What was to be a brief visit after her return from Paris turned into a coaxing fest, and what he assured was a fruitful surprise. But hours had already passed, and there was no surprise in sight. Instead, MARILYN was faced with the toxic, and stomach churning poofs nestled in the tiny glasses lined up before her like an army on guard. She had been watching JUDAS indulge his killer whiskey of choice with moderate effects when she finally bulged. Ugh, fine! Because at this point. She threw the third shot back, and hissed at the burn that slid down her throat. The bubbling flash of pain was resulting in a woozy effect that she knew finally accomplished her father’s mission. 

“You’re so uptight. You know that? Here, read this…I wanna finish it, But can’t find a real solid sound. I wanna hear a certain roughness with the lyrics. Try it out…? Then you may go,” She could only squint at him as he got up from the plush leather sectional that she knew he spent thousands on to look vintage, rusty and unkept, and return with sheets filled with his script. What the hell is this man up to, now? 

“Dadddd, come on! I didn’t come over here for this,” MARILYN’s neck fell back as a groan escaped from her. There was always a motive when it came to JUDAS and his schemes. All for the love of music.

“You owe me.” He pointed out to her over his flask upturned once more. 

“I owe you?! What, how? Old man lay off the drugs, I keep tellin’ you.” 

“Your precious ROGUE cover? Yeah, that didn’t come free. Now sing.” 

She huffed out a breath, and reluctantly allowed her irises to roam over the sheets he gave her. She peeped in the corner of her eye, him grabbing his Gibson Flying V guitar, and slowly began to strum. The lyrics, clipped and curt, were softly whispered to herself until she got hipped to the rhythm and gravity of the guitar’s to match it…

“Mmmkay. Let’s see...I think I’ve had enough? I might get a little drunk…Dad, really?” MARILYN smirked as she ridiculed her father’s favorite pastime. What an irony it was, as she glimpsed at the liquor spread about the table. Or was it really knowing this man?  “...I say what’s on my mind...I might do a little tim-,” 

“Stop,” JUDAS commanded and dropped his head. “...try speaking life into the lyrics, Marz. Please? Gimme some passion. Feel the lyrics. I got you back, and you seem fine. But when you walked through doors with this frumpy, unkempt lookin’ bob, frumpled tee and stone washed denim...it concerned me. Granted, I got you back, but I will not allow yourself to lose your spark completely because of one shake up. Now I really wanna hear you sing this. Think about the past days you’ve been having, how you felt...the anguish, the grief...the truth.”

MARILYN self-consciously touched at her bob, and scowled at him with a curled lip. Not the bob drag, chile. Wow! She inhaled a deep breath finally feeling the warming effect of the liquor that had been providing her true courage like her previous moment in the studio. Courtesy again of JUDAS MALANDRO. 

“I think I've had enough... I might get a little drunk... I say what's on my mind... I might do a little time... 'Cause all of my kindness... Is taken for weakness... Now I'm FourFiveSeconds from wildin'... And we got three more days 'til Friday, I'm just tryna make it back home by Monday mornin'... I swear I wish somebody would tell me, Ooh, that's all I want…”

She felt liquid scattering across ducts and eyelids that startled her. It wasn’t long, eyes still closed, that her father’s african oil musk consumed her nostrils, and he curled her in his embrace. Great. MARILYN wiped the tears that began to spill, and laughed softly while jabbing her father in his side. 

“You truly suck. This was your end goal, huh? I like this though,” She extended the sheets back, while dapping her cheeks with his help, and closed her eyes again. The sheets remained in her possession however. “...It’s a great song. Whose it for?” 

“You.” 

An eyelid of hers popped open just as she looked towards the door seeing a shaggy haired white man coming through the door. Now wait just a damn minute. 

“Are you still afraid of bugs, Marz?” JUDAS was cheesing as his counterpart, she now recognized, stood by him, and took it upon himself to pick up JUDAS’ Gibson testing out the strings following a flop down onto the couch, casually. “...how about a beetle?”

There in his legend glory was indeed PAUL freakin’ MCCARTNEY. 

𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 #𝟑: “okay, Marilyn...no show at a meeting? not like you! keep me in the know, pls.”

….

𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 #𝟒: “hey Marz, it’s dad...don’t forget I need to talk to you. I’m not too fond of your little affair on Music for magazines right now, but I trust you got this. oh, yeah! catch up on money heist already!”

….

𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋 #𝟓: “Marilyn, baby, it’s mama. What happened to Morning tea and a little catch up? I wanna tell you about my shoot! Call me back? And don’t be upset that Cru will know about it first without you!”

….

I could have missed more than their call...indefinitely. I could’ve die—…She couldn’t bring herself to fathom it, let alone say it. The possibility of death shook her to the core. As much as OSIRIS and CRU teased her about it, the incident was confirmation that she was indeed sheltered, and insulated. America’s pop princess can’t handle a little ruff up of the feathers? You’re so up high on your horse and pedestal that you can’t notice a set up? In her typical day to day, MARILYN routine of being up and at it by 10 to start her day, filled with meetings after another, photo ops, and appearances made her an easy target. She rarely strayed away from a routine that worked. As adaptable as she claimed to be, she had moments of placing her comfort over her safety absentmindedly. Your naivety is embarrassing at this point.

The creek of the door made her jump, and she clutched her quivering body a little tighter. Things will never be the same. MARILYN’s eyes peeled open in time to see her mother’s troubled visage settled on her, as she soaked in the porcelain claw bathtub. Since the whole kidnapping debacle, she wasn’t allowed out of her sight. Those piercing orbs she inherited were trained on her throughout the day since her arrival in Paris, and was more troubling than the stranger’s when in their hostage; her mother read her too well. Knew her too well. MARILYN was in and out of it. Not a stranger to any scandal that resulted in more publicity for the greater good or bad, JUDAS insisted she’d be fine. Much like her better half that was the one who saved her—including their brother—this was a minuscule bump on the road she had to shake off. Their father was adamant on shipping her overseas, and it was encouraged by her mother who embraced, coddled, and soothed her since her arrival, and MARILYN felt even more pathetic. I’m a 30 year old grown ass woman.

The days were slowly coasting by in her parent’s La Païva Mansion, and the confinement made her mind race. ISSEY had strict rules she was fighting to abide by, but was failing. 1) absolutely no social media. 2) Meditation, reasonable solitude and three meals 3) She must write. ‘Go back to your roots. God has a way of humbling you when need be, and forces you to listen’. Unfortunately her head was compacted of the poking and taunting by the men, that barely did she have space for her own thoughts and clarity. Distinct details coated across her vision each time she closed her eyes.

“Get up, baby. Victor has prepared you brunch.” Her mother’s soft voice encouraged her, and ISSEY proceeded in helping her out of the tub.

                              𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 ‘𝐍’ 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐎

“Bizarre, princesse. Le hommes.”

 FRANCISCO, her French engineer, head dipped to the left where her detail lined up against the wall, and her head dropped back; laughter slipped from her coated Cupid’s bow. ‘Double the detail and your father’s men, or you’re not going.’ ISSEY made that clear when MARILYN (merely on liquor courage of Louis XIII de Rémy Martin) wanted to go to her father’s French underground spot: the drunk ‘n’ grim studio space he’d made many of his own classics at. A grotesque and wickedly malformed melody throughout this ordeal kept running rampant in her thoughts: ‘Only If for a night’. Just one. It’s what she needed. She wanted the crashing 808s to replicate pangs of pain, the drums to resonate pounding confusion, and the distortion to signify cloudy confusion that was still very much present.

“Maman. She insisted. Now back to the track, one take is enough. Ruin it.” She motioned with her shot glass for him to make the necessary adjustments to the record she only spoke five words on, and threw the shot back. She was on her fifth one. The number was repetitive at this point. Five voicemails, five days of solitude, five yearning words. She was breaking her hiatus against her mother’s warning, and logged into her Twitter seeing her mentions and DMs explode still of worried fans frantic in wonder of her safety and whereabouts. She yearned for them like never before. MARILYN needed their actual touch to confirm the reality of being alive. One thing for certain, two for sure: CRU would be more than proud, ISSEY will be more than pissed, OSIRIS will cackle with his own shot raised, and JUDAS will be clapping. She typed and published the tweet at once:

( 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 📍:  paris, france )

only if for a night…meet me @ the trocadero square.

                                        𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 | 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓

“...oh yeah, and Franc?”

“Oui, princesse?” Her eyes rolled up sluggishly at the insistence on calling her as such, as he faced away from her at the soundboard at work.

“The Beauty”, 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎, dedicated her life to her family as the Matriarch with a classic beauty to shake the souls of the less secure. To much of their father’s dismay, she ventured off to do a few timeless modeling gigs, but never neglected her motherly duties. 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐘𝐍, as much as she adores her mother and their close relationship, often felt conflicted when it came to the drama that surrounded their parents marriage. Her mother never fulfilling her dreams to the fullest crush her. She always felt she had to pick a side with every feud surrounding that issue in particular. And although they’re still married, ever so often she still feels the divide still.

“The Beast”, known notoriously as 𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎 is an heir and music legend that his daughter 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐘𝐍 has since worked tirelessly to make proud. She took after his musical gene as a recording artist, but felt she lacked control over her career for some time. It wasn’t until her 5th studio album did she take the reigns of her career, and change the trajectory of it. As much as she praises 𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐀𝐒 for his impact and influence, it’s hard to turn a blind eye to his mayhem. Issey was his backbone that helped him garnish his inheritance as well as other discrepancies in his career, but 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐘𝐍 felt he was too blinded by his own ego and eminence to acknowledge it as much as he should. Nonetheless, she always had an intense case of hero worship reserved specifically for her father that never sat quite well with her better half.

“The Industrialist”, a.k.a 𝐂𝐑𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎, her twin sister, have been attached at the hip since their genesis into the world. They would consider themselves the ‘black version of Olsen twins’ due to their working relationship. 𝐂𝐑𝐔 is the brains of their world domination operation while Marilyn is the beauty. 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐘𝐍 has always had the reputation as the more pleasant sister while 𝐂𝐑𝐔 would always cause destruction and terror. The two learned that they had to have each other’s back at a young age, and ever since then they’ve been inseparable.