Paparazzi

Chapter Two: Rafael

𝘾é𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙗𝙮 𝙂𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙩

𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗱𝗺𝗶𝘁 𝗜'𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗶𝗰𝗲
𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗜'𝗹𝗹 𝗮𝗱𝗺𝗶𝘁 𝗜 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗳 𝗜'𝗱 𝘁𝗿𝘆
'𝗖𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁
𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗹 𝗶𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲
𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗜 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗲 𝗜'𝗺 𝗻𝗼𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂
𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜'𝗺 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲
𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝗜'𝗺 𝗴𝗼𝗻𝗻𝗮 𝗱𝗼
𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂

______________________________________

FEBRUARY 2020

Rafael slammed his fist on the coffee table. Estos buitres, he thought, staring at his phone with embers in his eyes. There was no escaping the attention he so desperately wanted to avoid, especially since he moved to the epicenter of fame and fortune. It was the most popular place for hopefuls to run away from their past and start anew, build a career, or watch their reflection in the mirror burn when their talents didn't get recognized.

Hollywood was once a dream. He used to fantasize how he would move to America and find international fame because he deserved it, not because it was the only option left. Now it seemed like a silly mirage to him, a childish memory. He loathed what he saw in magazines and trashy online articles. He took another look at the one in his phone—it was the same magazine that had posted about his engagement the moment it fell apart, not even a week to himself to figure out his feelings on his own. How could this American magazine have found him and followed his problems all the way to Spain, and was the first to leak news that he'd been picked up for a role on Netflix's newest original as soon as he moved?

Rafael never used to feel this way about articles with his name in them. He expected it, even reveled in it when people could pinpoint him from a crowd, or when casting directors looked at him with familiarity, like they were old friends catching up. Eventually, he'd landed the role that made everyone turn their heads and gain those clicks on under-funded websites.

The ridicule within this particular article was maddening—they claimed he'd stolen a mug that was offered to him. "Who does that?" the article stated. "Well, apparently the same guy who cheats on his ex-fiancee and girlfriend of five years."

He rolled his eyes, chewing his lower lip to keep from slamming his fists again. It wasn't that big a deal—it was such a trivial article; that publication was basically begging for scraps because they didn't have anyone better to criticize—but the anger firing inside him had given itself a home for much longer than just this morning.

It was those same magazines slandering his name, the respect he'd been building in his profession. It was those articles that producers were weary about before they thought about casting him, forcing them to hesitate when deciding to call him back for a second read-through.

He sighed the anger away, sipping on coffee to cure the hangover. Better him than...—he stopped his thoughts from going any further, but the anger had never fully disappeared. There was always a piece of him screaming inside, asking him why he ruined his biggest break for a girl.

She's not just any other girl. Most days he had to repeat that over and over again to keep himself from thinking negatively. She's not just any other girl—it's Natasha.