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.
I sit on the couch in the guest house, staring out of the window in the living room at the dimly lit dinner scene by the main house—where the Vaun's are having dinner tonight. I wonder endlessly if Sebastian is there, too. All I want is to speak with him, at least.The feeling of his lips still makes my heart weightless from time to time. But then remembering how he dismissed our kiss so quickly makes that light feeling go away. Why, is all I want to know. Not why he kissed me, but why did he turn away?The shower I took a couple of hours ago did little to ease my nerves. I got some work done, answered some calls and sat with Sarah in the library (A very happy Sarah, considering she avoided being thrown in the lake) as she herself went through the paperwork and changed my status to Sebastian's publicist officially. It's made
** This scenario seems too familiar to me. You know—the scenario of me crying on my kitchen floor while trying to calm my nerves with a glass of wine. The familiarity of this is probably what's hardest. It seems like my life is a cycle of reoccurring events. Sebastian's gone, and I'm here surrounded by a broken wine glass. But I'm not the innocent one; I went after him shortly after he left me flustered and deceived against my kitchen sink. There was broken glass involved in that, too. Broken glass, screaming, pushing, hitting. Most of that done by me. I'll take the blame for that. I suppose it's best to explain the events that came after Sebastian left me in my kitchen. I c
**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."
**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
** "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
It's my fault for thinking this wouldn't happen. Usually I would admit to my own fault with a hint of uncertainty, using words such as "I guess" or "I suppose." I won't use them this time; this is my fault. Point. Blank. Period. I went this long, letting the lie accumulate into something that it never would have been if I were just honest in the first place. In my defense, I thought Sebastian wouldn't open up to me if he knew I was paid a very large sum to be with him. Is that a valid argument? I hope so; it's the only one I have. That, and the fact that my feelings have changed drastically during this month with his company. Garrett strides into the conference room with an ulterior motive set deep into his dark blue eyes. Everyone is puzzled; I'm not. I know exactly why he's he
**I had never been a victim of "the morning after" until now.You know—leaving the location that you had sex at with a mixture of guilt and pleasure in your system, wearing the same clothes as the night before, holding your head down, that sort of thing.After getting dressed in the clothes I wore the day before, Sebastian walks me out of his house to his driveway. Despite holding my head down, the bright sun still burns my eyes.Even the sun is judging me.I haven't turned on my phone since last night. It's both a blessing and a curse; I hate being so disconnected, yet it is nice to detach once in a while. Plus, Sebastian would roll his eyes if I turned on my phon
This chapter is 18+. Reader's discretion is advised.**Song of the Chapter -I Miss Youby Adele (Playable in the Media Section)**All I'm going to say is, I hope my mother doesn't read this chapter any time soon.**I guess I can start this off by saying that I've seen the tattoo on Sebastian that he was talking about. It isn't as glorious as seeing Sebastian's ass itself, but it's nice to have a little comic relief once in a whi
**I've never been at such odds with my wardrobe.My clothes gaze back at me, taunting me with the fact that no matter what outfit I pick, one will always be better than the other, and because of this, I will be prompted to start all over again and choose a new selection.It's currently a warm Monday afternoon, and I have two hours to get ready and make it over to Sebastian's house for dinner. Beverly Hills isn't too far of a drive from where I live, but I'm certain that indecisiveness will be the reason for my tardiness, not traffic.Pedro trots into my room with his chew toy between his teeth, only to jump on my bed to devour it."Pedro!" I yell at him. "Down!"
** SEBASTIAN "Bro, look over there." Trevor slaps my shoulder, bringing my attention—and the attention of Franklin and Chris—to a table behind us at the restaurant we're at—The Cabana on Melrose. The four women sitting there gives us smiles that say, "If you let me, I'll gladly blow you in the back." Don't get me wrong—they're hot. All four of them. But my mind is a little preoccupied on other things. "You eyeing the redhead?" Franklin asks me. I didn't even realize the girl was a redhead; that's how much I don't care. "Um...nah, not really. Not my type." My friends stare at me like I have five heads. Trevor downs his drink and narrows his eyes. "Hold up, hold up. Four hot chicks are staring our way—four that youknowyou can score all at once, and you're looking like your dog just died. What's up, man?" "Nothing's up." Lies. "I've just got a lot