Back to Your Roots

Chapter One (Part One)

        I leaned back into the fine leather upholstery that lined the luxurious vehicle I was riding in. It wasn't a stretch or anything fancy, much to my dismay. Just a small limousine, about a car and a half in length. It was the largest one I could get in this godforsaken town, but, eh, I couldn't complain. Looking out the window, I watched as the highway that led to my hotel steadily transitioned into a more residential area. Three years wasn't long enough to change my perception of the place. All it looked to me at the time was, well, normal in comparison to what I'd grown accustomed to as of late.

        As we entered city limits we passed by groups of children, some young, some my age, and some in between, heading all in the same direction. Regardless of age, they all looked in our direction, oohing and ahhing, pointing at the sleek black limousine that rolled down the street before them. That's the kind of town this was. Nothing extraordinary ever did happen around here. Whenever something even remotely exciting did happen, it was the talk of the town for months. I scoffed and rolled my eyes. I suppose I was going to have get used to this kind of setting yet again.

        I set down my champagne flute, crossed my legs and rested my hands behind my head. I took a deep breath and pushed the button to lower the privacy screen, flashing a false smile in an attempt to appear confident. "This is it, Martin," I said with a hint of defeat woven into my words. "I'm finally on my way. Guess there's no going back now, is there?"

        "Indeed, Miss Blake," the chauffeur replied. Martin had been my driver since, well, the beginning. He'd taken me to and from airports, recording sessions, big-time Hollywood galas, even the occasional house party if I gave him enough incentive. When I made the plans to come back home, I had insisted that he come with me to continue his services. And to my surprise, he agreed. He was older, snarky and a tad frumpy at times, but he always seemed to have some sort of great insight or wisdom for me when I was in a fix, so I decided he was worth keeping around.

        "You can call me by my birth name, Martin." Why was he being so stiff? I guess he was always kind of like that, so careful even when it was like today, with only me in the car with him. No one knew my real name, well, at least no one who knew me as 'Osiria Blake' did. It was stated clearly in my contract, "Artist Confidentiality" they called it. At first I was hesitant, but in retrospect, I'm kind of glad that was the way it was. "I mean, it's not like you're gonna get in trouble or anything. We're not in L.A. anymore."

        "Very well, Miss Blake," he said, not missing a beat. "Would you prefer 'Miss Cameron' or something perhaps a bit more formal?" He turned a bit so I could see his small, brown eyes. They were the color of molasses, but sparkled bright in the early morning sun.

        Even though his wariness and caution were appreciated, the contract was null and void now. There was no point. It didn't make sense for him to continue with the charade. I was going to renew it at the end of the year anyway, but for now I needed a break from "Osiria" and, the way I saw it, going back home was the best way to ignore my alter ego, even if only for a little while. Sure, I'd miss being in the limelight, but I just couldn't face my band mates, let alone my fans, after what happened. I needed time to sort out my priorities and emotions and I wouldn't have been able to do that if I was on tour with the people who put said priorities and emotions out of whack. I could have easily just told them to find work elsewhere so they wouldn't have to deal with me, but that was another decision that I just couldn't handle at the moment.

        All that aside, right now, I just wanted to feel like Martin was comfortable around me. The real me. "Just 'Desta' is fine, thank you." He nodded and returned his focus to the road in front of him. Despite his complete dedication to professionalism, Martin was kind of like my father figure, my dad away from dad in a way, and we got along rather well considering the age gap. He taught me how to play card games like poker and canasta, and I taught him of the glory of video games, even though he didn't quite get what all the hubbub was about. I'd gotten to know him over all this time we'd spent together. He had a wife, family, house on a hill, the old American dream, I guess. He was the kind of guy you could trust no matter what and I always asked for his opinion before making a big decision.