Chapter 14: 13

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By the time we wrapped for the day, the tension between Walker and me had eased but hadn't disappeared entirely. As I walked to my hotel, I couldn't shake his words. Was I really missing the point? Was I so focused on being perfect that I'd forgotten how to just... be?

My phone buzzed with another notification, and against my better judgment, I checked it. This time, it wasn't a comment or a headline. It was a direct message from a fan:

"Hey, Ava. I just wanted to say I hope you're okay. People can be really mean, but I think you're amazing no matter what. Hang in there."

For the first time all day, I felt a flicker of something other than stress. Gratitude. Maybe even hope.

I glanced back at the set, where Walker was talking to a crew member, his laughter ringing out in the evening air.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to stop letting the world dictate who I was supposed to be. But letting go of that control? That would be the hardest role I'd ever play.

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The gratitude I'd felt from the fan's message faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by the gnawing weight of everything else. By the time I got to my hotel, my hands were trembling. I didn't want to go home and sit with my thoughts. I didn't want to scroll through more comments or listen to my manager's frantic voicemails.

I wanted to feel nothing.

The decision wasn't conscious so much as instinctive—a habit I'd tried to bury but couldn't seem to shake. I turned away from my hotel and started walking, the chilly evening air biting at my skin. My shoes scuffed against the pavement as I headed toward the outskirts of the city, where no one would recognise me. The place I was going wasn't glamorous, but it didn't need to be. It only needed to deliver what I was looking for.

The neon glow of the corner shop came into view, flickering in the dark like a beacon. Inside, the clerk barely glanced at me as I handed over the cash for a few pre-rolled joints and a tiny bag of white powder. He didn't care that I was underage, and I didn't care that the transaction was shady.

I tucked the bag into my jacket pocket and walked back out into the night. I found a quiet alley a few blocks away, lit a joint, and inhaled deeply. The familiar haze settled over me, dulling the sharp edges of my anxiety.

For a moment, it was enough.

But then it wasn't.

I pulled out the little bag of coke, my hands shaking as I fumbled to open it. I knew the drill—I'd done this before, in moments of desperation or self-destruction. A quick line on the back of my phone, a sharp inhale, and then... relief. Blissful, fleeting relief.

I leaned back against the cold brick wall, my head tilting up to the starless sky. The world felt distant, like I was floating above it all, untouchable.

But the feeling didn't last long.

"Ava?"

The voice cut through the fog like a knife, sharp and unforgiving. I froze, my heart pounding as I turned to see one of the crew members from the set—Jake, a young assistant who was always running errands and helping out wherever he could. His eyes widened as he took in the scene: the joint still in my hand, the bag of coke on the ground.

"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed, stepping closer.

I scrambled to hide the evidence, but it was too late. He knelt down and grabbed the bag, holding it up like it was radioactive. "Is this what you've been doing? Jesus, Ava."

"Jake, please," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Don't tell anyone."

He looked at me, his expression a mix of disbelief and disappointment. "Are you serious right now? This isn't just some stupid mistake. This is... this is dangerous."

I crossed my arms, trying to steady myself. "You don't understand."

"Then make me understand," he snapped. "Because right now, all I see is someone who has everything and is throwing it away."

His words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they were true. I didn't say anything, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Look," he said, his tone softening. "I'm not going to report this, but you can't keep doing this, Ava. You need help."

"I don't need help," I muttered, though the words felt hollow even as I said them.

"Yes, you do," he said firmly. "You don't have to keep pretending everything's fine when it's not. Talk to someone. Fix this before it's too late."

I didn't respond. I couldn't. The high was fading fast, leaving behind a hollow ache that felt worse than the anxiety I'd started with.

Jake shook his head, dropping the bag at my feet. "I'm serious, Ava. Get it together. You're better than this."

As he walked away, I sank to the ground, my head in my hands. The cold seeping through my jeans was nothing compared to the shame crawling under my skin. Jake's words echoed in my mind, louder than the usual noise of the world's expectations.

You're better than this.

Was I? Because right now, I wasn't sure I believed that.

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After Jake left, the emptiness inside me expanded, swallowing whatever shred of composure I had left.

I sat in the alley for what felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes. The buzz from the weed and coke made everything shimmer around the edges, like the world had softened into a dream I wasn't really part of. My thoughts were slow and sticky, tangling together in a haze.

I couldn't go home. I couldn't face the silence, the messages from the fan, or my own reflection in the mirror. The only person I could think of—the only person who might understand even a fraction of what I was feeling—was Ariana.

I stood up, wobbling slightly as the ground seemed to shift beneath me. The cool air bit at my skin, but I barely noticed. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and started walking, not caring how far her house was. Not caring that I wasn't thinking straight. I just needed someone, and she was all I had.

The city blurred around me as I walked, the streetlights smearing into golden halos. My footsteps felt disconnected from my body, like I was floating just above the pavement. A couple of people passed me on the sidewalk, their faces indistinct, their voices muffled and distant. I wondered if they could tell—if they looked at me and saw the mess I'd become.

By the time I reached Ariana's house, my heart was pounding, and my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Her house was a big, rich place tucked into a quiet neighbourhood, far from the chaos of set life. I stumbled up the driveway and knocked on the door, the sound echoing in my ears like a drumbeat.

It took a moment, but eventually, the door creaked open. Ariana stood there in sweats, her hair piled into a messy bun. She looked like she'd been watching TV or scrolling through her phone, but her relaxed expression vanished the second she saw me.

"Ava?" she said, her voice laced with concern. "What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

I tried to smile, but it probably came out more like a grimace. "I... I didn't know where else to go."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked me up and down, taking in my disheveled appearance, the way I swayed slightly on my feet. "Are you... high?"

I didn't answer, which was answer enough. Ariana sighed, stepping aside to let me in.

"Come on," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "Let's get you inside."

I stumbled through the doorway, collapsing onto her couch as she closed the door behind me. The room was warm and smelled faintly of lavender, a stark contrast to the cold, gritty streets I'd just come from.

Ariana sat down across from me, her arms crossed. "What happened, Ava? Talk to me."

I stared at the carpet, my vision swimming. "It's just... everything. The photo, the rumours, Walker, the fans—everyone wants something from me, and I don't even know who I am anymore."

Her expression softened, but there was still a hint of frustration in her voice. "So you decided to get high? That's not going to solve anything."

"I know that," I snapped, though my words were slurred. "But it makes it stop, at least for a little while. The noise. The pressure. All of it."

Ariana sighed again, leaning forward. "Ava, I get it. I really do. But this? This isn't the answer. You can't keep running away from your problems like this."

I laughed bitterly. "Oh, and what should I do? Smile and pretend everything's fine? Keep being the perfect little actress everyone expects me to be?"

"No," she said firmly. "You should be honest—with yourself and with the people who care about you. You don't have to do this alone."

Her words cut through the haze, piercing something deep inside me. I wanted to believe her, to trust that she was right, but the thought of letting my guard down, of admitting just how broken I felt, was terrifying.

"I don't know how," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Ariana reached out, placing a hand on mine. "You start by letting someone in. Just one person. You don't have to figure it all out tonight, but you can't keep doing this to yourself, Ava. You're going to burn out."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure if I believed her. The drugs were still coursing through my system, making everything feel distant and unreal. But in that moment, with Ariana's hand on mine and her eyes full of concern, I felt a flicker of something I hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

Maybe I didn't have to do this alone. Maybe there was a way out of the mess I'd made. But it would be a long road, and I wasn't sure if I was ready to take the first step.

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