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,
** From what I'm about to say, I hope some of you, at least, can relate to the words that I'm going to express. Metaphorically speaking, have you ever dug a hole too deep to climb out of? A hole deepened from your own curiosity or ego wielding the shovel? A hole so vast in depth that the only way left to go is down? That is how I feel right now; that is the best explanation for what I feel right now. I'm not sure whether or not I became this invested due to my curiosity or my ego that claimed it knew how to fix the issue. Maybe it was both. I don't know, but what I do know for sure is that I have dug a hole too deep to climb out of. When I first met Sebastian Harrison—the self-proclaimed Playboy and the poster child for debauc
** November 5th, 2002 I heard Gloria yelling at my father in his study. It was late, or early actually—around 1 in the morning. The house was dark and quiet except for the bright and loud part of the place where they were yelling at. I went downstairs to try and hear exactly what they were yelling about. "You just don't get it, Mr. Harrison! There are a bunch of people who live in those houses and you building over there is gonna leave them homeless!" Right. My father's company's new construction project. Harrison Inc. has signed off on a new real estate deal that will wipe out the homes in some part of L.A. to build fancy condominiums
We barricade ourselves in the library after Elizabeth leaves. By us, I mean Sebastian, Loretta and I. Everyone else left to usher Elizabeth out the house and to the hospital, but Sebastian refused to go with them. Knowing the family that has come to visit would want to confront Sebastian about him staying behind, he decided to lock the library doors. He let a few maids come in to clean Elizabeth's 'mess,' that she left behind, but soon after he locked the doors again and kept them that way. "My mom told her family not to come into the library at all while they're here," he explained to us as to why he decided to hide out here. That did little to blind the sight I see; Sebastian wanting to lock himself away with the only two people here who know the full extent of everything going on.
i look at him and see someone who is the opposite of mehow can I enjoy his presence, I think to myself?but we're more alike than I like to admitmore than he likes to admit, definitelywe're more similar than we accepthe's very muchlike mesometimes I wonder what it is about him that intrigues me so muchi'm sure it's the fact that I can't help but fix something that is brokenand that's what he is, in case you don't know: brokenbut it's more than thatmaybe it's his eyes; they're beautiful, and prying and curious and bright and youthfullike mebut they're also sad, and confused, and trapped and lonelylike meso maybe my consensus issince I can't repair the damage done to myselfill repair the damage done to somebody e
** I love you. Those are the three words Sebastian Harrison told me right before he fell asleep on me. "I love you," he said. That's it. No explanation, no reasoning, no retraction. Just those three words. But I never knew three words could eat me up so badly inside. I helped him to the bed, and he sleepily climbed on top of the covers and passed out. I stared at him before I left him be, and went through every possible meaning behind the three words besides what theyactuallymean: "I love you...as a friend." "I love you...playfully."
SEBASTIANThis is going to come out as a complete shocker, but I'm horrible at talking to girls.Yes, I said it. I'm fucking terrible at talking to girls.Before you get all confused and all, "Sebastian, are youreallythat hungover?" on me, let me break it down for you a bit.When I say I'm terrible at talking to girls, I mean that I'm terrible at talking to girls that I care about. Throughout my life, I haven't had many girls that I truly cared for. There was Sonya, but she was one of my best friends. There was Gloria, but she was a mother figure to me. I cared about Ingrid, but not the way that she cared about me; I didn't love her like she loved me. Regardless, I always thought th
****It's been one day since I quit my job.Well, it's been one day since I terminated my services to Garrett. Because if I would have quit completely, I would have been packing my things and hauling my ass back to Los Angeles, looking for a publications firm that would possibly want me. But no. Instead, I'm in my room in the guest house, tucking my lavender silk blouse into my black slacks as if I'm still a working woman, and thinking of more press strategies that will mend Sebastian's image.I haven't told anyone that I have quit; everything happened so fast. One moment, I was standing next to Sebastian in the hospital hallway, accepting the harsh words being told to me by Patrick, then the next I'm trying to get out of the hospital. After that, I'm stuck in an elevator with Ga
**For the record: I hate running. Especially from people who are faster than me. But I guess throwing my shoes at Sebastian's face gave me a bit of a head start. But not for long. The minute I run through the kitchen and through the back door, I hear him sprinting through the kitchen behind me. I'm screaming now like this is a horror movie, because this is. When have I ever asked to be involved in this? Guest house. Run to the guest house. That was the initial plan, and I follow through with it until I see a tall, bearded man blocking my way. "That's her, Claude!" Sebastian informs him. Asshole.