Perfection (Scarlett Johansson )

Chapter Three:

Lia's pov:

I woke up with a start, my body heavy and slow, like I was pulling myself out of a thick fog.
My eyes blinked open, squinting against the morning light spilling into the living room.

My head pounded, and my mouth was dry, the sharp tang of whatever I'd been drinking still clinging to my tongue.

Where am I?

I sat up too quickly, and the room swayed for a moment.
My stomach turned, and I took a deep breath, pressing a hand to my head.

I forced myself to remember-the party, the music, Jess pulling me into the crowd, the drink, the pills, the hazy feeling that had taken over my body. And then...

Scarlett Johansson.

I froze.
I could still picture her face, clear as day, bending over me in the street, her eyes full of concern.
For a moment, I thought I'd dreamt it. But no.
I was in someone's house, someone's nice house, and it all came rushing back.
Scarlett Johansson had found me. She'd taken me here, and I'd fallen asleep on her couch.

Panic flared in my chest.

My phone.

I didn't have my phone. I'd left it at the party.
My parents were probably freaking out by now.
I could already imagine the yelling, the disappointment, the way my mother's voice would cut into me like a knife, every word reminding me of how much I was screwing up.

But even worse than that, I was in Scarlett Johansson's house. And she knew.
She knew I was a mess.

I glanced around, expecting her to be standing there, waiting for me, but the living room was empty.

The blanket they'd given me had slipped onto the floor, and I pulled it back over my legs, trying to make myself small, like if I stayed hidden here, I wouldn't have to face the reality of where I was.

My head was still spinning, but I forced myself to focus.

The house was quiet, eerily so.
I wasn't sure if I was the first one awake or if they were just giving me space.
The walls were pristine, the kind of clean that felt untouched, like everything had its place.

I didn't belong here.

I needed to leave.
I needed to get out of here before they saw me again.

The last thing I wanted was to have some awkward conversation where they looked at me like I was broken, like I needed saving.

I'd been through that before-teachers, therapists, even friends trying to fix me, but they didn't get it.
They didn't understand that the drugs, the alcohol, the starving, they were the only things that made me feel like me.
Starving gives me the feeling of control, it's the only thing my parents don't control about me.

I swung my legs off the couch, my bare feet touching the cold hardwood floor.
My jeans were still stained, my black glitter top crumpled and sticking to my skin.
I felt gross, the remnants of last night clinging to me like a second skin.

Just as I stood up, I heard footsteps behind me.
I tensed, my breath catching in my throat, and turned slowly, dreading what I'd see.

Scarlett stood in the doorway, holding a mug of coffee, her expression soft but serious.
She wasn't dressed like the movie star I knew from the screen-just in a simple gray sweater and black leggings.
Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and for a second, she looked almost... normal.
But that didn't make this any less surreal.

"Hey," she said, her voice quiet, like she didn't want to startle me.
"You're awake."

I didn't know what to say.
I stood there, frozen, feeling like I was about to shatter into a thousand pieces.
My fingers itched to pull at my hair, to find something sharp, something to ground me, but I forced myself to stay still.