You Were My Because

Charlotte

"Every Reason Why, starring Loren Jones and Amelia English. Out in theaters Friday, September 2nd. Don't miss this action-packed Sequel to –"

The camera turns to a tall man, handsome and tan, with curly black hair and glowing blue eyes, his smile shining through the dingy television. Loren Jones. His face is on nearly 30 movie posters and his movies are usually sold out as soon as they're released. He portrays the perfect life, bringing his wife of nearly 25 years to every interview and movie premier, his perfect and bright smile lighting up his handsome face with every grin, and his personality's nothing but welcoming and kind. He portrays a picture-perfect life and yet no one knows anything about his real life, away from the cameras. A large mansion on the outskirts of Hollywood, a large unfriendly home that houses just him and his wife now. His wife birthed two kids, nearly 20 years ago, but he doesn't talk about them. He hasn't talked about them in years, ever since the accident. The accident that took his son and my twin brother.

"Dylan," my voice fades off into the distance and I feel my body collapse onto the stiff sofa. The cushion sinks down beside me, and I feel my head lull to the side, catching sight of my boyfriend's face. His eyes are bright red, and his pupils are dangerously dilated. The remote falls from my fingertips, my father's face on the television blurring as I try to focus on Dylan. "Where is...uh...where did you put..." I clear my throat, "where's the rest of it?" I try to point at the broken coffee table in front of us but none of my muscles move.

I met Dylan right after I graduated from high school. He was different than all the other kids at school; he never cared who my family was or how rich we were. He was older than me and he promised to show me what life was like away from the cameras. He was exciting, new, and someone who didn't want to impress my father, which instantly impressed me. He took me away from Hollywood and away from my parents that only cared about their image and not their family falling apart. He brought me to New York, and I was finally happy. Or at least, I thought I was.

"What the fuck you talking 'bout, Caroline?" He slurs, bringing his beer bottle up to his lips. I watch through half-lidded eyes as he drowns the rest of his beer before he tosses it off to the side, the glass bouncing off the stained carpet. Again, I try to point at the coffee table, but my damn arm won't lift off the sofa.

"The coke, Dylan." I whine, my voice still very horse from yelling at him earlier. "And its Charlotte." Dylan's body goes stiff from anger, and I feel mine stiffen as well, but from fear.

"I already told you that I put it away. God damn it, Charlotte, I packed it for my trip! We've talked about this! It's only for two months." His voice jumps up to yelling and I feel myself flinch back, ready for the strike. I look back up at him as he stands; my body sprawled out on the cushions. I'm already too far gone but it isn't enough. It's never enough. I feel myself shrink further into the cushion as he stands above me.

"Just once more," I quiver, "please. I-I just need one more and...and then I-I won't mention it again. Please. I-I promise." My voice trembles and I feel the room sway in front of me. Then I feel his hand circle around my left bicep, and he flings me at the glass coffee table. Miraculously, I brace my fall and only my right hand is cut open against the harsh, broken glass. I'm not exactly sure how much time passes before there is a line of white powder in front of me and Dylan is back behind me. My eyes stay glued to it as Dylan hands me a rolled dollar bill. I do it in one go and then I lay back, my back leaning on the couch and my head lulled to the side on the cushion. I wipe my nose with the back of my shaking, bloodied hand, and I feel my eyelids fall slowly over my pulsing eyes. "Have fun performing with your band." I murmur. I can't concentrate on anything but Dylan standing up and pulling a duffle bag over his shoulder. I watch through my blurred gaze as he shuffles out of our apartment door and toward the stairwell. And that was the last time I saw Dylan Hendrix.

I knew from then on, that life was either going to get better, or so much worse.