Temptation

10 - Hero

The morning comes too quickly. I didn't even realize that I fell asleep. I woke up to the sun shining in from the window, right on my face, Madden still beautifully sleeping laid out across the couch; her head still resting on my lap. How could someone be so beautiful and yet in so much pain? I look up to the clock to see that I've only been asleep for 3 hours, it's only 8:30AM.

I gently move her head off my lap and onto the couch, trying not to wake her. I manage to successfully do so and walk over to the window, pulling the white curtains to see if my stalker has left. Unlucky for me, the black SUV is not there anymore. A bit of me wanted that bloody SUV to still be there so I could have a few more hours with this woman. Instead, I will have to leave her on my day off and go back to the loneliness of my apartment.

"Sleep well?" She says from the couch across from where I stand. Bloody hell, she frightened me. I thought she was still sound asleep. "Actually, I did." I am not lying about that. Although I slept on the couch, in an unfamiliar place, wearing someone else's clothes; having her there with me felt familiar and natural. I've never slept better. Since I was a child, my nights were long and exhausting; I was always tossing and turning, forcing my eyes to stay shut when in reality I never got any true sleep. Into my adulthood, I have had bad habits that keep me awake at night for long hours whether it's being on set late, drinking and dabbling in a few drugs. Yet, just from a few hours of sleep with this girl, I already feel more awake than I have in a very long time.

* * *

I'm standing at the door to her apartment, saying my thank you's and goodbye's. She tries to give me back my sweater—the sweater I stole from set, and I tell her to keep it. With one kiss onto her left cheek, I grab her hand and I hand her my personal phone number. No one has this number other than my manager Mara. The phone number is written on a white napkin that I pulled from her table while she brushed her teeth in the bathroom; with the sharpie I keep on me in any chances that I get asked for an autograph. She gives me a shy laugh when I remove my hand from her's, and she sees what I've placed there. "I can't risk your life, but I hope that you will choose to text me." She's unsure what to do or say. I've put her under pressure. What was I thinking? If she were to accept this, she would be giving me her number and that could potentially ruin her.

When I leave her apartment, I can't help the feeling of wanting to turn around and stay with her. Hide from my reality and let her hide from her own reality with me. Take away the pain of her past, let her sob into my t-shirt until she is relieved of all the horror and allow her to hold me through mine. I ignore this feeling; I get into my car and take one last look up at her window. I have no idea if she will text me, but I really hope she will. I wonder if she is having any of these insane thoughts too...

Driving twenty minutes to my hotel room felt like an hour. The further I got from her, the more I wanted to turn around and be close to her again. Moments of last night flash through my mind.

She starred out the window watching the rain fall, and I couldn't turn my eyes away from the silence that comes with her.

She starred at my tattoos for minutes, pondering on each, wanting to know the significance.

Her lips pressed against mine, her warm breath inside my mouth followed by her wet tongue.

Holding her tiny wrists in my hands and wanting to tell her how beautiful she is.

Less than 24 hours ago, she was a stranger to me; someone I ran into at the grocery store—literally. Now, she is someone I cannot picture leaving behind forever. Fans come in three different categories. There is the cute fan who usually is under the age of 12 who just wants a hug and a picture from you. Then there is the psycho fan who tends to be over the age of 16 and these fans literally stalk your every move and know where you are always. Then there is the chill fan who would be happy to meet you, but they aren't going out of their way to find you. Madden does not fit in any of these categories. My luck is always the psycho fan; In Vegas a girl snuck into my hotel room while I was showering and I found her in my suitcase rummaging through my underwear. When I walked out of the bathroom in just a towel covering my junk, my jaw dropped, and she basically attacked me. I managed to call DJ, and he had to yank her off of me—she had a pretty good grip on me, leaving me with scratches on my shoulders from her nails. Luckily, there was no harm done. I spent the entire night with this woman, and I did not wake up to her stealing my used clothing.

Madden, her name unique just as she is. She understands me, she knows what true pain feels like. I am so selfish that I want to tell her to not worry about her ex-boyfriend and that he will never find her with me. Even I know that is not true, I'm a celebrity. Last night was a taste of what it is like for me every day; hiding from the cameras when I choose not to be in front of them. If she was with me, she would be caught by the cameras of fans and paparazzi. This lifestyle is not for everyone, hell it's not even for me most days but I would—could never put her under the spotlight and risk her life for it.