Included: @young-grasshopper, mentioned: @jolieenrose.
This sucks. All my writing sucks. Bluhhhhh.
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Inside Ego - the hottest new club in LA, to hear the lifestyle blogs tell it - the floor thumped to the beat of a David Guetta remix, the dance floor pulsed with the rhythm of bodies dancing, and for the first time in weeks, I was able to forget all my troubles. Ethan, Lia, Tricks... it was all pushed right out of my mind with each thrum of the bassline. It wasn't even that great of a song. But sometimes, losing myself in the music completely was what I needed. I wasn't Darcy Kirke, child star trying to make it in the adult world, or Darcy, the girl who loved Lia Lockwood with all her heart. I was just one body in a sea of them, seeking heat and touch like everybody else.
Through the crowd, I could see flashes of familiar faces. Winter Jessop was knocking back yet another cocktail and throwing her arm around a friend, laughing uproariously at some joke I couldn't hear. Okay, I lied - not every one of my troubles melted away the moment I walked in the club. Every once in a while, I still caught myself looking around, keeping an eye out for Ethan in case he popped up again, looking for Lia with my stomach awash in what I couldn't tell was fear or hope. She'd made herself scarce in my life since the premiere. Maybe she'd seen how I still looked at her like she'd hung the moon. Maybe she was disgusted by the very idea; I was pretty disgusted with myself, too. It had been years. I should have been over her by now.
But every time I saw her, it still felt like the very moment she broke up with me all over again.
F-ck it. This was one of my last nights before filming for Tricks started, and I was going to make the most of it. I elbowed my way through the crowd to the bar - maybe a drink would dull the edge off my anxiety.
"Cool Blue Hawaiian, please," I told the bartender, leaning one elbow on the counter.
"Hey... Darcy Kirke, right?" My eyes darted over to the girl at the bar next to me. Oh my god, where did I know her from? I'd seen those eyes up on movie screens time and time again...
"Yeah, uh..." I bit my lip. "Sh-t, sorry, I know who you are but-"
"Parker Adams." She grinned, showing off perfect bleached-white teeth. "My little sister likes your show."
"Oh, yeah." I'd heard the same from a lot of people. Generally 'my little sister' was code for 'and I watch it too but I'd never admit it' - it seemed to be a common thing for us Mouse House actresses. Nobody wanted to admit they tuned into the Disney Channel on occasion, but who could blame them? Light-hearted, mindless fun. We all needed a bit sometimes.
I sipped my drink and ran my other hand through my hair a bit nervously. Parker was an established movie star - and super pretty. She'd make anyone a bit on edge. At least the sweetness of my drink was helping.
"'My little sister' loves your movies."
We shared a conspiratorial smile at that, but it didn't last long. A boy - hardly a man, maybe nineteen at the most with British-male-model looks - had just the right sort of devilish grin to draw Parker's attention from me and my Disney past, and from what gossip I knew about her he'd probably occupy her entire night. I watched them slip away, her hand in his back pocket and her hips swaying to the music, and downed the last of my drink before heading back out to the dance floor myself.
The other nice thing about clubbing was that it gave you an excuse to get up close and personal with other girls and nobody even batted an eye. Best female friends did the same thing, girls who barely knew each other did - whether it was for the male attention or, like me, they just needed an excuse, I wasn't sure. When the crowd pushed us together, no one even cared about the blonde girl they'd practically pressed me against, our bodies nearly close enough to touch. No one cared about her hands on my waist, her breath in my ear, how my body burned where she touched me.
No one noticed when the song changed and she took me by the hand and pulled me off the dance floor. To them, we probably looked like two girlfriends - the platonic kind - just headed to the bathroom in a pair the way girls apparently do according to men who liked to act like we were another species altogether. Or maybe there was some truth to that myth - I didn't know. It had been a long time since I'd wandered into the bathroom at a club, a party, a premiere with another girl and it hadn't ended just like this:
My back pressed up against a stall door.
The hands of a woman whose name I didn't even know in my hair.
My hands sliding under the hem of her shirt.
Her lips on mine.
Fingers tugging at clothing and my lips on her neck, her collar bones, a brief thought flitting through my head - did boys really consider unhooking bras such a challenge? - the muted thud, thud, thud of the music reverberating through the walls, one name in my mind...
One name escaping my mouth before I could hold it back.
Oh, god, Lia.
Long after the girl had left - in a bit of an understandable huff, "calling another girl's name - real classy," I sat on the closed lid of the toilet, staring into space until my eyes lost focus, but all I could see was her face. All I could imagine was how she'd look at me if she knew. "Christ, Darcy, haven't you grown out of this whole lesbian phase? We're not sixteen and experimenting any more."
I tucked my knees to my chest, wrapped my arms around my legs, and tried to pretend I didn't feel sick all the way to my core. Pretend I wasn't so disgusted with myself, that I didn't want to take a scalpel to my chest and reach in and cut out whatever was wrong with me that made me... I didn't know what.
A freak. A girl who liked girls. A girl who was still in love with someone who could never love her back and didn't want to.
That was the problem with these spontaneous hook-ups. They felt good enough. For a small amount of time, I wasn't the only one f-cked up in the head like this. I could forget.
But they always seemed to end with me trying, failing not to cry.