Chapter 25

*Elena*

Well, what do you know, life does go on. A little change of scenery and a new and exciting project that takes up most, if not all, of your time, and well, you stop caring too much about what's being said. You'd think after weeks had gone by that the Ryder thing would've died down, but nope.

It only seems to have opened up the proverbial can of worms all over again. To make matters worse, no one has seen their hide or hair since then, which has prompted everyone and their mother to stalk me around town as if expecting him to pop up any minute.

Thankfully I've been too busy for all this nonsense. My agent seems to think I have acquired superpowers since my last breakdown because I find myself having to turn down offers left and right when there was hardly ever anything to choose from before. Granted, I was doing a pretty good rendition of a corpse back then, but still.

Instead of griping about it, I decided to be thankful for all of it, but I'm still going to pick and choose what I want to add to my resume. Shooting for the series' first season had just wrapped up, but there was no need to worry about having too much free time on my hands to think about my lacking sex life because I'd pitched an idea to my agent, and before I could hang up the phone from talking to her someone had okayed it. So, I'll be as busy as ever when I get back to L.A. as well.

As if that's not enough, Sydney has been in my ear about starting the fashion line I'd been dreaming about for years. Next to acting and singing, fashion has always been of great interest to me; I just never thought I'd have the time or that anyone would be interested.

It's funny that Janie Andrews turned Sumner, and her friends catapulted me into the spotlight in a way no PR firm could've ever done. At least, that's what I tell myself these days instead of dwelling on the negative. And it's true in a sense. Had they left me alone, I'd have been nothing more than a jilted ex, and she'd have become the wife of the most popular teen idol while I disappeared into the background.

It's a given that this town is all about the winner; no one likes a loser in L.A., morals and ethics be damned. So, no matter my accolades and achievements, the fact that I'd been jilted and was not part of the ‘it' crowd should've sent me into the ether as so many before me had been relegated to.

But her constant bullshit has seen to it that I'm on the front of every gossip rag at least twice a month, and my fans, who probably would've faded into the background along with me as well after all this time, are staying on her ass for being stupid. The more dumb shit she does, the more offers I'm fielding. I could tell her to take it easy so that I could catch a break from all the offers from reputable companies who want to work with me, but why bother? Her insanity is keeping me sane.

Now, unbeknownst to me, I didn't know because I was too busy working and living my best life; someone had snapped a picture of me while on vacation. I guess they'd been waiting for the Ryder thing to calm down before releasing it to start more drama. You've gotta love the heartless wonders that walk the earth as men.

Anyhow, this delightful being decided to sell a rather unflattering picture of me while sunbathing, and it was now plastered all over the Internet for the world to see. Now sure, I'd gained a few pounds, what with the medications I have to take, not only to make sure the life-threatening disease that inhabits my body doesn't return but also the ones I must absolutely take so that I don't lose my shit and take out every last one of my enemies on a bad day.

You'd think these parasites would be glad that I was taking one for the team, gaining weight in a town where that is professional suicide for the wellbeing of everyone, especially her and the hellspawn she calls friends, but no, they've decided to use it as fodder for one of their heckling parties.

I woke up that morning, and wouldn't you know, it was the day I was heading back home for the next six months to work on the craft and design show. Someone had thought it was a good idea to offer me good money to shoot from my home, of all places.

Crafting is one of those things I love to do. I just never saw it as a business idea, but this producer had gotten wind of the fact that I liked crafting and decided that it would be a good idea to record me doing it. Hopefully, I don't fall flat on my face, but any chance to keep busy is good.

So, I woke up this morning getting ready to leave, and the phone rang, and it was Rachel with the news that I was once again the topic on everyone's tongue and why. I hung up the phone with her and looked for the image and tried for the life of me to see what was wrong with the picture and could find nothing. I actually smiled at the damn thing because I thought I finally had the body of a woman.

When I'd lost half my body while going through chemo that first time, that's when I thought I was at my worst, but I forgot that I lived in a town where people were paying thousands to suck the flesh off their bones to look good. To them, my dying state was perfection. Stuff like that, quite frankly, is what helped me to pull away from that mindset and not give a crap about what those people thought.

No one knows that I have this new way of thinking and looking at things, not even Sydney, because it's my little secret weapon. It's the thing that makes me smile inside while idiots are trying to tear me down on the outside, and so far, it's been working very well. I'm not sure how much of that is the pills and how much is the woman I would've wanted to be before my life went to hell, but whatever.

I read some of the comments, but it was all meh; nothing new there, just the same old same old. People who didn't know me from Adam were once again telling my life story. Sometimes I don't find out certain things about who I am until I see it in print.

No wonder my mind goes off on a tangent every once in a while because their reality of me is so far from the truth I have to wonder. Are these people making up shit and knowingly lying to sell gossip rags? Or do they really believe this shit? And if they do believe it, am I really doing these things with no recall?

I wasn't interested enough to even give it a second thought, that was until I landed in L.A. hours later, and shit had hit the fan. The first I heard of it was when I was mobbed at the airport as soon as I walked outside. Now, most of what I'd learned about myself over the years came from the mouths of the paparazzi. Most of it is for shit, a lot of made-up bullshit to sell stories, but every once in a while, they'd drop a little gem of a nugget, and you know some shit's about to go down.

What I picked up from the questions being thrown at me was that the nepotism offspring, heretofore known as the nepo babies and Ryder's beard, had got ahold of that photo from earlier and done some kind of skit about it, making fun of me, and it had backfired. All of this in less than six hours.

I have no interest, really; those three can send me spiraling into insanity, literally, so I've made it a point to ignore that they even exist. But they don't know that, apparently, so they keep treading on. It was my job, though, to make an appeal to my fans to let these idiots live. Again!

Why couldn't he have found someone with a lick of sense to marry so I could have some peace? He probably did that shit to piss me off, choosing the most annoying beast he could find to get under my skin. I wish the frig that he'd crawl out of whatever hole he's been hiding in for the last few months and put a leash on his pet so I could breathe without her on my ass.

I walked into the house and locked myself in my room, pacing back and forth and ignoring everyone who came to my door knocking. Rachel was the most persistent, but my aunt and uncle respected my wishes and left me alone. Rachel finally took the hint, though I think she thought I was in there crying, whatever.

I was gearing myself up to look at the posts that the paparazzi were only too happy to fill me in on to see what exactly it was that they'd done to send my fans and even people who didn't know me into a frenzy. Honestly, I'd rather just ignore the whole thing, but there's one little truth I refuse to mention out loud, and that is, if she's hurting, then he, too, would be hurting.

Had my love for him been a flash in the pan, I wouldn't give a toot about him or his feelings, but because that fool still lives rent-free in my head and a large part of my heart, I can't bear to see him suffer. He's always needed a keeper, and apparently, his wife has no idea how to reel him in, something I used to be very good at.

I know in the beginning, he didn't stop her because he was mad at me; I only understood this years later once the dust cleared and I was thinking straight again. But I know him somewhat, and this is not his style, not to let it go on for this long. Then again, he was nowhere around to keep her muzzled, so she'd decided, along with the plastic Barbies, to start a new open season on my newly plump butt.

I pulled up the post, which had been deleted by them but saved for all posterity by someone else and reposted. It didn't look so bad to me, and there was a toss-up on whether or not they were referring to me in their little ditty (only if you believe in pink elephants and purple dinosaurs), but I digress.

The thing that got to me, though, more than their mocking me, was the song they sang. Some names should not be used to bully and spite others. Some names should never be used to condescend and ridicule and it definitely shouldn't be used by black-hearted sub-humans whose only claim to life and fame is that one of their siblings got fucked on camera in some homemade porn that apparently wasn't that good, and the other is the offspring of a wannabe movie star who still lives in his sister's shadow even after she'd unalive someone. For fuck's sake!

Oh dear, my twin is rearing her ugly head. Better take some pills and put the phone down before I do something I'd spent the last five years refusing to do. Only in this town. It's only in L.A. that the victim can be thrown to the damn wolves and made the scapegoat. I've done everything in my power to take myself out of the equation, but for some reason, these people can't seem to leave me the hell alone.

Alrighty then, let's dance.