#self 1

They’d made it through the night without further incident. Everyone stayed safe. She hoped  it was hard to look around at the damage the storm had left behind. It would take some time to put everything to rights. Even longer to assess the value of the inventory that had been lost. 

After an eight hour work day and a late night at his local bar, Joe found himself stumbling out of bed. As he headed to the kitchen to get his morning coffee, the small white envelope that was shoved under his doorway caught his eye. He walked over, the sound of his bare feet on the wood floor was the only sound that echoed in his apartment.

Opening the envelope, he rubbed his eyes. Walking over to the coffee table, he slipped on his glasses. As he read the letter, he felt his knees give out from under him. 

Hi, Joe

How are you? I see you’re home in Boston. Must be nice, huh. You don’t have to be in the same place you killed your fiancee. Too bad. I’d  have thought you’d be in jail for that. Does no one know? You know, I know. Here’s the thing: go back to Chicago, reunite with StarKid and no one will. Oh, and try to keep the number of drinks small.

A Fan.

The letter fell from his hands as he closed his eyes. Someone knew. They knew what happened to Skylar. They knew it was all his fault. As the tears streamed down his face, the accident replayed on loop in his mind. His car hitting the icy patch in the road. The other car that hit directing on her side. Her scream filled his ears again as he saw her laying lifeless on the passenger side of the car. She was bleeding out fast and Joe couldn't do a thing to stop it. 

 Paris, France

"Do you have to leave?" 

“As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.” – Audrey Hepburn

Her amber eyes sparkled with flecks of gold, her hand stroking through one side of her curls while the brush slowly and softly descended through the others. Her lips were pursed as she swallowed hard, staring her reflection down, studying her features, cheekbones, shape of her nose, the way her eyes partially twinkled, showcasing different colors within its own rainbow of jade, copper and gold. If nothing else she certainly felt beautiful that morning. Taking in a deepened breath, she slowly exhaled as she lifted her arms and pulled her brunette locks into a tight fitted, professional, twisted bun, securing it with bobby pins as she went along.

Sitting up straight within the vanity chair she adjusted her shoulders, cleared her throat attempting her best to look professional, and yet keeping her wiles about her. She knew she was attractive, and that she used it to her advantage, why not? The world led most people astray, why couldn’t she just factor herself into that equation? The world she lived within, grew up within was full of scoundrels of all kinds, especially amongst a mob war of sorts.

Audrey pursed her lips, took up the lip balm and gently dabbed it onto her lips, pouting them a bit before she rubbed them together, smearing the shiny blob of pinkish hue across her lips for a glistening pout that was sure to appease the eye. She arched a brow upward once again inhaling and exhaling deeply as she looked herself over. All her blemishes softly hidden beneath a delicate bed of foundation, both cream and powdered, her cat-winged eyeliner accenting the right curvatures to the shape of her bold beautiful eyes. Today was another day as any other, but it was yet another chance for her to spread more lies, to get under the skin of one Erik Callaghan; to gain his trust only to have to be deceptive, snoop about to conjure up evidences for one Nicolas St. Clair. Oh how the tables turned, how the world could be so cruel. She was not a vindictive person by nature; she pictured herself as a good girl honestly; A Disney Princess, Belle, of course, kindhearted, soft-spoken and yet exceptionally witty, well-read and intelligent.

She saw herself as a modern day picture of Audrey Hepburn, no, not a call-girl like Holly Golightly, or an actress as Audrey Hepburn herself; simply the elegance and poise she had respected from the woman she had always assumed at a young age she’d been named after. She always did light up at the memory of her first Audrey Hepburn flick, the way Ms. Hepburn walked, the way she spoke with such an elegant air about her accent. Audrey could remember pretending to have an Austrian accent with a British twist, just the way Ms. Hepburn had. She would entertain her dolls with mud-pies, rock crumpets and air-tea, but her hair would have to be so-so, and her dress black and fitted or she would have to call off her imaginary play date. To say the child had been obsessed from birth would be an understatement. She was completely enthralled and thus had decided to live her life out in such a way that reflected the very nature of who the actress had been. She too kindhearted, and so very giving, especially near the days of her death, and that was whom Audrey had pictured herself modeling after in every way shape and form…well she could have only hoped. She had lived her life out professionally, always attempting to say the right things, impress the right people but also had a nurturing behavior that caused her to care about others in a deeper fashion than most.

Breathing in, exhaling once more, Audrey stepped to her feet, smoothing out her pencil skirt. She stepped over to her bed where her pair of fashionable Manolo heels awaited. Stepping into them she hummed admiring the shape of the black pumps against her newly pedicured feet. She felt particularly gorgeous that morning, conflicted because she was aware what she would have to do that morning, as any other, but she would push through. She had to. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for. At least that is what she constantly worded in her head, over and over again like on a repetitive track. Today would be better; today she would push through as any other, as if the things she said and did were nothing, just the usual day to day business. She wasn’t a bad person. She was a good person with a big heart who simply wanted to do right by certain people, that was all.

Snatching up her purse and coat she headed out the door, pushing her cares and worries aside she strode along as if she had absolutely no worries or cares even her mind was running rapid. Jogging about she hailed down a taxi, and as usual she was on time to work, Starbucks in hand, punctual attitude, beaming dimpled grin upon her lips. “Morning Mr. Callaghan,” She stated cheerily as she sat his double tall half decaf mocha onto his desk. She picked up her ipad which held the schedule within her calendar and began to spout out the information he asked for. Yes, just as any other day. She would read off the schedule, they would go about their business, she would run her errands, the sun would go down, they would go their separate ways, and she would opt for a night out on the town in the fluttering glorious social scene or descend to her empty penthouse and go to bed only to wake up once again to start over a new.

This was her life in Launceston. This was what it had become. Truly, deep down she had no complaints, only worries. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, nor betray the wrong people. She knew what everyone in this mob war was capable of and she didn’t wish to step on any toes, but better to be a part of the French than none in her book. At least then she knew she was partially protected, what with the Italians striking the Callaghan family with what they could; Those poor girls, poor Olivia. Yes, poor Olivia indeed.