button up shirt and sigh. "I don't blame you. I don't know how many times I'll have to apologize for you to forgive me, but I think we should talk first before that happens. Call me back." I hang up and vow not to call him back. It's already 9:00PM, and I've been blowing up his phone since he left the conferen
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