Thorns On My Rose: A Story of the Daughter of Robert Downey Jr. (EDITING)

Chapter 2 - A Dinner Invitation

When I said yes to Robert, I didn't exactly expect things to happen as quickly as they did. And for a person who has been living in a gigantic Western styled house, staring at the ceiling, or swimming in a pool everyday for a good eight hours, fast equals not-so-good. After signing the papers, and they were pretty endless let me tell you, Mr. Robert Downey Jr., my bio dad, became my legal guardian. I am also fairly sure I got a name change: I now had two hyphens in my name.

Alana-Rose Tollen-Downey. Fascinating.

Robert wanted to take me to L.A. as soon as the last paper was signed, but my legitimate psychiatrist, Debbie, just about shit bricks at the suggestion. Apparently, it was a bad idea because " the transition could lead to exacerbated stress causing the more undesirable traits of the patient to be manifested as a result". I think I am still rolling my eyes from that load of balogna. I cannot even describe how thrilled I am to be leaving this place and all its bull.

So, I was to leave this isolated edifice in a week, per Deb's instructions, and Robert took this as an opportunity to chill at the mansion with me until we left. While this was an offer he immediately accepted, it was an offer I immediately tried to ignore. I mean, I have to admit the idea that my speed donor dad was just as curious about me as I was about about him scared the living crap out of me. It was the first time I noticed those stupid feelings resurfacing, just a few days after Rob arrived.

And look, I had no fricking idea who this guy was. Sure, we had a crap-ton of documents and certificates to prove we were directly related to the other; and sure, I knew he was rich. Pretty easy to spot money like his when he was always wearing a shiny pair of Nike's that seemed to change color everyday. He also favored those expensive brand name watches with shit like diamonds and crystals on the inside. He mentioned once or twice he was well known by the general populace, that's why I was hidden in the first place. For your privacy, he said. Robert also claimed that he was an actor, been in a few movies I may have seen. Thing is, I'm still this cynical skeptic whose reality is too distorted to tell what's real from all the made up shit in my head.

Dead mother? Real. New Daddy? Eh. My disdain for Jake? Real. Ability to start new life with celebrity father? Pssh, please. Not real.

And you may ask: well, he's there in the flesh, isn't he? Gotta be real, right? Wrong, fucker.

How could a person know I was as fucked up as I was and still choose my company over literally anyone else's? He'd watch me while I swam, praise me for my technique or comment on a certain stroke I used every now and then. He chose to join me in my solitude (not exactly solitude anymore) when I was studying the ceiling's not-so intricate brown and white swirly designs. And he wouldn't say a word, he'd just sit with me on total silence, sometimes for hours.

It scared me, honestly, because for the first time in a while I was aware of myself, my instability and distrust for most people that somehow developed overnight. I had long accepted that could never really be normal, but how long would it take for Robert to be cool with that? How long would he hold out before he too looked at me with pity, with disgust? How long would it be before he figured out that I was a freak like everyone else had?

It was shocked by how much it stung to know I was sharing company with someone who seemed like they didn't care. Didn't care that I wore and IV full of strong antidepressants, didn't care that I couldn't eat for myself and was on suicide watch. Didn't care that I only spoke once or twice a day, sometimes less than that. I scared the hell out of me that someone who arrived out of the blue wasn't here to change me, but get to know me.

But this didn't help, of course, or, at least, not for long. 'Cause even though it made me feel a lot less of a freak in his eyes, I made me feel like even more of a freak in my own.