* 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 / 𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐍 .

      she’d  hinted  at  her  arrival  (  she  hadn’t  )  ;  but  still  …  what  else  ,  or  who  else  ,  did  matthew  donovan  have  the  time  of  day  for  ?  it’s  not  like  he  was  some  big  actor  or  anything  ,  hell  ,  blaze  was  lucky  if  she  could  name  three  of  the  projects  he’d  been  in  …  kidding.  if  anything  ,  her  presence  should’ve  been  a  blessing  ,  a  gift  that  was  a  rarity  ;  but  when  it  gave  ,  it  kept  on  giving.  the  engine  roared  as  she  flew  down  the  driveway  ,  bypassing  the  luxurious  security  system  ,  one  hand  barely  grazing  the  steering  wheel  while  she  laid  on  the  horn.  like  a  bull  in  a  china  shop  ,  that  ever  so  pleasant  evening  air  was  tainted  by  the  heavy  bass  that  thudded  from  the  fm  radio  of  her  brand  new  whip.  was  it  an  impulse  purchase  ?  perhaps.  tires  screeched  ,  guaranteeing  her  mark  be  left  right  at  the  actor’s  doorstep  for  eternity  ––  or  at  least  until  he  snapped  his  fingers  ,  inviting  a  crew  to  repair  the  piece  of  history.

      “  jesus  christ  ,  ”  if  only  there  was  a  way  to  contact  him  without  leaving  the  comfort  of  her  driver’s  seat  ;  like  a  portable  phone  ,  no  strings  attached  ––  would’ve  been  even  cooler  if  she  could  write  a  message  instead.  with  her  patience  wearing  thin  ,  she  tossed  her  head  back  and  jammed  the  heel  of  her  palm  into  the  horn  just  one  more  time.  “  come  on  ,  i  know  you’re  in  there  , ”  she  mumbled  to  herself  ,  and  then  finally  ,  a  familiar  face  emerged  from  what  seemed  like  an  abyss.  “  damn  ,  man  ,  am  i  interrupting  something  ?  what  took  you  so  long  ?  ”  she  shot  him  that  million  dollar grin.  / @fortuitcus​

            lazily  sprawled  across  a  twenty  -  thousand  dollar  couch  ,  was  a  middle  -  aged  ,  beautifully  decaying  man  who  really  has  very  little  care  for  anyone  or  anything  .  but  the  ultimate  exception  ,  as  of  the  moment  ,  would  have  to  be  his  career  (  and  his  two  dogs  ,  maybe  .  maybe  )  .  and  so  ,  as  his  scanned  the  critique  from  his  most  recent  performance  ,  the  nonchalant  expression  was  gradually  replaced  by  a  distinct  anger  ;  brows  furrowing  ,  heart  palpitations  ,  tip  of  his  hearts  tinting  crimson  .  he  snapped  up  ,  the  paper  crunching  within  his  white  -  knuckled  grasp  ,  he  couldn’t  believe  it  .  a  complete  debasement  of  his  performance  ,  which  he  ardently  thought  was  his  best  one  yet  !   he  continues  to  read  the  a  paper  half  in  anguish  and  the  other  in  foolish  expectation  ,   desperately  searching  for  even  one  sentence  of  validation  .  despite  his  insouciant  and  rather  cold  -  hearted  exterior  ,  he  was  a  very  sensitive  man  ,  you  see  .  and  due  to  the  unfortunate  influences  of  his  life  ,  he  has  a  precariously  built  ethical  foundation  and  a  morally  dubious  compass  .  the  roar  of  the  engine  was  drowned  out  by  his  pounding  heart  ,  a  rabid  thing  beating  against  its  cage  in  a  fit  of  total  fury  .

𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 in the morning and once again she’s been summoned to collect her gin-soaked boss. There are drivers, she’s sure, who would happily take him to his own house and leave him at his own steps, but of course, Clara has the comfiest couch on the west side. 

As if in confirmation, Matthew mumbles something incoherent and lurches sideways, a little vomit dribbling from his mouth. Clara barely manages to steady him. “ What was that, Shakespeare? ” she mutters as she heaves him up the stairwell to her apartment and deposits him on his side on her couch. 

She manages to sleep for a total of ten fitful minutes before she gives up and pads barefoot to the kitchen, where she pours Matthew a glass of cold water and herself a generous serving of red wine. This is ridiculous, she thinks, you’re ridiculous. Every aching muscle tells her to leave him and get some rest, but Clara only grabs the two glasses and takes a seat in the plush armchair next to the couch where Matthew is sprawled, unconscious, a little furrow present between his brows even now.

Clara takes a long drink and reaches out a hand, placing the pad of her thumb on the furrow of his brow as if she could smooth it out with a touch. Instead his eyes flutter and she presses the backs of her fingers against his cheek before pulling away.

“ You are rich enough to call a driver, you know that? ” she says tenderly, like she’s really saying something else.

( @fortuitcus​ ! )

           they  don’t  show  it  on  the  silver  screen  ,  the  dark  side  of  fame  .  the  lack  of  privacy  ,  the  constant  scrutiny  ,  the  loss  of  dignity  ,  the  never  -  ending  battle  between  who  you  are  and  who  the  world  is  telling  you  to  be  .  and  in  reality  ,  fame  is  this  ,  an  incessant  cycle  of  self  -  deprecating  thoughts  ,  burgeoning  a  deep  resentment  for  who  you  have  become  .  whether  you  chose  or  forced  to  be  in  this  lifestyle  ,  this  is  who  you  are  .  there  is  no  going  back  .  sometimes  ,  matt  thinks  ,  that  if  he  had  a  chance  to  rewind  time  he  would  do  things  differently  .  then  the  memory  of  his  past  creeps  up  on  him  .  he  remembers  the  cold  ,  the  loneliness  and  the  pitch  black  winter  nights  began  to  mold  itself  with  his  bones  .  but  was  this  life  better  ?  he  was  still  lonely  and  the  world  was  still  dark  and  the  cold  is  still  in  his  bones  .  he  had  sacrificed  so  much  of  himself  ,  for  this  ?

           such  thoughts  was  what  led  him  to  be  sprawled  out  and  half  -  unconscious  on  a  bar  counter  ,  fingers  weakly  wrapped  around  his  second  bottle  of  wine  /  whiskey  .  during  a  minuscule  moment  of  lucidity  ,  he  had  asked  the  bartender  to  call  his  assistant  ,  he  knows  he  shouldn’t  make  her  life  so  hard  ,  he  asks  so  much  of  her  and  for  a  second  he  regrets  the  call  but  it’s  quickly  drowned  out  by  a  colossal  swallow  of  whiskey  (  or  two  )  .

chapman manor: summer 1966

“i don’t know, probably because they thought i was too young before,” piper giggled, responding to matt’s question of why he hadn’t seen more of her at events like these now that she was an actor just like her parents. she’d just gotten her big breakout role this year and was in the process of filming the second season after getting rave reviews from season one. “i’ve had so many far out experiences this year, it’s unbelievable,” the twenty year old sighed sweetly as she brought her wine glass to her lips. she still wasn’t technically old enough to be drinking but at this point in the night her parents were off doing their thing and there was no one there to nag her. when he’d first approached her piper had almost thought that matt would rat her out, but he hadn’t. he joined her instead, and he was surprisingly cute and funny when they were drinking wine by the pool under the stars. her father’s party to celebrate his recent movie sounded just behind them in her family manor. “i feel like every day is something new and exciting and i can’t wait for whatever comes next.” @fortuitcus​

           weary  and  worn  out  viridescent  eyes  light  up  at  her  words  ,  not  so  much  in  ecstasy  or  amusement  but  in  fascination  .  he  can’t  remember  the  last  time  he  saw  genuine  happiness   .  everyone  here  was  battered  and  bruised  from  the  malice  of  the  industry  ---  but  here  ,  before  him  ,  was  such  unadulterated  happiness  emanating  like  rays  of  sunshine  .  it  was  certainly  a  sight  to  behold  .  it  was  logical  really  ,  that  he  was  so  easily  beguiled  ,   a  man  ,  who  had  been  confined  in  the  dark  for  so  long  ,  would  be  greedy  for  such  light  .  matthew  had  come  here  to  support  his  friend  ,  but  now  he  staying  for  a  completely  different  reason  .  

dana  bradley  :  𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕  𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔  𝒊𝒕  𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏  𝒕𝒐  𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌  𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏  𝒂  𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏  ?

*  closed  starter  .

who   :  matthew  donovan  ,  @fortuitcus​  . where   :  matthew’s  home  . when   :  late  evening .

        perhaps  it  was  a  blessing  that  he  beckoned  her  to  his  home  in  the  later  hours  of  the  evening  .  no  amount  of  confidence  &  self-persuasion  had  convinced  lori  to  face  the  male  on  her  own  accord  .  not  since  their  situation  became  a  little  more  complicated  ,  that  is  .  unbeknownst  to  matthew  .  worry  continued  to  plague  her  every  thought…  even  guilt  ,  knowing  that  he  was  likely  eagerly  awaiting  her  arrival  ,  blissfully  unaware  of  the  bombshell  the  blonde  was  due  to  drop  on  him  (  if  she  mustered  up  the  courage  )  .  but  it  was  too  late  for  a  change  of  plan  .  she  was  already  past  his  home  security  when  the  notion  of  backing  out  occurred  to  her  ,  &  so  she  let  herself  in  the  home  where  ,  in  the  past  few  weeks  ,  she  had  found  so  much  comfort  in  ,  with  hues  scanning  for  the  male  .   “    —  matty  ?   “  lori  called  out  ,  an  uncommon  timidity  to  her  usual  ,  merry  tone  .  “  matty  ,  it’s  me  “  .  with  his  presence  still  lacking  ,  lori  had  managed  to  buy  another  few  seconds  to  compose  herself  ,  letting  out  a  final  ,  long  sigh  before  she  was  ready  to  greet  him  with  a  warm  smile  .

           soft  jazz  echo  around  the  empty  glass  house  .  the  ambience  was  the  same  as  is  it  always  was  ;  mysterious  ,  melancholic  ,  lonely  .  dimly  lit  ,  shadows  of  the  moon  dancing  across  mahogany  floor  and  every  so  often  the  reflection  of  the  glittering  pool  would  bounce  around  the  cheap  sentiments  the  house  contained  .  the  owner  of  such  estates  was  tucked  away  in  his  bedroom  ,  a  glass  of  whiskey  in  one  hand  ,  the  other  running  through  his  hair  .  a  whirlwind  of  thoughts  sending  his  heart  into  arrhythmia  .  this  was  what  it  was  like  at  the  end  of  every  day  .  he  would  return  to  this  big  glass  house  ,  maybe  not  alone  but  always  lonely  ,  concoct  an  alcoholic  antidote  for  his  worries  and  stand  atop  his  castle  ,  forced  to  contemplate  at  how  much  of  a  failure  he  really  was  . 

matthew  donovan   :   𝒚𝒐𝒖  𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒅  𝒎𝒆  𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒆  𝒂𝒏𝒅  𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅  𝒊𝒕  𝒘𝒂𝒔  𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ...