Head in the clouds.

Chapter One.

When I was younger I could never stop myself from staring up at the clouds and drifting away with my imagination. When I was six my imaginings involved talking dogs and the occasional magical rainbow unicorn, when I was twelve it revolved around the cutest boy in my year and a situations you would only ever find in a cheesy romantic-comedy, when I was sixteen the situations usually stayed consistent but it was girls that I was madly intoxicated by, not boys. At the age of eighteen I was told that I was too old for imagining and that I needed to see the world as it actually was, but it turned out that the world was a miserable, empty place where nothing ever happened as I planned so I kept my dreams alive within my mind.  I was called ignorant and stupid until the age of twenty when my first book was published and quickly became a best seller. Unfortunately even when drifting into a different world is your job you can never avoid the mind-numbing boring tasks of everyday life that really ground you to reality.  

My life was permanently altered the day of the most comma-inducing task I had ever experienced. I sat reclined in a chair that probably cost more than my first car. My publicist and the head of the book company I currently hold a contract with (I can never remember his name) are both sitting opposite me at the other end of a long glass table as we leaf through a one-hundred and twenty page contract we had agreed upon a year ago when they saw potential in me as a budding, enthusiastic writer. Now when they look into my eyes the spark they glimpsed not long ago is dead, probably as a result of excessive partying, substance abuse and the quite literal assumption of mine that I could not possibly belong in a world this remarkable un-eventful and void of constant happiness. I had been here for fucking ages, five hours at least, all they needed now was one last signature and my contract would be renewed for another two years, provided that I materialise enough work to keep them satisfied and their pockets plump with cash.   The pen I'd been chewing for a good two hours was reluctant to work as I half-heartedly dragged it across the dotted line, selling my soul to these two faced, manipulative people. Then that was it I was a free to go knowing full well tomorrow morning I would be awoken un-humanly early to do one thing or another because it states it within my shitty contract. I sighed heavily as when I reached the bottom floor of the building I was blinded by the un-yielding Californian sun and the countless Paparazzi cameras, I honestly couldn't wait to get back home to London where at least the sun was never really a concern. My body guard James was waiting for me relaxed in a tub chair which looked ridiculously undersized for a man that muscly. I couldn't help but laugh as he pushed himself up, took my elbow and guided my through the sea of people to my car, like an angel guiding me to heaven. I had never minded the lack of privacy or the fact that everything I did was put under the microscope, but what really pissed me off was when the Paparazzi try and get a rise out of you by shouting the most disgusting and insulting of things. Today though they must have seen the look on my face because the only thing they cared to shout was my name.

"Jess!" They screamed. "Miss Hunter, please over here!" I ducked my head and powered through eventually making it safely to the back seat of my car. As soon as I entered, the car jolted to life and my driver Walter sped towards my apartment, he always knew exactly where I wanted to be. I got home in record time and as I exited the car I thanked Walter and hugged James as he shut the car door behind me. I ascended my apartment building in the lift smiling ecstatically when I reached the top and could see my door. Nothing made me happier than being in a place that's my own. I unlocked the door with minor difficulty and practically sprinted to my bed where I flopped down front first like a star fish. I stayed like that for about half an hour until I felt the over whelming urge to get wasted, so I shuffled to my rucksack, fished out my phone and dialled everyone I knew (excluding of course my family members) everyone I rang sounded up for it as I informed them they could bring anyone they wanted to, the more the merrier.  By the time I was done I had one hour to hide my breakable and/or steal-able valuables and run out to get as much booze as I could humanly carry in both of my hands and a duffle bag, luckily they didn't even ID me which made the process a whole lot quicker.

 By 11.30pm my place was packed with people drinking, laughing and having a good time. Invisible within the crowds of people I felt comfortable to let lose. Throughout the night it became increasingly worrying that I didn't know who most of the people where because they were friends of friends or cousins or girlfriends/boyfriends, but I found that I more intoxicated I got the less I cared, as long as everybody was enjoying themselves what did it matter? I spent the first half of the night talking to strangers and getting to know their stories, which Is another hobby of mine, but by the end of the night I mostly stuck to my two best friends Amy and Ryan, playing the simplest of games a drunk person can play such as who can do the most shots or who can drink the most beer upside down.  By 2.00am the party was still going strong even though most of my guests were either past out on the floor, outside in the street or throwing up. I was spread across my sofa with my head resting on Amy's thighs and my legs draped across Ryan chest. Ryan had passed out an hour ago so we propped him up on the couch making sure he didn't choke on his own dribble and now it was just me and Amy watching people dance and drink, I sang along to songs as she stroked my hair and tapped the rhythm out with two straws connected by a loop some girl had made with her tong earlier on, I was very impressed. I could feel my eye lids drooping and my body going numb as I sunk deeper and deeper into a drunken state of half conscience, half unconscious. Just as I was about to close my eyes fully a group of girls I had never seen before paraded into my apartment, my drunk brain was convinced I was being robbed and that I should jump up and slap the bitches down, but the still sober part of my brain, as small as it was told me they were here to party so I let them be. I sat up so that I could get a better look of who was in the group and instantly felt light headed but I endured until fully upright and composed. My blurred vision really wasn't helping but from what I could tell the girls were all very tall, however one was shorter than the others. They all grabbed their choice of poison from the island in my kitchen and moved to the centre of the room, where they started dancing to the music amongst the people that were still left standing despite their drunken haze.

I looked at each of the girls individually as my blurred vision made them all melt together when looked upon collectively.my eyes drifted over them, none of them catching my interest, I mean they were all beautiful probably models but none of them were very striking. That was until my eyes fell on the shortest of the group, and by short I mean probably 5.7 which for a model I guess is short. She was wearing tight black skinny jeans that hugged her long legs perfectly, a white pocket t-shirt that flowed sexily over her small frame, she had a black leather jacket hung casually over her left shoulder and to top it all off (literally) she wore plain red beanie. Her style was street casual but on her it was effortlessly beautiful and elegant. As I focused on her face I immediately saw her striking round eyes wide and crystal blue like the ocean of a tropical island. Her big eyebrows were perfectly shaped framing her face and emphasising her angular cheekbones and as I gazed at her I couldn't pull my eyes away, even when she looked dead at me. In that moment I really wished someone was sober enough to engage me in conversation or if there not sober even throw up so I could distract myself. Instead I turned up one side of the corner of my mouth into a half smirk, half smile and instead of scowling or flipping me off, she smiled back with a sexy mischievous grin that made my legs shake and my breath hitch in my throat. At that moment Amy sat up quickly moaned and then smacked me unnecessarily hard on the arm.

"Holy shit!" She whispered. "That's Cara Delevingne! I can't believe she's at your party!" and then Amy passed out probably content with that fact that she was sleeping in the same room as a super model/actress/singer. I looked over again and she was still looking my way I smiled wider this time un-voluntarily as the small still sober part of my brain ensured me it was going to be an interesting night.