“Pick one. I’ll have it on every news site, blog, and magazine by noon.”
It was like déjà vu.
But this time, I was not a kid, and I wasn’t going to let Esther fucking London destroy me again.
Amelia
The moment he closed the door, I opened my eyes. He left. I wasn’t hurt because I expected it.
But where in the hell would he be going so early in the morning? Shifting to my side, I saw the note he left on table beside me. Three sentences.
It’s complicated.
I wanted to stay, but something came up.
I’m sorry.
-Noah
Chapter Nine
Amelia
If anyone were to call me an idiot, I wouldn’t disagree with them. Growing up, people always said I was a good role model for young girls, but I wasn’t. Not then and not now. I wish I could explain, but I couldn’t. I loved him to the point of idiocy. Someone could set this hotel on fire, and if he told me to wait here for him, I would. It wasn’t healthy to be so attached to one person. It was one thing to tell yourself that and another thing to actively cut the person you loved from your life.
Why did I love him? He was a playboy. He never kept his promises. He made me cry way too many times. The list could go on. And when I thought about it, I felt so angry and hurt I wanted to kill him. I wanted to scream!
But then I remembered first meeting him when I was nine. He was shy and never made eye contact. He would deliver his lines perfectly and then disappear. Then one morning, when I tried to run away from the set—though in reality just hid in the supply closet—he found me. He marched in with a bag of food he stole from the snack table, and we played Connect Four and Candy Land until someone found us. I thought of how, for my thirteenth birthday, he snuck into my trailer to give me a giant cupcake cake before my mom found out. And the first time he kissed me, ten minutes before we were supposed to have a scene together, he said, “I didn’t want our first kiss to be because of the movie.”
All of my best memories were of him…of us.
So I sat in his living room, dressed only in his shirt, and waited. He missed call time, the whole shoot today, and so did I. Ollie had called me at least three dozen times, but I didn’t particularly need him to tell me everything I already knew.
9:47 pm .
That’s when he stumbled in, drunk on his feet.
His clothes ripped, a cut under his lips, a purple bruise on his left eye.
“Austin?” He held onto the table by the door. “Austin!”
“He left hours ago.”
His head immediately turned to find me. He tried to stand up straighter, but only succeeded in stumbling back again.
“You’re still here.” He snickered, unable to look me in the eye. He ran his hands through his hair. “You really can’t take a hint can you, Amelia?”
“Maybe you should be clearer with your hints.”
“I wasn’t here when you woke up. I didn’t come back—”
“’It’s complicated. I wanted to stay but something came up. I’m sorry. Noah.’” I recited his note from this morning. “See how I get mixed signals?”
“I can’t do this right now—”
“Fine. I can wait.”
“Goddamn, Amelia!” He hollered. “Just go! We didn’t work before! We won’t work now! We. Do. Not. Work! We are defective. I’m defective.”
Getting up, I stepped in front of him.
“What happened today?” I asked.
He didn’t answer, just looked away.
Holding the sides of his face, I forced him to look me in the eye. “I finally finished Sinners Like Us, and I now understand why the hell people admire Damon and Blair so much despite the fact that are absolutely crazy. It’s because their love for each other is unimaginable, illogical, impossible, and fucking beautiful. She’ll chase him to the ends of the earth, and he’ll protect her with his last breath. They are obsessed with each other, just like I’m obsessed with you. And even though we hadn’t seen each other in years, I’d still like to think I know you better than anyone else. No. I do know you better than anyone else. You are a good person. So what happened today, Noah?”
His face clenched, and for the second time, I watched him cry. He wrapped his arms around me and sobbed.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t know how long he apologized or how long we sat there before he finally explained.
“Did you ever wonder why we got so many roles when we younger?” he whispered, taking a deep breath. “I always thought it was because we were amazing. Everyone said it so often that I never thought to question it. Everything I did was praised. I got to do what I loved, got to provide for my family, and on top of that, I got you. But it was just you who was amazing back then. So when it got harder, it wasn’t as easy. But I didn’t care. At least I still had you. But my father cared. Our schedules kept us apart back then, so you sent me pictures of you one day. My father found them. He went to your mother to blackmail her for money. She was willing to pay under two conditions: first, we break up, and second, he made sure you got parts the same way I used to—by blackmail or by threatening other parents and their kids. After all, my father was part of one of the most notorious biker gangs back then. It was easy. Remember Skylar DeGray?”
“No, you’re not saying … She … she... ”
“She died in a car accident. But it wasn’t an accident. She was a rising star. Everyone wanted her instead of you, and your mom hated her. It took one phone call, and I remember seeing it all over the news the next morning. I didn’t think it was real at first. I couldn’t believe they really did it. I wanted to tell someone—anyone. But they said I was a co-conspirator, and since I had just turned eighteen, I’d be just as guilty as them. But I didn’t care. I still had to tell someone, and then they told me what would happen to you. No one would believe you didn’t know, and even if they did, you’d be branded for life. Amelia London, daughter of Esther the murder, girlfriend to a boy who just watched it happen. I didn’t know what to do! I still don’t know what to do!”
“I can’t breathe.” My hand shook as I thought of all the “lucky” breaks I had. All the times… Oh my god. Oh my god.
“Amelia.” He grabbed me. It was only then that I realized how badly I was shaking. “No matter what, you can’t repeat this to anyone, because my father will kill you.”
And my mother would let him if it meant saving herself.
The fact that I knew that already terrified me.
We were the children of murderers.
About the Author
J.J. McAvoy was born in Montreal, Canada and is currently studying Humanities at Carleton University. She is the oldest of three and has loved writing for years. She is inspired by everything from Shakespearean tragedies to Pop Culture. Her first novel, Ruthless People, was a runaway bestseller.
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