This is life.

44 ➤ Weak attempt

Across the road lined up along the curb I see taxis, there engines running and ready to pick up home going patients, leaving visitors, and staff who have just finished their shifts. It seems to be a busy afternoon today, which is strange because it's a Tuesday.

I press the button to the sidewalk and wait for the little man to turn green so I can hop into a taxi, go to Jason's house to get my plane ticket, and leave the state as fast as I can. The light turns green and the noise to indicate pedestrians begins beeping continuously. I take not two steps before I hear my name being called out. I stop and turn around.

"Sebastian? What are you doing here?" I ask as he walks up to me. "Sir has given me orders to pick you up as soon as you were released; you are going back to the house, aren't you?" He asks. I press my mouth into a straight line as I stare at him. James must have gone behind my back and let Jason know what time I would be released. I didn't want to be rude and deny his request, but at the same time I felt bothered knowing Jason had sent him. "Uh, I was actually just going to..." Grab a taxi with the $50 Emma had lent me.

I didn't finish my sentence as I was too distracted with the curious look he gave me. He somehow gets me to feel guilty without even trying. "You were going to?" He encourages. "Just make a phone call-" I lie stiffly as I pointed to the other street with my thumb. "-using that payphone across the street. But it can wait; I'll take the ride, thank you very much." I smile weakly.

I think he takes the hint that I was only accepting out of politeness, but he ignores it thankfully. He smiles back and nods before leading me behind the building to a familiar black limousine. I stop walking and take steps backwards out of fear when I see a small group of paparazzi surrounding the vehicle. The crowd looked to be 35 people, maybe 30 at the least.

"Sebastian..." I warn. I feel myself beginning to sweat out of nervousness, my palms are moist and I ball my hands into fists. "I'll lead you to the car, no need to worry Miss Britney. You've done this dozens of times." He reminds me. But it's been almost a month and a half. I enjoyed all the time I had not having to have to put up with the stupid, intruding media. Even if it wasn't exactly what I would classify as pleasant.

I grip his forearm and he leads me to the car quickly. "Make a path, please." He says in a loud voice, trying to gather their attention. The cameras flash and click loudly, making me panic and feel claustrophobic. They shot questions at me and screamed into my ears with no filter or common decency, obviously being ignorant to the fact that I'm not in the mood to talk to them or answer their questions, that's how it has always been. I'm glad after today they will disappear. Or at least lessen in New York. I doubt the ones in Manhattan would be even half this bad and rude.

"Britney, where have you been in the past month?"

"Mrs Patterson! How's the wound healing?"

"How has Jason been, having you back?"

"Is it true you were in a dying state when you were found?"

"How was your stay at the hospital? Was it comfortable?"

"Are you on any medication?"

"What really happened that changed your appearance so much?"

"Did people ever know where you were? Did you fake being missing for the entire time?"

That one question almost made me snap my neck up to give whoever shouted that question a taste of their own medicine. God not just him, the whole industry everywhere is horrible. I feel sorry for those who have to go through worse than I.

"You stayed for a long time, is something wrong with you? Are you under doctor's referral for anything?"

Yes and yes.