“What?” I was confused by what he was asking.
He pulled his pant leg up slightly. “There it is,” he said, and I felt embarrassed, but not because of his leg. I was embarrassed he caught me staring at his ass, and now he thought I was some kind of jerk, staring at his prosthetic. I knew my face was red. I could feel the heat streaked across my cheeks. I had been in the limelight for so long now, I wasn’t easily embarrassed. Yet this guy, whose name I only just learned, had this way of making me flush.
In more ways than one.
“That’s not what I -” I started to say, then stopped, because he was already walking away toward the store. I had to jog to catch up with him, and when I did, I put my hand on his arm. “Elias.”
“What?” He paused, looked at me, his eyes narrowed. They were this cobalt blue color, so bright it looked almost unnatural.
He really should be a model or something, I thought. My manager would be drooling over him. I wondered how he’d gone his whole life without being discovered.
"It's no big deal. It's a prosthetic," he said.
“I wasn’t looking at your leg,” I said. “I didn’t even notice it until you just showed me right now.”
“Seriously," he said, his tone patronizing. "Let it go. It's not a big deal, but you're making it one. You were staring; people do all the time."
“I wasn’t.” I said, this time more emphatically. “I’m not an asshole." Why am I even bothering to defend myself to this guy? Who cares what he thinks?
“No,” he said. “But most people love freak shows. Isn’t that the basis for most reality television?”
I felt heat on my chest, radiating down my arms. I could feel it on my skin. I always got this rash when I was upset, all red and prickly like hives. My mother used to say it was because I was allergic to emotion. It wasn’t a good quality to have in an actress, but hardly anyone knew about it, at least when I was on set. I managed it.
“You do know who I am,” I said.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He seemed genuinely confused.
“Reality show?” I asked. I realized I was standing closer to him now, pointing my finger at his chest. “Is that some kind of snide comment about my wedding?”
"Wedding?" Elias asked. He made a noise, and I couldn’t tell if it was a cough or a laugh. "What are you, some kind of runaway bride?"
“No.” I paused, forgetting for a minute that I was angry. I guess I am, aren't I? “Sort of.”
“So, you're what, some kind of reality star getting married?" he asked. The corners of his mouth were turned up at the edges and he crossed his arms across his chest. He was fucking smirking at me. What a smug asshole.
I didn’t know why I was so pissed off. It was something about that cocky smile on his face, like he was so much better than me.
He knows nothing about me.
"Screw you," I said, turning on my heel and walking into the store. Inside the bathroom, I splashed water on my cheeks. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, at the flush that covered my cheeks and the pink splotches across my chest. I put my hands on the sink and took a few deep breaths.
It was his attitude that got me, that I'm-better-than-you-are thing that cut through me like a knife. I had put my past behind me. I wasn’t that white trash girl anymore. The darkness from my past, it was filed away, boxed up like the shit of mine my mother kept as reminders, like the tattered stuffed bear I used to cry myself to sleep with at night.
It was funny how life worked...you did everything you could to change who you were, to become the person you wanted to become, the person you thought you were. And then it just took one comment from someone to make you feel like that stupid little girl again.
Always thought you were better than the rest of us, River. You're my child, you hear me? You'll never be better than me. No matter where you go, how much money you make, how many fans you have, you'll always be my child.
What she said wasn't meant to be comforting.
It wasn’t true, I told myself. But my heart was still racing. I reached inside my purse and pulled out the small box. As soon as my fingers brushed the leather case, I felt a rush of warmth flood my body. My heart rate started to fall.
I'm just looking, I told myself.
It had been six months since I've done it. I didn't even do it after I walked in on Viper and my sister. I ran my fingertips over the leather of the case, but I didn't open it. Instead, I slid it the kit containing my razor blade back into my bag.
I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palm. The pain was a distraction, not even near the same as cutting. But I focused on it instead.
I took a deep breath, and walked out the door.
And into Elias.
He was standing in front of the bathroom door, not even bothering to be fucking polite about it, his hands on either side of the door frame. Like he owned the space.
The way he was looking at me made me shiver.