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I prefer just Jae Lynn.
There is only one label applied to me that I don't mind- Jason's Best Friend. Jason is The Former Boy Next Door, and My Personal Life Support. We have been best friends since as long as I can remember. Our parents used to forget about us all day as we played on the roof of one of our crumbling apartment buildings. We always liked his better because one of the residents, an older(more like ancient) woman, had been keeping a garden there since before our parents were born.
Jason is tall and has so-blue-they-are-black eyes. But about two years ago his mother died, something he always referred to as a major relief, and his aunt took him in.
His aunt lived on the good side of town. The part you could walk around the streets alone in. The part without trash and junkies everywhere you look, including your own home. The part of town where the smell of drugs and alcohol didn't hang in the air smotheringly. The side of town where a bright sunny day implies more than just the increased grumbling of all the hungover residents.
At first, this had been catastrophic. Jason, the one good thing about, well, anything and everything for me. Jason's absense was all I could notice the ensueing days. It was as if all the sunny parts of my daily world were stripped. I was left with nothing but dirty white walls and gray floors. It was only then that I noticed just how confined my world had been to Jason. I found myself in the loud lunchroom with empty seats on all sides.
I would ride on the L for a half hour to see Jason in his bright white house. We would talk, I would complain and he would tell me all about how clean his new school was, and how much more the teachers care.
But mostly he would talk about how much he loved walking in the park a few blocks from his house, at night. He told me it was majestic to look up and feel small as you look up at moon through the thick, healthy branches and leaves of the trees.
I remember the first time I risked getting home late to go with him once. It was everything he told me and more. So much better than the decrepit roof garden we used to play rainforrest in. We decided that night that one day one of us would own our own garden, even bigger and better than this one. It would be our own personal place of solace.
It only took about two weeks for Aunt Shelly to realize that she had taken in both of us. I found myself spending every moment I could in the solace of their home. The only thing that kept me from skipping school to be there all day was Jason's own new intrest in his classes and school. I myself could barely stand the seven long hours of torture before I could escape for the afternoon and forget about having to return to the poverty and grodiness.
I found myself pushing the return to my drunk, volitile father and passed out mother farther and father back every night. Life carried onlike this for years, until one night I got home a little too late.
11:34 pm, curbside
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Alex asked for at least the tenth time. Really, he was much too protective. It’s not like me being unaccompanied for ten minutes, in the middle of this huge crowd no less, was a very dangerous thing.
“I am absolutely sure. And if you don’t get me a drink right now, you are sleeping on the couch tonight.” I may have been a little short with him, but somebody had to wait on the valet, and I needed the fresh air.
He still looked reluctant, but kissed me on the cheek before turning around and joining Alice and Harrison on their way into the nearest restaurant that had a bar. It was right next to the opera house that we had just been in.
We had met some of our sponsors to see “The Phantom of the Opera”. I had seen it at least five times under similar circumstances. I swear, the hours I spend getting ready for these things are more interesting than the events themselves. But my agent, Claire Duncan, insists I go to them. I guess I can see their importance, but why can’t they be somewhere a little more interesting. I mean, what do these people think an eighteen year old model wants to do with her time? I’ll tell you this; it’s not watching stuffy, old operas over and over again. Especially not while trying to make sure they see how great my body is under my black, custom made, and backless dress.
At least it’s over now, I thought to myself while crossing my arms. I am now sporting a practical, yet tasteful, red coat. It did its job of keeping my warm along with my black scarf and leather gloves. I also had on my cute, little red beret, but that was just because I liked it I looked like a queen. Now that I think about it, I am the New York Royal. I laughed to myself.
I looked around me, but there was nothing unusual. It looked exactly like New York City always looks after any big show finishes: crowded and noisy. There was the occasional group of people who had stopped to stare at me and whisper. You know the way you can always seem to hear your name being spoken; even above all the other noise that could be surrounding you? Well, I kept hearing people saying to each other, “Isn’t that Catherenta Lankford?” it kind of got annoying after a while, especially when I didn’t have anyone to talk to, or keep me distracted otherwise. Plus I hated being called Catherenta, damn my parents and their stupid traditional names.
I felt a tentative tug on my left sleeve and jumped about ten feet in the air. Or somewhere close to that. But when I looked around, I didn’t see anyone, at least not until I looked down. There was a very cute little girl in white tights and a frilly maroon coat looking up at me with huge eyes. Her curly head of brown hair was partially covered by her-how cute(!)-maroon beret.
She held a little notebook and pen in her hand. She had obviously drawn in it while her parents enjoyed the show. “W-would you mind, s-s-signing this f-f-f-for me? M-my sister has your posters all over her room. Sh-sh-she always says she w-wants to b-b-be just like you one day.” Normally I wouldn’t autograph for anyone who asks, but have you ever tried to refuse a cutie like the one that was in front of me now? I didn’t think so. Let me tell you, it can’t be done.
“Sure sweetie, who should I sign it to?” I flashed her a quick smile over the notebook. The same smile that had earned me over a fifteen million dollars before I hit twenty.
She managed to look ecstatic and say, “Macy” before who I could only assume to be her sister, Macy, walked over and grabbed her little sister’s arm.
“You can’t run off like that Laura!” Macy scolded, “Where is your notebook? The car is here!” The teen was kneeling in front of her sister now. She obviously didn’t care enough about her long, blue Chanel )hey its my job to know) dress, because she was getting it wrinkled and wet by kneeling like that.
The little girl looked stricken at her sister’s harshness, but pointed up at me to answer her question. Macy turned looked up at me. She stood up so fast that her dress spun around her in a big, blue blur. “Ohmygod!” she squealed. Then she composed herself and tried to look mature, “You are Catherenta Lankford.” Not a question, a statement. “I’m sorry that my sister was bugging you, she’s only seven.”
I bent down and gave the now signed notebook back to Laura. I smiled and spoke again, “Here you go, make her pay you for it later. There is a business card in there for your parents, ask them to call sometime tomorrow.” I straightened up and extended my hand to the older sister, “It’s Catlyn, and it’s nice to meet you, but your car is waiting, so I would get going if I were you.”
She shook my hand with obvious reverence before Laura tugged her to the curb where a hummer-limo waited. I had given Laura my agent’s card; she had some real promise if she was willing to grow up as a child model. I turned toward the street again and started wandering around the sidewalk to keep my legs warm. Then I saw Alice and Harrison’s limo waiting. I texted them and waved as they hurried into the open doors. They were going to a party for one of their own sponsors while Alex and I were heading straight to our penthouse. He should be here by now. What was keeping him at the bar anyway? I kept moving. Alex would easily be able to spot me in my cherry red coat and beret.
I was deep in thought the second time my arm was grabbed that night. But this was much different. This hand was big, strong, and not in the least bit timid. It pulled me backwards. I tripped and in my struggle to regain balance, I heard the crack of my left Prada heel breaking off.
“Damn it!” I tried to yell but my attacker put his free hand over my mouth and continued to drag me backward. I kicked and tried to bite his hand unsuccessfully. My beret fell off a second before the city lights were dimmed almost to nonexistence. The noise, however, remained as loud as ever. I was now in some sort of alley.
My body continued to flail and attempt to gain footing as my attacker ceased his efforts to pull me back. I threw my elbow hard into his gut and he threw me down, hard, to the pavement. My head smacked against the pavement and I heard something give a sickening crunch. What was it? It wasn’t my head (though it was bleeding profusely), my arm? Yes, that was it. Plus, judging by the way my side ached, a couple of ribs had gone out too. Everything was fuzzy after that.
The blood was running into my eyes now. I couldn’t see. I tried to move but found it too excruciating. Something that felt like a foot connected with my hurt side. My body flopped over and hit something hard. A dumpster?
Weight on my back. Sharp pain all over my back. I try to move, no more success than before. More horrible pain in my back. The weight is gone. Shuffling sounds.
Silence except for the regular city sounds and my labored breathing.
I don’t know how long I laid there. It could have been an hour or a second. The pain seemed to pull my eyelids shut. It urged me to give in, to let go, to let the pain dissolve into a void that was nothing and everything. I was only just barely able to hold on. I was literally holding onto dear life.
Somewhere in the darkness that had enveloped me, I heard my voice being spoken. This time it wasn’t in the voice of a random person confirming that they had just been star struck. This time it was a familiar voice, Alex’s. But it was marred by an agony and shock that hurt me to hear. Great, more pain, just what I needed. What could be so bad that he would react that way?
Oh yea, me.
I could feel myself being turned over and my back screamed in anguish. Why had this happened to me? What had I done to deserve this? A frantic voice called my name. It kept me from escaping to the empty void of oblivion that tugged on me from all directions. A person who I could only assume to be Alex pulled off my coat. Every movement caused a fresh and increasingly agonizing wave of pain. I tried to say something to comfort him, but I could barley manage to twitch my upper lip. More pain.
More sounds, Alex yelling at someone who was not me. It was all an incomprehensible jumble.
It seemed like forever before anything new happened. More voices joined Alex’s. Lots of murmuring built up, only pierced by the occasional horrified scream.
With every passing second, my strength and will to fight the nothingness ebbed a little bit more.
Finally there was another sound, sirens? I felt pressure on my back. Lots of hands lifting me, to where I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter anymore.
People were talking and asking questions. Some were directed at me. Once again, I could barely move my lips.
Then something pierced my arm, and I was pushed into the chasm of terrible beauty that I had worked so hard to fight off.
I knew no more.