T H E - A N T A G O N I S T (Joseph Descamps)

Chapter 1: Promiscuous

Click, click, click.

Cameras flash ruthlessly in my face, their white lights blinding me over and over again as I rush towards the car.

"Miss Taylor, Miss Taylor!"

The reporters scream at me in tandem, one even having the audacity to shove a large tape recorder near my mouth.

"Care to make a statement on your relationship with Andrew Manneti?"

"No I certainly do not!" I say before pushing the device -and man- away from me.

My mother scrambles to get the side of the Chevy Camaro open with all the lights and noise down our necks. She finally throws the passenger seat door open and nearly knocks my head on the roof of the car trying to squeeze me in.

"Dear god, give us some room!" She cries, running to the drivers side.

A man bumps her into the front headlight while trying to get a solid shot of my horrified face, shattering part of the encasing glass and tearing her fancy dress.

She finally shuts us both in and the engine revs to life, wheels spinning nearly a second later; The tires just barely missing the feet of several men pressed to our windows.

Speeding off towards our apartment in the Upper East side I catch one last look at the horde, and the hotel I'd just been dragged out of.

The Waldorf.

******

I sit in front of my pristine white vanity brushing my auburn hair over and over again. I checked the clock, my plan was to ensure I didn't arrive too early.

I was sure the first girls would certainly be bombarded from the excited flock of teenage boys, all acting as though they hadn't just passed the same woman a few blocks earlier and paid them no mind. Whilst America had since switched to Co-ed schools years ago, France was still toying with the idea. In an attempt to make my change from New York to this provincial village easier my mother had enrolled me in the only gender mixed school in the country. How thoughtful.

'What will it feel like to attend classes again?' It had been a few years since I had been in regular school. At least not consistently since my first real photoshoot at 12 years old, in all actuality I hadn't foreseen myself ever returning- especially here of all places.

"Mary, are you almost ready!" Mother screamed from down the stairs.

"Yes Mama, I'm just finishing up!"

I quickly put my hair back, letting my bangs fall in front of my face and the tips of my bow peak out from the back of my head.

Stealing once last look as I ran out towards the living space, it was perfectly evident my furniture was not suited to the old room. My soft silk bedspread laid on top of a creaky splintering frame and rock hard mattress. Even my poor white vanity stood out against the mustard coloured chipping paint. My mothers family home was certainly nothing to praise, but it had come without cost, unlike my previous decisions.

I snatched my canvas bag and books from the dining table, trying to bypass my mother.

"Ah ah ah." She stood in front of the door.

"There's no way you're leaving the house like that." she pulled on my cream skirt, scrunching her nose at the length.

"Maybe if I had more time to pack I would've had something more sensible." I pursed my lips.

"Yes Mary, but who's fault is that." She grabbed a blue cardigan from the coat rack and tucked my bangs behind my ears.

"Cover up, we don't need you causing another problem. Word travels far too fast here." She stepped out of my way and disappeared into the kitchen.