Steal (Seaside Pictures 3)

“You ready for this?” Will looked nervous. I side eyed him as we fell into step beside one another.

“The next scene?”

“Yeah.” He clipped.

“No,” I answered. “No, I’m not.”

He stopped walking. “This isn’t you anymore, just remember that.”

“Will Sutherland did you just say something nice?” I teased.

He barked out a rough laugh. “Maybe the sun’s getting to my head.”

We shared a smile.

I felt warm all over.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Too soon the moment broke and I was suddenly in front of the camera, supposedly wasted and throwing myself at Jaymeson, at his character, the same way I had a few years ago.

It was painful.

It was horrible.

I wanted to die.

And when they yelled “cut,” I ran off the set like a woman being chased by monsters. Except you can’t escape the monsters that live within.

I’d tried.

I’d failed.

SHE’D RUN OFF set. Taken an Uber back to the house. And hadn’t spoken to anyone all day.

I knew she was in her room because of the lack of door and suddenly felt like an even bigger ass because she couldn’t suffer in privacy.

And what made matters worse was I was thankful that she wasn’t locked in the bathroom because I couldn’t do it again, I couldn’t barge in on her and see her doing drugs.

“What the hell are you doing?” I roared while Ang stumbled toward me, slinking her dress up so she showed so much thigh I almost saw her underwear. “Ang! What are you doing?” She rubbed her eyes and shrugged, “I was tired, all right? So I snorted some coke, it’s no big deal, plus we can drink more.”

I steadied her on her feet. “Ang it is a big deal, drugs are a big deal, who gave you this shit?”

“Problem?” Andrew came up to the door, “The guys want to get the party started, looking good Ang.” I hated their relationship, loathed it actually.

She gave me a guilty look.

“Give us a minute, Andrew.”

He held up his hands.

“Ang, you can’t be doing this shit, you’re young, way too young to be throwing everything away just so you can have more shots, all right? Let’s just go home, you and me.”

“NO!” She jerked away, “I can’t! This is my life! My career! Sure everything is great for you Mr. One Billion views on YouTube, but not all of us are so lucky! My last movie tanked, thanks to you,” I flinched, mainly because most of my parts were cut they were so bad, “And now, I just… I need to be seen, all right? Andrew gets it why don’t you?”

Murderous rage seeped into my soul. “You talk to Andrew about this?”

“At least he’s around to listen to me!” she yelled. “What did you expect? When you send your bandmates to make sure I’m okay? It’s nice, but it’s not you, it’s like you don’t even have time for me anymore, for us.”

Frustrated, I gripped the side of the doorframe, “Ang, that’s not true, things are crazy now, yes, ask me to give it up.”

She balked.

“Seriously, I’ll walk right out that door right now. I’ll book us a flight wherever you want to go, but that means you give it up too, that means we start our life like I’ve been wanting to do for the past year, that means you agree to marry me that means everything changes.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly, you’re nineteen, you shouldn’t be in the bathroom doing drugs, thinking your career is over. It’s not over, Ang, it’s just beginning. But if this isn’t what you want, I can support—”

“God! There you go again! What if that’s not what I want? What if I want to support myself? What if I want what you have?”

Her eyes betrayed her. She’d never wanted fame. She’d been forced into it, so what kept her?

Fear flashed before she looked down.

And that’s when I saw the track marks on her arm.

And stumbled backward. My vision blurring. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is?”

She gasped and tugged the sleeve of her dress down.

“Ang,” I was ready to puke all over the floor. “Tell me. Now.”

She shoved past me.

And ran directly into his arms.

He grinned at me over her head and handed her a drink.

And I knew.

I knew what neither of them was telling me.

He’d fed her poison.

And because she had no identity outside of what she did.

She drank it.

And asked for more.

“Hey.” I knocked on the wall nearest where the door would be trying to shake the horrible memory from my mind. It was no use, because whenever I saw her, I remembered that choking fear that there was finally something I couldn’t save her from.

Herself.

Ang didn’t look at me, she was sitting on her bed cross-legged staring out the open window. “You okay?”

She blinked.

It was the only way I knew she was alive, breathing.

And because I was a bastard when I walked in and she still looked comatose, I ran my hands down her arms, looking for evidence that she’d relapsed.

She let me examine every inch of each arm.

No track marks. Thank God.

I searched her nightstand.

Nothing.

And when I faced her again, tears streamed down her face. She was still staring out at the ocean.

“Angelica.” I gripped her face. “Look at me. Do you need a doctor? Are you okay? Can you at least blink?”

She blinked, more tears fell, and then she was pulling away from me and running out of the room, out of the house. I chased after her, yelling her name.

She stumbled toward the beach, then detoured to the pool in the back of the house, she jumped in with all of her clothes on.

“Shit.” I chased. Was that all I’d ever do?

I dove in after her.

She was sitting on the bottom, holding her breath, her eyes stared me down, basically saying “Leave me alone.”

At least she was finally showing something other than an emotionless state.

I gripped her by the arm and pulled her to the surface.

“I’m not high!” she yelled. “But I wish I was!”

“Okay, okay.” I pushed her against the wall of the pool. “What’s going on? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“I’m not a child!” She shoved me. “I don’t need help! And I hate feeling this way, this sick twisted way about myself, nobody should feel that way about themselves! Nobody should be forced to face their demons in front of millions of judging people!” She splashed her hands against the water. “Why? Why did I say yes to this?”

“Money?” I offered cruelly. “You tell me?”

She shoved my chest, then pounded her fists against it over and over until she sank below the surface again only to come back up for air, more calm.

“Why did you take the job? Why did you come to me, Ang. The truth.” I asked, petrified of the answer almost as much as I was about her confession of wanting drugs to numb herself all over again.

“Because—” She sobbed. “When I started doing counseling, when I left rehab, I realized I had nobody, nothing. I had money. I didn’t really have a mother. I had my brother but he’d suddenly grown up, turned into this adult, and I was left behind, and all I kept thinking was where was I the happiest? When was I the happiest?”

She stopped talking and then turned to get out of the pool.

I grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her back. “And?”

“You were my friend before you were my everything,” she whispered. “And a part of me hoped that the Will Sutherland who used to sing me to sleep at night and chase the nightmares away still existed somewhere in that mature body of yours. A part of me believed the dream that the good ones, the really good ones, don’t change, they mature, they forgive, they move past the ugly even when it’s insurmountable. And maybe, a part of me, just needed a friend.”

I closed my eyes as every single thing I’d ever said to her, done to her, came crashing back down to earth, slamming me against the ground, stealing my breath.