Number Nine

Chapter One: I Want You All To Myself

I've been trying to keep my distance, but in an instant, you break me down. I know better than to want you, but I succumb to you without a doubt. Now the water is rising, and I'm too tired to swim; and my lungs just can't take it, but I keep breathing you in, so tell me lies, tell me painted truths; anything at all to keep me close to you. Pull me under the way you do; tonight, I wanna drown in an ocean of you.- Martin Garrix & Clinton Kane, Drown

There was a difference between being ashamed of one's actions and being discreet about them. This was something Lea had learned recently. She hadn't given the distinction much consideration before, but then she had gotten an additional best friend.

Lea had two best friends; one made sense and the other—the recent accrual, the one that both required and practiced discretion—did not.

As a broke college student, it made sense for her best friend to be Sam, another broke college student she'd known since they were attending kindergarten at the all-girls school where they'd met in North Carolina.

One could perhaps count her older sister, Lina, as another best friend, and her younger sister, Ari, as a third, but for one, they were her sisters; for two, Ari was in California; and for three, they would've made perfect sense.

Lea's actual other best friend was Tim. This made no sense for several reasons. Firstly, Tim was a guy, and Lea had never had many guys involved in her life, what with the aforementioned all-girls schools and her mother's choice to deliberately isolate their family from anyone of the male persuasion on account of the hell her father had wracked upon her mother's life.

Secondly, Tim was not a college student. He didn't live on campus, and he didn't live in her building. He did, however, live not too far from the tiny New York apartment she shared with Sam.

Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, Tim was, to the majority of the population, known as Timothée Chalamet, Academy Award nominated actor. This was, in a word, bizarre. In three words, it was really fucking bizarre.

Like. Her best friend was a major celebrity. Her best friend was considered the most talented actor of his generation (not hers, though. She was a Zoomer). Her best friend had been called the most well-dressed man in the world. Her best friend was considered an international sex symbol. Her best friend had been nominated for ninety-four different awards during the course of his increasingly illustrious acting career, and had won thirty-nine (she'd checked Wikipedia at one point). Her best friend had made out with Saorise Ronan and Selena Gomez and Zendaya and Jennifer motherfucking Lawrence. He'd dated Madonna's daughter in high school—high school!—and then Johnny Depp's daughter and he acted like it wasn't even that big of a deal. Her best friend had a net worth of twenty million dollars and it was climbing fast, having outright doubled in the past few months alone.

And, oh yeah, minor detail, but she might also maybe possibly be in love with him.

Oh, alright. So she was totally head over heels crazy in love with him. Sue her. What was she supposed to do, not fall in love with the sweetest living being she'd met in her entire life who also just so happened to be intelligent and funny and talented and had the appearance of a Greek fucking god? Yeah, unlikely.

She'd never had romantic feelings for anyone before and had fully intended to keep it that way on account of her mother's less than stellar romantic example, but y'know. Whatever.

Not like anything was gonna happen anyway.

He had technically asked her on a date the second time they'd met (she'd tailored two suits for him, the second of which he'd requested her by name for), but things had since been strictly platonic. She figured that once he'd actually gotten to know her as a human being, he'd decided they were better as friends.