It was the same picture someone had sent Paul as an unspoken threat.
The one he’d assured her had burned long ago with everything else from her past.
In the ten years since the photo was taken she’d traveled such a great distance, rose to great heights, only to come full circle and find herself as powerless, desperate, and filthy as she’d been as a child.
Everything Paul had told her was a lie. Her past had never been erased. It had been there all along, patiently waiting for just the right moment to remind her of the sins she’d committed on her rise to the top.
Someone had connected the dots between the hopeless child she’d been to the triumphant star she’d become.
Someone had uncovered the darker truth of her journey—the lies she’d told, the people she’d betrayed—and now they were making her pay.
While she refused to believe Paul was behind it—he’d been protecting her for too long to turn on her now—she couldn’t rule out the idea that maybe someone had gotten to him. Either way, it was clear she could no longer count on him to find her.
Absently, she ran a finger over the web of fresh scars that covered her knuckles and hands—a reminder of an earlier bid to escape that had resulted in a broken pinkie, a badly strained wrist, and the loss of three nails. She’d acted impulsively, allowed herself to be driven by fear. It was a mistake she would not make again. Her next attempt had to succeed. Failure was no longer an option.
She remained like that, staring at the wall and formulating a plan, the images of her past and present selves merging into one, until the last meal was delivered and the cell went dark once again.
TWO
HEART-SHAPED BOX
BEAUTIFUL IDOLS
Innocent Until Proven Guilty, Yo!
By Layla Harrison
Warning: If you landed on this blog looking to revel in the usual sarcastic celebrity snark fest, then you might want to get out while you can and save your clicks and comments for Perez Hilton, Popsugar, or wherever you go to fuel up on your daily dose of Hollywood gossip when you’re done reading me.
Don’t even try to pretend we’re monogamous.
I know you’ve been clicking around.
While I’m usually all too happy to provide the sort of low-level, derisive, Hollywood dirt you’ve come to crave, today I’m afraid I’m unable unwilling to come out and play.
Unless you’ve been hiding under the proverbial rock, you’re probably aware that Aster Amirpour has been arrested for the murder of Madison Brooks. A good source confirms the Bravado Channel even cut a very special Real Housewives of Hades episode in order to report the breaking story, and I think we can all agree that the willingness to preempt the daily digressions of everyone’s favorite cloven-heeled, cleavage-enhanced, pitchfork-wielding blondes shows just how very serious this story is.
As it turns out, it is serious, and I was there when it happened. Which means I watched in horror as an innocent person was unfairly handcuffed and hauled away in a squad car in front of dozens of paparazzi.
Until you’ve watched someone being accused of a heinous crime you know they did not commit, then you probably won’t have any empathy for what I’m going through now. Thing is, I know beyond a shadow of doubt—well beyond any and all reasonable doubt—that Aster Amirpour is innocent. Which means I will not write about her arrest in my usual way.
While I’m more than happy to continue to report on all manner of Hollywood debauchery, I cannot and will not use this blog to bring down an innocent or perpetuate a story that simply isn’t true.
Also, as we so often seem to forget during times like these, allow me to remind you that our legal system works on a little thing called the presumption of innocence, which translates to mean: the burden of proof is on the one who declares, not on the one who denies.
Look it up:
http://legal-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/presumption+of+innocence
546 Comments:
Anonymous
Your a fucking idiot.
MadisonFan101
Your friend is a murderer and you’re both going to hell.