ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀʀɪʟʟᴏ was discovered at fourteen years old, being praised as a musical prodigy by the media ever since. His fame had only increased until now. At nineteen old, he's the most remarkable musician of his age, and he's only getting started. At...
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ɴᴏʟᴀɴ ᴍᴜʟʟᴇɴ
The first time I had a panic attack, I had been trying to break up with my 'boyfriend'.
I was sixteen at the time and I had finally realized he'd been the source of most of my problems, so I thought breaking up with him would fix it.
I had been repeating the scenario in my head over and over again the entire week, and once I finally got him alone, I was going to do it. But then the room started spinning.
I was breathing, but my body wasn't taking in the oxygen. Black spots hindered my vision and I couldn't tell the floor from the ceiling.
I wasn't sure what the cause for it was today on the set of the music video, but if I was being honest, I hoped to never ever see Oakley Carrillo again. I had embarrassed myself majorly around him and seeing him again would likely trigger another one.
Thinking back about the situation was giving me heart palpitations, and my mom nagging me about getting paparazzi pictures for tabloids was making things worse.
"I'm not petting a stranger's dog for some pictures, Mom."
"They'll love it, Nolan. Not only that, but there would be a lot to write about. You love animals, don't you?"
"They're fine, but I'm not petting a dog for some likes. I told you all I wanted to do was to act. I don't need all the bells and whistles."
I hadn't always hated the public aspect of my job. In fact, I had always been used to it. With my parents being who they were, people knew everything about me since I was an infant. When my parents split, people began following my life like hawks, waiting for me to make a mistake so they could essentially blame the media (also known as themselves) for messing up yet another young life. Lucky for me I was smart enough to keep all my mistakes private so they didn't have anything to leech off.
"At least go take a walk," she suggested, handing me a jacket she must've randomly found somewhere around the house.
"This isn't mine," I told her, hanging it over a chair. "Don't call them, Mom. I really just wanna be alone," I said.
She didn't say anything, which told me everything I needed to know. It didn't matter what I'd do or where I went, I was going to be followed.
I left and made sure I wasn't being followed by any suspicious-looking vehicles, which worked out pretty well at first. It was busy, but not quite stressful yet.
The ice cream parlor was perfect for privacy due to the frosted windows and it being in a pretty secluded area. Not only that, but there was also a significantly cheaper place around the corner, so it was always close to empty, which had always made it the perfect spot for semi-privacy.
