Crash

No Big Deal

When Penelope woke the next morning, Charles was already gone. She thought about calling him, but she thought better of it. That was the worst argument they'd ever had, even the fight after the night in Monaco hadn't been that bad. She just wanted things to go back to normal, but he wasn't even here. She remembered a promise they'd made to each other once, something about never quitting, even when things got hard. She hoped he'd remember that now. 

Eventually, after a few hours of feeling terribly sorry for herself, sitting around in her pyjamas and trying to resist the urge to eat a whole tub of ice-cream that was calling to her from the freezer, she decided to pull herself together. Just as she'd finished brushing out her hair, her brown curls still damp from the shower, her phone rang. Thinking it might be Charles, she sprang to answer it, not even checking the caller ID before she accepted the call. 

"Charlie?" she said hopefully, holding her breath until she heard a voice on the other end of the phone. 

"Sorry to disappoint. It's only me."

"Oh," Penelope said, unable to hide the sadness she was feeling. "Hey, Brit. Sorry, I...I thought you were someone else."

"That's okay. Listen, I wish I could tell you I'm calling with good news, but I can't. Have you got a minute to talk?"

Normally, Penelope's heart would have sank, but she was so numb that she didn't really feel much of anything at all. "Okay," she said glumly, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. By force of habit, she didn't sit in the stool facing the window, knowing that Charles always liked to sit there so he could watch the buzz of Monaco in the mornings. If anyone sat in his seat, he'd sulk until they either moved willingly or were so disturbed by his foul stare that they chose to switch seat regardless. She felt a pang in her chest as she realised he wouldn't be sitting there beside her today. 

"You know I don't normally make a fuss about silly things like this," Britney began, sounding vaguely nervous, which was more than unusual. "These articles have no substance, just silly tabloids read by silly people. But...these ones...look, I won't lie to you. It's bad, Penelope. Someone at the track took pictures of you and Charles, and they're not pretty. It's clearly an argument, and I don't care what it was about as it's none of my business, but the stories are bad. It doesn't help that you arrived home separately, either."

Penelope just nodded, her expression just as sullen as before. "How bad is it?"

 "I think we should put it into perspective-"

"Britney," she snapped, her hand hitting the table as she lost her temper. "I don't give a shit about perspective. I asked you a question, just fucking answer it."

Britney's answer was quick, straight to the point. Sure, they were friends, but her manager wasn't stupid. She knew she could fire her just as quickly as she was hired all those years ago. In Hollywood, everyone is replaceable in the end. "Mainstream press have picked up on it. You're trending on Twitter. Even Sky Sports ran a segment. It's everywhere."

Penelope stared out the window, watching the cards drive by on the streets below her. She wondered where Charles was right now, if he was thinking about her the way that she couldn't stop thinking about him. "What pictures, exactly?"

"I've sent them over," Britney said. "Penelope, I don't want to scold you or tell you off because you're a smart girl and as I said, it's none of my business but pictures like this can do a lot of damage. Your fan base are attached to Charles, they worship your relationship. They can turn on you just as quickly as they chose to support you in the first place."

Slowly, Penelope began to scroll through the pictures attached to the email, each one painful to look at. In one of them, Charles was clearly yelling at her, his arms outstretched as she stared back at him, her back against the wall. In another, she was crying, her eyes red as he stormed inside, leaving her alone. There were twenty more images like that, seemingly never-ending.