Author's Note: Another short little drabble, this time in first person from Jessica's POV. I do hope you enjoy it.
Happiness is being given the choice. It's interacting with peers without being afraid; it's the opposite of being numb to the entire world, the emptiness that comes from learning not to care, that you're expendable, that a service you once enjoyed providing is now not only expected but also demanded of you because it is meant to be your life.
Happiness is being allowed a personality other than how you are portrayed on film or in a performance; it's the difference between who you are on stage and who you are behind closed doors - the ability to have a different persona for each and every situation instead of being relegated to only one. …and it's finding the one being who will love you in spite of or perhaps because of all of these things - whoever you are, regardless of what you do or where you've been or what emotional state you're in, regardless of how you've shut yourself off from the world and how you've allowed yourself to be treated, regardless of what little you know about thing of great value and how much you do know about others of less.
But, then again, these are simple definitions. You asked for a story.
I'll see what I can give you.
My co-workers no doubt loved me. They'd spent years filming with older Toons - not older, because who wants to see that? Perhaps I should simply say more experienced because that seems to be more accurate, although I was drawn with all of their experience in the business, just none of my own outside of it - and had to deal with those jaded beings who'd shut themselves off from the world, something that even I did eventually, as Toons of my type have a tendency to do. But with me, they had a brand new Toon, one who hadn't grown accustomed to the world outside of her business, and they were able to raise me up the way they wanted.
For five weeks, I was free with my Toon co-stars. One of them - Dog-Eared Dick, if I remember correctly - led me to a place that I only later realized was his own home and taught me how to take care of myself - how to eat without dribbling food down my chin, how to bathe properly without missing anything, but not how to dress or undress because those were the skills with which I came equipped.
I don't remember knowing words for sadness, but there was something painful in Dick's eyes when, night after night, the two of us went home together. The first night, I knew a bed only for filming purposes and my brain went into overdrive and autopilot. His hollow eyes wandered over me and he said, in a weary voice, "Jessica. Please." Then he locked himself up in the bathroom and left me to my own devices.
The next weeks, as I learned more and more, I became engrossed with everything. I wanted to know - perhaps more than Dick did, although what little he'd learned, he taught to me. His skills, those, were limited to those dealing with plumbing, something on which I could never quite get a grasp. But I did find my love of cooking in those early weeks, and each day after filming, I would hurry to our apartment, hoping that I could chase the vacancy from his eyes with a new concoction. Still, we spent the hours without much conversation, and when he wasn't teaching me, he kept himself locked up in the bathroom - often with a bottle of Jack.
After the night my screams came back unheeded, I wandered into our apartment, stumbling, and when his eyes saw their void echoed in my own, he shook his head. "Now you're like me, unable to ever be happy again."
When I asked, he let out a sigh. "Happiness is who you were before. It's freedom." He said the word with a singular longing, and for once I saw a flicker of something in his deep green eyes.
Then he kicked me out of our apartment and left me to the streets.
