The Truth About Beauty

Chapter One

The newspapers had been merciless.

Six months to the day had passed since the suicide. Now, all that was left was a pretty shell hiding my emptiness beneath.

“Austin Evans caught in another drunk-row with partygoer as things turn ugly,” The Dispatch had reported, headlining a double page spread informing readers of alcohol-abuse. I felt sick and crumpled the paper in a thick ball, tearing at the edges.

My phone rang.

Tiredly, I put it to my ear, flipping the screen open without checking. “Hello?”

“Austin, do you care to explain why you are on the cover of every newspaper this morning?” Barry asked tolerantly.

Groaning, I dragged myself from the pile of blankets on my bed and rested on the pillow, feeling nauseous.

“I went out last night.”

My agent grunted on the other end, and I heard a sigh of annoyance pass through the receiver. “Be ready in an hour. You’re going away.”

I pondered on this, head starting to pound with the poisons circulating through my bloodstream. “Away, like to Australia?”

Barry sniggered. “Yes, somewhere like that.”

“OK,” I replied, hanging up and slowly getting out of my clothes strewn bed.

Padding to the bathroom, cold tiles numbing the underside of my foot, I jumped into the shower, shaking off my alcoholic sweat in the warmth.

A flood of depression suddenly overcame me as my head began to throb a little harder.

Mom was dead. I was all alone.

The drink was certainly wearing off.

Suddenly, I felt the need for cold. Switching the temperature to low, I waited for the ice to stab away at my skin and puncture into the memories, praying they wouldn’t return. Instead, all I did was shiver.

Dejected, I sunk into the tub, feeling exactly as my mom would have felt when she’d chosen to die.

It was my fault and I knew that, selfish creature that I was, leaving her to dwell in a large, expensive building without any materialised neighbours, shut off from the world. The ironic thing was that’s what had made it so perfect; nobody could get in. Not the paparazzi. Not the people that could have kept her sane.

Nobody could get out.

I sighed, stopping the water and waiting for it to recede before wrapping myself in a towel and going to throw on a jacket and jeans.

Instead of being a loving son, I’d chosen the limelight, the women, the lifestyle of a celebrity, while she’d wasted away within a richly-furnished prison.

I could have stopped it.

Throwing a pile of free designer clothes into my duffel bag, along with my toothbrush and gadgets, I zipped it closed, stuffing the remaining essentials into scruffy gaps.

I felt the cell in pocket vibrate and I picked it up, knowing immediately who it would be.

BARRY TOLD ME YOU WERE LEAVING. DON’T KNOW WHY I’M BOTHERING, BUT WHEREVER YOU GO, I HOPE YOU TURN BACK INTO THE AUSTIN I GREW UP WITH. JASE.

Always a drama Queen.

Rolling my eyes, I threw the phone on my bed, picking up the dirty clothes from the floor and lobbing them into a pile at the corner of the room.

After discovering mom’s body, Jase had tried to help me through. I knew I would never get over the image, the reality of seeing her just hanging there, lifeless eyes staring downcast at the carpet, but he’d tried to be helpful.