Perfection (Scarlett Johansson )

Chapter Two

Lia's pov:

I'm barely aware of what's happening when the woman helps me to my feet, the world still spinning violently beneath me.
Her hand is warm, firm, and I cling to it like a lifeline, my knees wobbling beneath me. My breath is shaky, shallow, but I let her guide me, too weak and disoriented to resist.

"Let's get you inside,"
she says softly, her voice cutting through the haze in my head.

I manage a nod, though it feels like the weight of the world is pressing down on me.
My chest tightens as I stumble beside her, my legs feeling like they might give out any second.

The alcohol and whatever else I took is still swirling in my veins, and I can't focus on anything except the sensation of putting one foot in front of the other.

We move down the dark street, the cool air biting at my skin, but it doesn't really register.
My mind is a mess, fragments of thoughts and emotions flashing in and out, too fast to hold onto.
I don't know where my phone is.
Probably left it at the party.
It doesn't matter right now.

We reach a house at the end of the dead end, its windows dark except for the faint glow of a single light inside.

I don't even notice when we walk through the front door.
It's only when the warmth hits me, the soft glow of the living room wrapping around me, that I realize I'm standing in someone's home.

She's leading me through the hallway, and I catch a glimpse of photos on the wall-family portraits, two kids, a little boy and a girl.

There's a man standing in the doorway, watching us with concern, his arms crossed over his chest.
His eyes flicker to me, then back to the woman, his brow furrowing as he takes in the situation.

"Everything okay?" he asks, his voice low, careful.

I blink, and it takes a second for his face to come into focus.

I feel like I've seen him before-on TV, in movies.
My head is spinning too much to make sense of it.

The woman, still holding me steady, nods at him.
"I found her outside. She's... not in a good place."

I try to focus on her face.

That's when it hits me.
I know her.
My heart skips a beat as I realize I'm standing in front of Scarlett Johansson.
Her blonde hair is pulled back loosely, her face free of makeup but still unmistakable.

It's surreal, like I've fallen into some strange, twisted dream.
Her husband-Colin Jost, I realize, piecing it together-stands a few feet away, watching us carefully.

I'm in Scarlett Johansson's house.

But the shock doesn't stick, not really.
I'm too far gone to feel anything other than the overwhelming urge to sit down, to stop my body from swaying.

My legs buckle, and Scarlett-Scarlett Johansson-tightens her grip on me, guiding me toward a couch in the living room.

"Easy," she says gently, lowering me onto the cushions.
"Just sit for a second, okay? You're safe now."

The warmth of the couch seeps into my bones, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
My head falls back, my eyes fluttering shut for a moment, the room still spinning behind my eyelids.

I can hear Colin moving around, his footsteps soft as he talks to Scarlett in hushed tones, but I can't make out the words.
My body feels heavy, my mind sluggish.

"Do you want some water?" Scarlett asks, crouching down in front of me, her voice calm and soothing.

I manage to nod, but my throat feels dry, too tight to speak.
She disappears for a moment, and I hear the sound of the kitchen faucet running. I glance around the room, taking in my surroundings.