Trust Me

Life in the Spotlight

Mothers were meant to important in your life. They were meant to be your secret keeper, your friend and someone who would love you no matter what. My mother was none of those.

Sometimes I think she forgot that I existed. I wasn’t as important as her clothes, fame or perfume line.

I had to find out what her article was about. I needed to know if she was tracking me down. Because I wouldn’t go with her, I wouldn’t!

I remember when I was little, when she had her first photo shoot with me. She was so excited for it; it was the only time that I thought she loved me. I hated it. I was scared of the bright, flashing lights. I didn’t like wearing my expensive dress or my heavy gold bracelet.

My mother was furious at my attitude. Her anger was like a nuclear weapon, deadly and explosive. I was meant to be looking happy with her but in every picture, I was crying.

Of course I cried. Wouldn’t you if your mother’s nails were digging into your soft, baby skin? If you look closely at the picture in the magazine, you could see that happening to me.

I grabbed the magazine, quickly so the sleeping woman didn’t feel anything.

My mother looked radiant on the front cover. No wonder she was famous. The paparazzi couldn’t get enough of her smile, that gorgeous pouty smile. You got tired of it after a while, because every few minutes, she would perfect it.

I ran inside the beach box, my heart racing. What was the interview about? She wouldn’t say anything about me, would she?

Any bit of detail was dangerous. It could lead almost anyone to me and back into the spotlight, I would go.

Jake was still asleep. His face seemed peaceful and his mouth was curved in a little smile. I was glad that he trusted me enough to tell me something.

I felt close to him because of it.

I frantically opened the magazine and nearly tore the pages. Finally, I found the article. I read it while my hands were shaking.

The last question of the interview was the only one that related to me.

It read “Is it hard to be with your family as well as working hard? No, not at all. My family is so important. My eldest daughter and I are so close, we’re almost like sisters. She loves to help me with my work; as a matter of fact we’re going to be the new face of L'Oréal.”

My breathing became shaky and uneven. I could see the hidden message in her answer. She wanted me to come back and be in the spotlight with her, so that I didn’t embarrass her by disappearing.

When my mother wanted something, she always got it. She was a celebrity; she could have anything she wanted.

But this time, she wasn’t going to get me. This time I was going to be free.

Just seeing my mother made me feel stressed. I was scared of her fierce mood swings and spiteful comments because I knew it would lead up to her slapping me.

“Morning Juliette,” said a sleepy voice behind me. I turned around jumpily. Jake stared at the picture of my mother.

“I know her, she’s Estelle Winters. Isn’t she?” Jake asked me.

“Yeah, the actress,” I replied with butterflies in my stomach.

“Okay. Look Juliette, thank you for listening to me last night, it meant a lot,” Jake told me seriously. “I’ve never told anyone Paige’s entire story. I feel that she’s more at peace, if you know what I mean,”

“You know that you can tell me anything, Jake,” I assured him. “I never tell anyone anything. I’m just like a vault of secrets,”

“Do you ever tell anyone anything about your past?” Jake asked me.

“Nothing, ever,” I replied with a sharp tone to my voice. I hated it when he turned it back to me. It was my private life and it was going to stay private.

“Isn’t that hard?” he asked me. His face seemed almost sympathetic. I didn’t want his sympathy, I wasn’t charity.

“No,” I lied. Lies were as much a part of my life as friends or family were for some. Lies just made everything easier, they were my drug. I was addicted to them, couldn’t stop. Not once I’d started.

“Couldn’t you tell me anything? Anything at all?” He questioned me. “Even your favourite colour or something?”

“Jake, just butt out,” I snarled. “I’ve already said many, many times. I am not saying anything,”

There was an awkward pause. I realised what my tone of voice would’ve sounded like for Jake. Keeping everything bottled up had its disadvantages. Mine was mood swings containing explosive outbursts like a hungry lioness, snapping, snarling, roaring.

“Blue,” I said cautiously.

“Blue what?” Jake asked me, tiredly.

“My favourite colour is blue,” I told him. My mouth wavered into a smile. Jake began to laugh and I joined in. It was the closest that I’d ever had to true friendship.

We just laughed for ages. Laughing, giggling, and snorting until we were gasping for air like fishes out of water. My stomach muscles were aching but I felt a dizzy sort of happiness, being with Jake.

It just felt sort of right.