When Kevin called a few minutes later, I answered the phone, relieved at the distraction. “I’m sorry,” I said simply, because there was just nothing else to say. “I’ve hurt Cooper and Dickson, and I—”
Kevin hushed me, speaking in a gentle voice he’d only used on me a few times before. “We’re going to do damage control,” he said. “We’re getting the studio and your publicist and Tyler’s—”
I shook my head, hugging myself tighter. “There’s no damage control for this.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “There’s always damage control,” he said.
“I’m not doing this anymore.”
“You’ve got to.”
“I’m not,” I said. “Let them talk. Let them say whatever. It’s the truth.”
Kevin missed a beat and then he groaned. “I’m not going to let you do that, Willow.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’ll call you soon,” I promised before dropping the call.
I grabbed the bag Jessica had left, slid it into my pocket and walked down the hall to my bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, gripping my MacBook so hard it was bound to break. My fingers felt numb as I went to Leah’s website and clicked the contact link. Leah’s grinning caricature stared up at me, and I glared at it as I started my message.
August 17
My name is Willow Avery.
Yes, that Willow Avery—that actress. The one who went off the deep end three years ago. The one whose face is plastered all over the tabloids this morning. They don't give a shit if there's more to me than meets the eye, that there's so much more to my fall from grace, even if nobody—other than my parents and agent—knows what that is. Well, at least nobody knew until a few hours ago.
And the thing is I’ve always cared about what everyone thought of me, even when it seemed like I didn’t. No matter how hard it hurt, and no matter what I had to give up, there was this sick part of me that wanted approval. That still desperately craves it. It’s just that now, I’m not sure if I mind that everyone knows the truth about me. Now, there's this guy and he's not waiting for me to screw up. He doesn’t care that I have screwed up . . .
I typed until I couldn’t see anymore and when I hit send, I pushed my laptop aside. Then I rushed to the bathroom to vomit up the remnants of the vodka I’d drunk the night before.
***
Cooper found me there an hour later, with my eyes closed and drying tears burning the corners and making the sides of my face feel as if it was cracking into a million pieces.
Just like the girl herself, I thought.
I heard him stumble across the room and felt his body sink down next to me on the cold tile. His heart sounded like it was in his throat as he said over and over, “Wills. Willow. Wills.”
“I’m not high,” I whispered in a voice rubbed completely raw from the crying. He sighed, falling back hard against something. My eyelashes were sticky as I pulled them apart to squint over at him. He was by the tub, his expression tight as he worked his fingers against his temples. “But I wanted to be,” I said.
“But you’re not,” he told me, cupping my face between his hands. He kissed me hard and desperately. “You’re alright.”
I cried out and he pulled back. “Cooper, I’m f**ked up.”
“Jessica screwed you over. Just because you wanted to—”
I pushed him away from me, scooted back to the wall and hugged my knees. For a long time, our breathing was the only sound in the bathroom. “Wills?” he whispered at last, hesitantly.
I dug into my pocket, pulling the bag of Roxies out and tossing them across to him. “My birthday present.”
He looked at the bag like it would rot his hand off if he touched it before he dragged his hands over his face. “Rick?”
It took me a moment to figure out who he was talking about and then I realized it was Eric’s dad, the pill-dealer. I shook my head. “I’ve never even met the guy. Jessica brought those for me last night as a belated birthday gift and left them.”
He clenched his hands, his features, but he didn’t ask me about Jessica, he simply said, “What do we do now?”
“I wrote an email to Leah’s blog a little while ago.” When he groaned and started to say something, I shook my head fiercely, cutting him off. “They’ve already put out everything that could hurt me. Everything that could hurt you and your da—Dickson. What else can they do besides mock my grammar?”
“Wills . . .”
When I cut him off again, I looked away so I wouldn’t have to see his face when I asked him my question. “If I go away—if I go to be fixed—will you still be here?”
He was quiet for a long time, and I knew it was over. That he was going to rip me apart like Tyler, but wouldn’t leave a single bit of me to salvage. I wouldn’t cry. I’d already wept so much that even if Cooper told me to f**k off, I didn’t think it was possible for me to shed another tear. I would not cry. I would not.
And suddenly, he was coming over to me, wrapping his arms around me, and burying his face into my hair.
“Don’t ever doubt me again, Willow. The whole time you’ve been here I’ve told you two things until I was blue in the face—that I’ll look after you and that I’m not wishy-washy. If you’ve got to go fix yourself, nothing I feel for you changes. I won’t stop loving you.”
I was wrong. There were still tears left in me.
Dickson sent a car, and an extra bodyguard, half an hour later and we met him at a secluded beach house he said belonged to a friend. The three of us were tense, as we talked about what would happen next. When my producer assured me that he had enough footage of me to make the movie work, my head popped up.