@OLEANDERKING

BAFTAS. 06.02.18. 7:45 pm. - - - - - - - 

My fingers shake as I clutch the envelope that holds the name of the best male leading actor. I’ve just won the award for leading female, and I feel both euphoric and deeply nauseous. I wonder quietly, as I stand behind the curtains and wait for my cue, if the men who sit on the BAFTA board laughed when they chose my name to present this award. I wonder, as I consider the name in the envelope, if it will be someone I respect, the public respects--or if I will hand a trophy to a man who only deserves to clutch the cold metal bars of a prison cell. Can I give them the satisfaction of taking this quietly?

My whole life revolves around Ad Astra, around Me Too, Times Up, and more. Everything I do and every move I make reflects in the movements that I have turned to the center of my universe, and in turn who now look to me to speak up, and to speak out. I consider, for just a moment, if I can take this opportunity so carelessly set within my cold and clammy fingers, and simply let it go. 

I peek around the heavy velvet and spot Brielle, and my heart hurts. No, it does so much more than hurt. It aches for the girl who is my closest friend, who I know is hurting, and who will never accept it. Shes too strong, too stubborn. I know it well, and often when she speaks I feel I am looking in a mirror that speaks the thoughts I can never truly express. 

Thunderous applause. It's not yet my turn but it will be soon. The host is telling some joke that I always feel falls flat, but I know that's only me and my ever growing distaste for everyone around me. I fidget in my heels, the Chanel dress shifting on my body as I stand uncomfortably, a cold sweat licking at the back of my neck. I shudder, eyes closing as I swallow the bile that threatens down. 

I used to wonder what was driving me further away from other people, from the human connection that I knew I was supposed to crave. Sometimes as I’m sitting in my penthouse, the silent almost painful as it suffocates, I wonder why I don’t call for someone. I wonder why I send Jasper away, and ignore my friend's calls. It makes me feel like something is wrong with me, when the loneliness feasts heavily at my soul, a nameless beast. 

And yet I do nothing. I say nothing. I ask for no one. I don’t really wonder anymore, because I know it won't change, I know it cant. I know the ocean that was once my soul is freezing over, and I also know that perhaps there is nothing I can do to stop that. 

“Oleander King!” 

I’m shaken from my quiet reverie, and I suppose as I plaster a smile across my features, that this is why. I still hadn’t decided if I could just let it go, but as I stepped from behind the curtains and into a spotlight so hot my skin burned, my gaze fell on Brielle again, and my ears popped with the applause and screams that were only for me. I stepped up to the podium, allowing the voices to quiet, and my smile to slowly fade, before I began. 

#WHYWEWEARBLACK // webbie awards --- 

I paused the interview that was playing on E! and clicked a few frames back, and then I played it again. I looked like a fool, caught in a lie about Jasper of all people. It was exhausting.

I was exhausted. 

My publicist had been over an hour before, begging me to wear a dress, even if it was black. I had refused, and I would continue to refuse. I had told her it was pants, or I would arrive naked. She turned on the interview with Nina Mai from the evening before, and then she left. She was worse than my mother, who I most certainly needed to call. She would understand, even if my father didn't. She knew what these movements meant to me, and she knew I wouldn't go down without a fight--I’d be kicking and screaming. 

The interview played again, and I watched myself blink in shock at the sudden accusation, before offering a shaky answer to the question. It’s fine, I tried to convince myself. Only the truly desperate still watch E! 

I turned off the television, then. I had enough happening, I didn't need to be truly desperate, as well. 

Every last piece of my outfit was handcrafted by Chanel. I’d been comfortable with Maureen Chiquet since my first big film in 2011, at 16. That was the year I had decided to only work with female-led production companies, directors, or screenwrites. My mother had called me extreme and cried over my doomed career. 

Maureen had called me brilliant, and then she had called me personally. 

The two-piece, all black outfit of choice reflected far more than my personal style: it was a representation of the times, no matter how dark they were getting, I had hope. I had built my life on hope, and even as I watched some of the best parts of my life burn in a pyre that was still smoldering from last night, I wouldn't sit back now. 

In the mirror, I smoothed the creases from my pants, before stepping into heels and allowing my hair to fall forward into my face. 

We wear black to stand in solidarity with the victims of sexual abuse. 

I carefully dabbed concealer on a small, darkly colored bruise that had blossomed on my neck, and rolled my shoulders back. The apartment was silent, and I felt violently alone. I want to leave, and never come back. 

Instead, I turned the lights of my home off with a soft click, and locked the elevator gates behind me as a headed down. 

We wear black as a reminder that not everyone can speak up for themselves, but they are not alone. 

I took a seat in the back of my town car, and we headed toward the event. I would be arriving alone again, and it was strategic this time. Silently, I dared Nina Mai, or Ryan Seacrest, or Giuliana Rancic to ask me who I wore, or why. I dared them to ask me to show my teeth, because I had an answer. 

INTERVIEW WITH OLEANDER KING x NINA MAI OF E! ENTERTAINMENT // 

Oleander smoothed her dress for the last time, before tossing her hair and stepping from the limo that had stopped at the helm of the red carpet. Despite having been to dozens of events, parties, and galas where a carpet was rolled for her feet to step onto, the nerves always flared just before she stepped into the limelight. It was always the same, too. The same cameras, and the same people asking her asinine questions. Despite knowing what was to come, Oleander found herself stalling in the back seat. 

“Ms. King, they’ve announced your name twice now. It’ll only make it worse to wait, you know.” 

Wise words from her driver of 10 years, the blonde offered a half smile before finally stepping one leg out of the vehicle, following the rest of her body. The screams were immediate, the cacophony of noise enough to dull of senses. It was all a show, after all--and she was brilliant at it. Her smile radiated, megawatts being thrown at each camera, each interviewer. Despite the constant call for her to stop, to speak, to do anything at all--Oleander kept walking. 

It was accidental, the way she came to be standing just close enough to Nina Mai of E! to seem interested in a conversation. Before she could realize her error and step away, the cameras were on her face, the lights blinding as the woman in front of her began to speak. 

“Oleander King! You look phenomenal, as always. What’re you wearing tonight?” 

Bored, Oleander offered a slight smile, and it most certainly did not reach her eyes. 

“Oh, I’m wearing a dress, thank you for asking.” 

The coolness of her tone was not lost, and Nina Mai began to scramble. In her search for a question that would be better received, Oleander didnt prepare herself for the potential of anything more than her clothes and nominations. She had been terribly wrong. 

“Ms. King, are you still seeing Jasper Vanderbilt--exclusively? We missed seeing him tonight, and as you didn't arrive together...?” 

The question trailed off, and Oleander answered before considering the reason behind such a blunt question. She was smarter than this, she thought better of the choices she made. She knew full well the wrong response would start a media dumpster fire. 

“Uh, yes. We’re still together, and not seeing anyone else. We certainly wouldn’t be seeing other people!” 

Smile, breathe. Look sincere--fake it. Oleander laughed as if her suggestion was absurd. The smile that grew on the interviewer's features told her she had made a very drastic mistake. 

“Really? Interesting, we happened to see you out with Rumi Winslow last Saturday evening? You were at a club, and dancing very closely,”  Nina Mai rose an eyebrow, offering a smile that was sure to seem friendly and coy, but was predatory in nature. 

“as we all recall, you had a very torrid breakup, it was headline news. Is there a chance of that rekindling?” 

Oleander blinked once, twice--her smile faltered. Scrambling, she finally offered a few final words, 

“Rumi is one of my dearest friends, and its been two years. Please dont breathe life into ancient history.” 

Turning on her heel, she offered a final smile, ignoring the pleads of Nina Mai to continue their conversation. 

witch:

witch: do you mean the Sabbats?