โi haven't done a cartwheel since i was nine i haven't seen my mother in a long, long time. i mean, look at me, look at the length of my hair, my face, the shape of my body. do you really think i give a damn what i do after years of just hearing them talking? call him up, come into my bedroom ended up, we fuck on the hotel floor . it's not about havin' someone to love me anymore. this is the experience of bein' an american whore.โ (SONG HERE!)
after being snubbed by the academy and uninvited to the oscars for the first time in her eleven year career as an actress, felicity dupont has released a 7 minute rant track on oscar night where she seemingly addresses, for the first time, the publicโs perception of her and responds to the hate sheโs received, the worldโs oversexualization of her and how she no longer cares if everyone views her as anย โamerican whoreโ as a direct response to the industry that had seemingly turned their back on her after the leak of her sex tape, deciding to make the message not so subliminal by releasing it on oscar night.
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the first thing she heard was the beeping. slow, rhythmic, too clean, too precise to be anything real. her eyes fluttered open to a light so bright, it felt like it was slicing through her skull. and for a second, for a fleeting moment, she thought maybe this was it. maybe she didn't make it. but then came the pain. it was sharp and nauseating and reminded her she was very much still alive. her ribs screamed when she tried to shift even a little bit and her mouth tasted like metal and blood.
the nurse's voice was the next thing. too soft and calm for how insane everything felt. "you're lucky, ms. dupont." she said, while adjusting felicity's iv. "you've got broken ribs, a concussion, a dislocated wrist and a few deep lacerations. but the way that car crashed? you're lucky to be alive." but felicty didn't care. she could only bring herself to ask one question.
"where's maddox?"
the nurse hesitated, a tiny flicker of pity in her eyes said everything felicity needed to know before she even spoke. "i don't know, sweetheart." the nurse said simply, reaching to brush felicity's hair from her face before she left the room, leaving her alone again.
she didn't know how long it was between then and when the door opened again, but when it did? it was mickey dupont in the flesh. he moved into the room slowly, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on like he was the important person in teh world. his voice was calm and steady, far too steady. "i paid off the police." he said. "they won't press charges. they don't even know what they saw." he said, his voice flat, eyes studying her closely. "you remind me of your mother, you know that?" he said after a few beats of silence. "wild. restless. beautiful. burned out too bright too fast. that's why i left her. and i see you doing the same damn thing."
felicity stared back at him, glassy eyed, bruised, broken more than she ever had been before and for the first time ever, mickey dupont was right. "get out." was all she said quietly, voice raspy and cracked. and as always, he did. because mickey dupont did leaving better than anyone.
days later, after days of agony and withdrawal and stitches, the nurses took her out the back entrance to avoid the photographers waiting out front that had been camping out since the accident. she was moving slow, head throbbing, arm in a sling, being wheeled out in a wheelchair. she felt pathetic. they sent her home in a black car and a nurse. her head leaned against the window and she tried to close her eyes, but every time she did, she saw him.
"please, baby."
"i'm real. i'm right here."
"if you do this, you take me down too."
she unlocked her phone then, seeing absolutely nothing from him. nothing from anyone. just an influx of messages from managers and agents and tabloids and twitter mentions. nobody that actually cared. her battery was on 2%. she let it die.
when the nurse wheeled her into the house, the nurse offered her the polite, professional smile that people reserved for hopeless causes like her. she helped her into bed. adjusted her blankets. placed her pain killers on the nightstand. felicity mumbled a quiet "thank you" and then "you can go." the door closed behind her and finally, she was alone. alone with everything she had done.
she had no tears left though. no energy to rage. or be angry. anytime she moved she felt pain and anytime she thought, it hurt even more. she reached for the orange bottle on her nightstand, shook a few more pills into her palm than she was supposed to, swallowed them dry and then sank back into the sheets as the world completely dulled. day bled into night. light into dark. wake into sleep. she stopped counting. and soon enough, it was all just noise. one long quiet stretch of nothingness. because that's exactly what she deserved.
๐ฅ๐จ๐๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง : laurel canyon, california
๐ฉ๐ซ๐ข๐๐ : 1.9 million dollars
๐ฒ๐๐๐ซ ๐ฉ๐ฎ๐ซ๐๐ก๐๐ฌ๐๐ : 2015
when felicity was just a little girl, the only person in the world she had to look up to was her god mother, stevie nicks. she remembered one photoshoot in particular of hers where she shot in this dreamy cabin that seemed like it was in some fairytale land. when she was eighteen years old, moving out of her manager, everly's home, she saw the house from that exact photoshoot on the market, she knew it was meant to be.
small but mighty, the home built in 1961 feels like it's from a different time, nestled in the heart of los angeles' infamous laurel canyon neighborhood, where creativity and music flourished in the 1970's. the home is surrounded by outdoor decks and exposed to nature, with the inside of the house full of endless rich wood details and stained glass accents. although it's located in the heart of los angeles, it immediately feels like an effortless retreat away from the craziness of hollywood, with old magic and charm in every nook and cranny of this home.
"hey....i broke up with ayaz. i...i don't know why, i don't know what got into me he just...he told me he loved me and i freaked out and i just left. i thought i could do the whole normal thing, you know? i thought i wasn't anything like them, but maybe i am...how do you do it? i mean you and ford just...seem so happy. and i thought i was happy too, but it didn't feel like enough...and i don't know what will. anyway, i'm just going to stay at mal's. i'll see you soon, bye."
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cinnamon girl by lana del rey felicity dupont {eventually}
"there's things i wanna say to you but i'll just let you live. like if you hold me without hurting me. you'll be the first who ever did"
you by miley cyrus
"i got some baggage, let do some damage. i am not made for no horsey and carriage. you know i'm savage, but you're looking past it. i want that late-night sweet magic, that forever-lasting love, but only if it's with you."
what about love? by banks bristol decker
"i belong to no one, you belong to someone else but, maybe if we just rewind the tape. give me one more chance to show you baby, maybe if you just realized what we could be. maybe if you just relearned my name. what about the life that we could make? we could grow older. what about love?"
"i guess you're sleeping, i know it's late. i couldn't sleep and i....just figured it would probably be easier if you were here. but tomorrow's another day, right? goodnight, trav."
