My boy / Drew Starkey

35

Mila

This all has my head spinning. All these rumors, all this gossip swirling around. I can't even get a moment of peace without some headline popping up, twisting everything I do. I throw my phone to the other side of the couch, too frustrated to even look at it anymore. The screen lights up, but I ignore it. I need a break from this crap. Lighting another cigarette, I inhale deeply, feeling the smoke fill my lungs as I try to force myself to breathe out the tension.

I can't let myself get in my own head. I know the truth, and so does everyone involved—at least I think Kiara knows, but I don't know with her. She always makes everything such a huge deal, and let's be real, she's never been my biggest fan. Drew and I are just friends, but with how close our characters are on the show, I can't blame her for being cautious. She already doesn't like that Drew and I are friends, let alone that we've spent time together off set. But this? This is getting out of hand.

I'm so tired of all the assumptions. I know what happened. Drew and I were just hanging out on the boat, nothing more, nothing less. I'm not some homewrecker, but damn, that's how they're painting me. I can't even look at the comments anymore without wanting to throw my phone through the window.

I need to stop thinking about this. I need to shut off. Tomorrow we start filming again, and this will all die down eventually. Once we get back on set, it'll be like nothing happened. Back to normal. At least I hope so.

I take another drag of my cigarette, sip my coffee, and turn my attention to the show playing on the TV. Maybe it'll distract me long enough to forget about all the noise for a little while.

Of course, the show does no help. It's just another distraction that only amplifies the noise in my head. So, I decide to try the second-best distraction method: a run. Physical exhaustion can usually clear the clutter in my brain, or at least make it a little quieter. I quickly head upstairs to throw on something more appropriate for a jog—Lululemon leggings and a sports bra. I tie my hair up in a high ponytail, feeling like I'm at least pretending to be somewhat put together, and make my way back down.

For a moment, I almost forget about everything. The noise, the drama, the damn gossip sites. I'm about to grab my phone for music, but then I stop myself. No music today. Just silence. I don't need to hear anything else right now, even if it's my favorite playlist or a podcast. It's too much. 

I step outside, the air feels different today, heavier with the weight of the world on me. As I walk out of the apartment building, I spot the big black SUV parked by the curb. One of the security guards, the same one who's always lurking around when I leave the house, gives me a little wave. I wave back, forcing a smile.

"Going on a run, Miss Depp?" he calls out, his voice as deep as always.

"Yep, not far," I say, adjusting my ponytail. "At least, I don't think. I'm still getting used to this area, so definitely no marathon today. I don't have my phone with me." I half smile, thinking it's a small win. 

He nods, eyes serious. "I'll be following, as always."

I roll my eyes but don't let him see. "Do you have to?"

He's unphased. "It's my job, Miss Depp."

"I know, I know," I say with a sigh, defeat dripping from my voice. I bat my lashes at him playfully, hoping to lighten the mood. "Be quick," I add with a wink.

He just nods, and I hear the soft hum of the engine as he slowly pulls back behind me, always trailing, always watching.

I take off, jogging at a pace faster than I'd usually go. My mind tries to wander back to the online chaos, but I force it back into my body. Focus on the burning in my legs. On the sweat dripping down my forehead, sticking to my skin. On the rhythm of my feet pounding the pavement. On anything that isn't the shitstorm happening online. I push myself harder, faster, until all I can feel is my breath and the way my heart beats wildly in my chest.