Going places we can't even pronounce

Chapter 1

Sweat is running down my neck, down my back and even though the gym is filled with air-conditioning, it feels like hell in here. But giving up isn't an option. Giving up would only result in endless talks with my managers, them asking me about my mental health as if any of this had something to do with me being mentally unstable. As if giving up in boxing class would give them the right to judge my strength, to judge my abilities. But searching for my weaknesses, searching for my boundaries, that's exactly what they are best at. It doesn't occur to them that despite their sick opinion, I'm not just a machine in their game of wealth and success. Well, enough of thinking about the people controlling every step I take, focussing on not passing out is way more important right now. As I recall, I've passed out 6 times during the last year of taking boxing classes every Wednesday and Sunday. My trainer has probably never heard of the word "pause" or even the word "leniency". He used to be a pro boxer, beating everyone and everything that came into his way. Instead of resting after the bad accident that ended him in a wheelchair and retiring from his passion, he decided to make it his obligation to get celebrities and other people who are willing to pay the insane prices for his classes to their breaking points. In my case, I'm "lucky" enough for not having to pay for this punishment, dog pound, the gym I'm training in lets me be here for free due to a promotion I made for them. "Alright, that should be it for today!" my trainer thankfully shouts at from the other side of the room where he's teaching Stella Maxwell all about the right position while doing a spiderman plank. Exhaustion floods through my whole body as I leave the punching bag area and get rid of my boxing gloves. When I finally reach him, my trainer doesn't look happy at all, "Leni", he groans, "your left uppercut still hasn't improved one bit. How are you supposed to fight in the streets if you keep punching like a girl who doesn't want to demolish her nails, huh?"- "Oggy", Stella interrupts as I'm about to open my mouth and defend myself "Haven't we told you like three thousand times that having a whole crew of bodyguard following us everywhere we go doesn't really require punching skills like the ones you have?" she lets out a small laugh, causing Oggy's lineaments to get a little softer "We do understand that you only want the best for us, but please don't forget that we're not training for a fight against Muhammad Ali, we're preparing for a fucking fashion show" "Fashion show, fashion show" her vis-à-vis answers with a slight grin "that shit sound so dumb coming out of the mouths of two ladies who could easily be trained for the world championships of boxing and not to be wasted on running up and down wearing ugly clothes no normal person would actually consider buying. Jesus Christ, sometimes I really wonder who made the mistake of giving you the wrong brains. Anyways, I gotta go, really don't wanna let my next victim wait" He gives both of us a rush hug, wet bodies sticking on each other for a split second. Then he rolls towards the exit, mumbling something about models, stupid diets and for some reason James Corden's foot fetish. Stella and I let out a small laugh as the only 5,5-foot tall man has left the room. "I wonder how he will react to us telling him his daughter actually asked us to bring her along to a casting." I grin "God, I totally forgot about that", Stella says "Hopefully the show is already gonna be over until then and we can reduce the hours we have to be here. I really can't wait to do something other than working out, having to talk about my third look over and over again and to be let alone with all those rumors of who's gonna be the musician that opens the show. Apropos musicians, are you gonna be at the AMA's tonight?" "For sure" I answer "My management wants me to hand over the prize for best artist of the year, I've had nightmares about tripping and smashing the trophy. When are you planning on going? Maybe we can meet up, I heard Jo and Elsa are also gonna attend!" "I actually don't know when my pick up time is going to be, I'll just text you." she tells me while I begin to pack up my bag "Ok great, I'm looking forward to seeing you later! Bye!" I give her a hug and walk towards the huge glass door of the building, I can see my driver waiting for me outside. When the doors swing open, It's like I enter a whole new world. Paparazzi are screaming, directing their cameras at my red, sweaty face, passersby are stopping to get a better look at who's causing all this chaos. I greet my bodyguard who takes my arm just as I've stepped foot on the street, trying to get me through the mass of people. I manage to make a few fans smile by putting my face next to their's for a selfie or by simply greeting them. I can hear a young girl crying, screaming my name, but there's nothing I can do as I'm being dragged into the van. I let down the car window, dozens of hands try to grab me or to hand me a pen for an autograph. I take one and make an attempt of writing my name on as many t-shirts, pieces of paper or arms as possible, but I'm being stopped by Rob, my chauffeur, who wants to get going. I say a few "I love you"'s back before I send a last smile to the people outside, putting a lot of love and thankfulness in it before I finally close the window and relax a bit under the quieter atmosphere. Rob starts the car and manages to drive without getting anyone in danger. That's something I fear most, hitting a fan with the big van I'm currently sitting in. I've heard enough horror stories to be concerned about someone getting hurt because of my position as a so-called celebrity, therefore I always feel a huge relief after a situation like the one I've just found myself in. "Young lady, you look as if you've just completed a marathon, do you want me to stop at a café to get you something cold to drink?" my driver asks me with a big smile. He's always super worried about my well-being and I feel like I've won the lottery of drivers. It would not be possible to find someone as calm, sweet and caring as Rob. "Thanks for asking, but I think I will make it to my apartment without dehydrating. How's Margaret and the kids? And how's the little Bobby, how does he like being in elementary school? I wanna know all about his first days!" I exclaim excitedly. For the next 20 minutes, Rob gives me a check up on his entire family, speaking with such enthusiasm that it automatically makes my day a little better. Stopping in front of my apartment, I wish him a good day, thank him for the ride and express my greeting to all his family members, especially to his niece who always gets super excited whenever she sees me at Rob's birthday parties. It takes me an eternity to find my keys in the chaos of my bag. When I finally get ahold of them, I open the door, take off my shoes and lie on my couch. I can't imagine walking in heels the entire evening, my feet already hurt like hell. I spend the rest of the morning showering, eating stuff my diet manager would probably kill me for but honestly, I don't give a shit about what he thinks I should eat. Afterward, I get on the phone with the bodyguard that led me to the car after my gym session and took another car to meet up with the rest of my security team to allot the duties for this evening. He explains to me the entire procedure from where I have to sit in the car to who's gonna supplement the team in order to keep me as safe as possible. I don't really like the fact that I have 6 bodyguards only caring for how I feel and for my safety. I haven't quite understood why it was necessary to have so many people direct their lives around my needs, my appointments and my life in general. But once you get into the whole celebrity thing, there's no going back. Going back would mean letting down thousands, millions of people and even though that sounds super dramatic, it simply is the bitter reality.