Adrenaline

18 | breakfast at moxie's

After tossing and turning for two hours, I give up. It's freezing, but I'm too lazy to go back to my room to grab a sweater, so I waddle up inside a blanket and lounge on the couch.

        A movie doesn't do much to help. I give up on it within thirty minutes, relegating all of my attention to my phone. In need of a pick me up, I pull up videos Maverick sent earlier, hoping they'll bring a smile to my face. And though I don't doubt Maverick of all people can force rays of sunlight between the darkest of storm clouds, I'm surprised at how much it compels me to laugh.

        "Hey, Stevie, thought you'd want to know how everything's going." Maverick sticks his tongue out, holding up a peace sign, complete with a bloody towel wrapped around his finger. "I shouldn't be allowed to make breakfast. Ever. Hope your night went better than my today. Love you, queen, bye!"

        He sent the video around noon so he couldn't have known how poorly it would age. I force back a dejected sigh, skipping to the next video.

        "Say hi to Stevie, Everleigh."

        "Kingston, get that out of my face."

        "But it's Stevie."

        "Stevie, respectfully, I love you, but Kingston, get the fucking camera out of my face."

        "You're no fun–Ow."

        Next.

    "Stevie, I hope you're willing to be my witness when I sue Meadowlark for assault. First, she hits me with a pillow–"

        "You snuck up on me–"

        "Now she's stabbing me."

        "You're right, I should just let you bleed out. You fuckin' spoon."

        "Hey."

        "For the love of God, stop moving."

        Next.

   "All doooone!" Maverick holds up his newly stitched finger and shifts in the camera to Everleigh cutting up berries. "Thank you, nurse Meadowlark."

        The last thing I see before the screen goes dark is Everleigh flipping off the camera.

        It goes against my better judgment, but the idea of not knowing pains me enough I choose to suffer the consequences of looking up the pictures.

        Ignorance isn't always bliss. Sometimes it's a gnawing feeling at the back of my throat, waiting for me to choke. Sometimes it's the mosquito bite I can't help but itch and itch until I'm left bleeding. Ignorance is a scar reminding me of all the ways in which I'm not prepared for this life I live.

        Pictures are circulating of Bruno and me walking into his hotel the night of the Melbourne race. The first are pictures of what looks like acquaintances catching up after a long time apart. By the third, we're walking too close for it to be innocent, and the fourth is me back against a wall where Bruno leans in to kiss me.

        There's no denying what's happening or what is going to happen. But denial isn't the problem. I have no issue admitting I have casual sex. It's the fact this information is something anybody feels entitled to.

        This is what I hate most about living in the public eye. People talk about how it's part of the lifestyle and something we should get used to, anticipate or use to our advantage. As if making a deal with the devil to leverage our soul and score brownie points with leeches whose sole purpose is to invade our privacy is what I should do with my position in life.