The Truth About Beauty

Prologue

CAUTION: This chapter may contain content which some Wattpad readers may find disturbing.

PG13.

Copyright GeekReader 2012

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“Austin!”

“Austin over here!”

“Look over here, Austin!”

I could barely contain my grin as I was huddled into the back of a leather padded car, complete with bullet-proof windows and exterior. Disoriented with drink, I fell in, the door locked shut as the limousine pulled away. The flashing lights of the paparazzi faded into darkness.

“That was sick,” my best friend, Jason sniggered, slumping into the seat, a bottle of Jack Daniels clasped in his hand.

“Tell me about it,” I said, sitting up and bouncing in the cushions. “This is the life.”

He punched my arm. “And it’s all down to you, pretty boy.”

“Shut up,” I told him, a smile plastered on my slightly tanned complexion.

Jason pretended offence. “It’s true, A. Without your devilish good looks, we wouldn’t even be here; girls following our every move, the parties, the money.”

“I just got lucky.”

“So you did, my man, so you did. Now let’s reap the rewards.” He shifted forwards and grabbed the bottle of champagne from the ice container, popping it open and passing it over with a sweaty, midnight coloured palm.

I downed it with pleasure.

For half a year now I’d been on the public scene, when a chance meeting with renowned photographer Devon Blair spotted me in New York as I wandered from agency to agency searching for work. Every time the scouts had picked at something about my appearance, and I felt my confidence slowly crumble. He’d managed to capture the misery and days later my phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

Instinctively, I checked my cell and saw three missed calls from my Agent, Barry. Flipping the screen open, a text appeared on the screen.

AUSTIN. STOP GIVING THE PAPS REASON TO SEE YOU. IT’S BAD PUBLICITY. GO HOME. NOW.

I rolled my eyes and slammed the phone shut, shoving it in a pocket. Jase raised his eyebrows and we simultaneously said, “Barry.”

Peals of laughter erupted in the back, and we collapsed onto each other's suited up shoulders.

Within a quarter of an hour, the vehicle pulled up alongside the brand new Palm Tree Villas, a block of exquisite flats only completed a month ago, and with the fresh sum of money earned from the Dolce and Gabbana contract I’d signed in the past weeks, the penthouse was mine.

It sat surrounded by large, sweltering palm trees, and had a moat of gravel collecting at the sides of the vast walls. Reaching up into the sky, the metallic and white panelling frequented with windows made a bold statement, the kind you would expect for such an upmarket area of California. The first time I laid eyes on it, I knew that it had to be mine.

"See you later, Jase. And do me favour,” I said, clambering sluggishly out. The fizz of the alcohol was beginning to bubble over in my brain, and when I tried to look at my friend, the vision was blurred.

“What’s that, A?”

“Don’t call me in the morning.”

He laughed, not replying, and I shut the polished black door, turning to the entrance. Pressing the keypad and lock, I stalked into an empty elevator and rested on the handles, trying to co-ordinate my bearings before my mom saw me.

You may be wondering why I would move into such a grand place with a parent. The truth is, she’s the only family I have and we’ve been through it all together. There was no other person in the world that understood me like she did, and I wasn’t going to leave her on the sidelines now the spotlight had found me.

This was Hollywood. All my dreams had come true.

Slipping through the elevator doors, expecting the sound of soft snores to pass through the detailed wooden door to her bedroom, I was stilled at the silence.

“Mom?” I called, turning on the lights and shakily tapping on her door.

It was quiet.

“Mom, are you in there?”

I knocked again, harder this time.

When she failed to reply, I grappled with the doorknob and pushed my way through.

I wish I hadn’t.

As I switched on the luminescence, the reality of a rope hanging from the chandelier made my heart pound. Following the instrument down, I saw my mom’s lifeless body hanging from the end.

A simple note was left on the table.

I’m sorry. It was too much.

The world caved in and I collapsed on the floor, drunken tears slipping from my eyes, although by now I felt stone-cold sober.

The nightmare had begun.