For anybody who was wondering, I did have this up on here a while back. I got to about the second chapter and then just gave up. But I'm bringing it bakk now. I think the old title was "Every Twelve Hours".
2. Burn your life down.
Spencer had dreamt of being unnoticable when she was young.
Of slipping in and out of crowds without the constant eyes and the painful noise that followed her everywhere- whether it was calls for her to pose or quiet whispers about her family. She learned to hate it when they talked and gossiped and whispered. And my, did they talk, tongues wagging at every movement of the essentially imperfect Carlins. Spencer wished they weren't perfectly imperfect, wished that they would mess up so drastically and so horribly that the media would lose interest, would put down their cameras with disgust, and then they could fade away. She wished that they didn't make just the right mistakes or contain such inconcievably interesting flaws, so that maybe she could walk to her car without being blinded by popping flashbulbs.
She hadn't given up on that dream for a long time, which surprised her because she was rather fickle in everything else. The youngest of the filthy rich Carlins, she wasn't exactly the perfect she was made out to be.
Basically, she was a brat.
But Paula was good at covering it, and giving her whatever she needed whenever she needed it. And so Spencer didn't change or adapt or concede much of anything to anyone; unless her brother begged or her father sent her that look. And Paula was forced to give in more and more, to cover up for her youngest almost constantly, because after awhile all the begging and all the looks just stopped working. And Spencer stopped caring. Until one day it all broke open. One day, Spencer hit a barrier she hadn't known was there.
But that's another story, because this one starts here. Years later and attitudes futher, following tears and bruises and broken, here is where she stood. In this room, this gorgeous room that she absolutely hated. She hated it the day she stepped into it, and it didn't help that she didn't leave again. It was the prettiest room she'd ever been in and she despised it.
Spencer laid on the bed, arms out and legs dangling off the edge, the same way she'd laid there every day. The soft, golden lamps were the perfect shade, but that didn't stop the light from offending her, from making her want to turn them off. To let her slide into darkness and an escape and maybe freedom. Freedom in the form of long, complex dreams that were memories in disguise and pain smothered with happiness.
Dreams that brought her back and dreams that made her wish to go forward.
She turned off the lamps.
Spencer pulled her silk dressing gown tighter around her waist and lifted the neatly pressed paper closer to her face. She crinkled her perfect eyebrows a little, blue eyes clouding with concentrated thought.
"Matthew's acting crazy again." She mused softly, fingers twirling a thin spoon through her coffe, though there wasn't any cream or sugar in it yet. She slid one tan, waxed leg over the other and laid the spoon on the saucer, flipping the page.
"What's that miss?" Anna asked, pouring a stream of milk into Spencer's coffee, her maid's uniform pressed just as neatly as Spencer's paper. Anna was a proficient person. Spencer glanced up distractedly, eyes wide and tired.
"Nothing." Spencer muttered, going back to her paper. Her fingers reached for the spoon again. Resuming her stirring, she carefully studied the entertainment section she had before her. She had made front page, as usual, though this time in connection with Davies. It was becoming more and more usual, this connection the press was etching between her and the rock star's daughter, but Spencer didn't think anything of it. It would fade, because it always did.
"Are you going to dinner today?" Anna asked in her elegant English, every word rolling easily past her full lips. She was Spanish and utterly gorgeous, flawless skin and dark brown eyes, a woman someone would love to paint. Spencer barely glanced up.
"Yeah. Will you pick me out some clothes, please?" Anna nodded, though Spencer didn't bother to look up and see it, and then glided away. Spencer kept pouring over the paper, eyes darting quickly over every headline, pausing once in a while to read an article. This was her attempt at keeping up with the ever changing celebrity world and the people in it, from the fifteen seconds to the lifers.
"Gold or sliver Ms. Carlin?" Anna called from the closet twenty feet away.
"Whatever." Spencer said back, taking a single sip of her coffee. Finally, she dropped the paper to the table and stood up. Shedding her gown, she let it pool around her feet, leaving her completely exposed. She started toward the bathroom. "I'm gonna take a shower Anna." She yelled to the woman, running a hand through her golden locks- real or not, no one would ever know. She reached the door to her huge marble bathroom and paused, looking back.
"Are you coming?"
Spencer woke to the sound of frantic pounding on her door, the noise startling her. She pushed up off the bed quickly and stood dazed for a moment, images disorted and odd. Another pounding knock echoed through the room and through her head and she frowned hard. She started toward the deadbolted door, each step bringing her nearer to the terrifying noise. On her toes, she peered through the hole to see her mother there, looking bored and stoned as usual. Spencer frowned, annoyed, and opened the door to let the intimidating woman inside.
"Spencer Keller, what took you so long?" Paula asked, her eyes roving over the room in search of whatever item had held Spencer up. Spencer shot the woman- Paula Keller, world-renowned gold digger turned actress - a disbeliving look, laden with life-long experience of Paula's vices- the least of which being her lack of patience.
"I was sleeping Mom." Spencer spat. Paula snorted.
"And I'm ugly. Just wash your hands before we speak." Spencer didn't even react to her mother's crude, insulting words. It was just the way the woman was, and the way she had been for years before Spencer had even appeared.
"What do you want?" Spencer asked, folding her arms protectively over her chest and taking a step away from her mother.
"Just checking on you." Paula answered, still scanning the room- for what, Spencer didn't know. Everything was as it had been for the past two months, nothing moved or added.
"Well, I'm just peachy. Now leave." Spencer said, her glare becoming more hostile with each reminder of the outside world that her mother was so partial too. The thing was, Spencer loved that world too, for one specific reason.
"Fine. What a way to treat your mother. Carlin will be here to see you next week." Paula said, finally meeting her daughter's eyes. She gave her the usual up and down, you're too skinny, too fat look and then turned away. "Don't kill yourself or anything." She tossed over her shoulder. Spencer shot daggers into her back.
When the woman had disappeared down the hall, Spencer shut the door and locked it, keeping out all the world again. Locking herself back into the tiny one she hated and had created. The one she needed and yet was living in for someone else.
Her semi-voluntary prison.