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

Chapter 21 - An Apology, a Confession, and a Promise

Gwyneth is not married and does not have any children in this story, which I know is totally untrue (according to Wikipedia) in real life. Just, fyi.

This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend, Red, who though is from a totally different country, has still managed to become a good friend of mine over a short time. Cheers, love!!!

Lol, well, let's not tarry any longer shall we? I know the suspense is probably tearing some of you apart. Alright, let's begin, loves:)

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Alana-Rose's Perspective

I was really depressed.

Like, really, really depressed. Maybe depressed is too easy a word. I don't think there was really a word... adequate enough for my feelings at the moment. I, personally, think that Webster will have to come up with a better word than 'depressed' because the meaning so not sufficient.

It was a terrible feeling, and it was something similar to whatever I felt after Mom died. Similar, being the key word in the previous sentence. It wasn't an exact replica...'cause this was way worse. Before, I just felt empty. I was indifferent and was shut up in this sort of shell, that really no one knew how to penetrate. And, hell, I didn't want them to.

Until Robert came along.

But now? Now, I just felt like shit. Seriously cynical and horribly irritable shit that refuses to leave its room. Well, at least, refuses to leave Gwyn's guest bedroom.

I had been at Gwyneth's house for the past few days. Maybe a week, who knows? I'd last track of the time, just like I had when I was in that stupid mansion. Gwyneth's house was like this solitary fortress that existed in  a world without space or time. Sorta like a TARDIS.

Bottom line: I did NOT want to go home (if I can even call it that anymore) and I did not want to see that bastard, Robert.

He'd already left about a hundred calls, messages, and voicemails on my iPhone that seemed to be vibrating every three minutes. Eventually, I dismantled the damn thing, unable to take its incessant buzzing any longer.

I had nightmares about our argument every time I dozed off. He would throw things and hit me, his hand striking my cheek, leaving it red and stinging. I would scream at and cry, throwing my hands up to defend myself. I always woke up in a sweat, Gywneth, leaning over me, her eyes frantic because of my shouting in the early morning.

I was now terrified of falling asleep, and had dark circles under my eyes to prove it. I was exhausted all the time, only able to fall asleep for twenty mintues before I woke up in tears.

In the time I'd been here, Gywneth had been dividing her time by either convincing me that life was indeed worth living, force feeding me, or talking to Robert. Purposely, apparently. Which, of course, made me even more upset.

But she was worried about him after the tenth time he'd called her phone,which she wasn't answering at first, but then he started to call her house, some thing he rarely ever did.

I sat back on the guest bed now, my eyes closed, remembering the time she made me listen in on one of their phone calls.

I had been in the bed for a whole twelve hours when Gwyn decided that it wasn't healthy for me to be as mopey as I was. I almost told her to fuck off, except I was in her house and Gwyneth was one of the few people I never cursed in front of or at.

So, she'd dragged me out of the queen sized bed and pressed speaker on the phone, watching my face intently.

I had wrapped the quilt around my bare arms and shoulders...listening reluctantly.