Текст книги "Kiss the Sky"
Автор книги: Becca Ritchie
Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
[ 48 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY
I’ve willfully handed over my pleasure and the wedding to-do list to Connor Cobalt. I’ve either gone mad or he’s put a spell on me. I smile at the thought. He doesn’t like when I accuse him of witchcraft.
My phone buzzes as I finish clipping the buckle to my heel in my bedroom, back in Philly, cameras positioned overhead.
4 days and I bought new makeup for you – Mom
I head to the vanity just to check my face once more. It can’t be that bad…well it’s not good. A purplish bruise puckers on my cheekbone. It could have been worse. My eye could have swelled shut and oozed puss—that’s what Connor told me to lessen my misery. It worked. Now I’m just happy I don’t have a puss-filled eye to deal with.
And I can also say I’ve been punched. The bachelorette party hasn’t aired yet, but if anyone thinks it’s my fault, I don’t really care.
Connor walks into the bedroom, shirtless and in a pair of black slacks. His muscles ripple across his abdomen, dipping down towards a place that I saw early this morning. He’s sexier than he realizes—no, no, he definitely knows how hot he is.
He holds up two button-downs by the hanger. “White or blue today?”
“Did you just come out here to show off your body?”
His eyes gleam with mischief, telling me that’s exactly what he did. “I need your impeccable fashion advice, darling. White or blue?”
But I like this more than he knows. It feels comfortable and normal. Sharing space. Sharing each other. I want to wake up and be the woman who chooses what color he wears for the day, and I want him to be the man who chooses what position we’ll take at night.
“White,” I say easily. “I like you in white.”
“Blue it is,” he replies casually.
I glare and his eyes rake my body, taunting me even more. He loves to make me mad. He rests the blue shirt on the desk and takes the white one off the hanger.
“What are you working on today?” I ask as I head towards the door, my purse hung on my forearm.
“My proposal for Cobalt Inc.,” he replies. “The board members approved it this morning. It will go into effect within the next few months.”
He still hasn’t revealed what he’s doing to the company.
I think he just wants to surprise me.
I slip into the hallway, wearing a dark purple peplum dress. Before I can go downstairs, Scott ascends them. His ugly gray eyes latch onto mine. Really, whatever part of him was decently cute or hot has suddenly become putrid like a rotten sulfuric swamp.
“Rose, how are you?” he asks cordially.
“Brilliant,” I say. “As always.” What? I never claimed to be humble.
“Of course. You’re a member of Mensa, you graduated in the top one percent of your class, and you know random facts that no one cares about.”
Prick.
He flashes an oily smile.
And there goes my future children. Sorry, Connor. My ovaries just withered and died.
Before I can combat with something much nastier, he says, “Where’s your necklace?”
I frown and my heart jumps in fear. Did I lose it? I quickly touch my chest, and I relax once my fingers find the smooth diamond pendant. I even glance down to double check. The thin chain is still clipped.
Now he’s just trying to pointlessly irritate me. “Go annoy someone else,” I snap, “preferably someone from a different universe. Maybe you’ll reunite with your ancestors.”
I try to shove past him, but he sidesteps and blocks me. “I was talking about your other necklace. The one with more than one diamond.”
“I have many diamond necklaces, Scott,” I retort, not realizing how bitchy and snobbish I sound until it’s too late.
“Not this many diamonds,” he says, taking a step closer to me. “The inside is leather.” And then he drifts to the left, stuffing his hands into his pockets and sauntering away.
I stay frozen, too stunned to force my heel down the stairs.
He was talking about my collar. My diamond collar.
The one I only wear during sex.
And I’ve never had sex outside of the bedroom or anywhere the cameras can film.
Something is wrong.
I sense it deep in my gut.
Dread mixed with paranoia, a nauseous combination, carries my feet downward. I’m on autopilot, trying to shake Scott’s words and continue my daily routine.
Breakfast. A vanilla yogurt with strawberries and granola and then I’m off to New York to introduce myself to the new Calloway Couture staff.
My heels clink against the hardwood in determined steps. Two stairs down and I stop, worried thoughts creeping back, despite my urgency to brush them away.
What the fuck are you doing, Rose? If Scott knows something, I need to confront him. Or talk to Connor. I almost turn around, but I hear the television from the living room below. Two more stairs down, and the voice becomes distinguishable.
“…a top story. Another Calloway girl in a scandal,” the news anchor says. “This time there’s legitimate proof.”
Daisy.
Something happened to Daisy.
I walk hurriedly, reaching the bottom of the staircase in no time. Loren, Ryke, Lily and Daisy sit on the couch together, their backs facing me. They watch the television above the fireplace, and I march further into the room to have a better look at what’s on screen.
“Oh shit,” Ryke says, seeing me first.
Loren quickly snatches the remote, and the television flickers to black.
I set my hands crossly on my hips and direct my hostility towards my sister’s boyfriend. “I’m not five-years-old, Loren,” I snap. “You can turn on the news.” Especially if it’s about Daisy.
“No,” Lo says, flipping the remote in his hands nervously. “I’d rather not.”
Ryke runs his fingers through his brown hair—a clear sign that he’s anxious too.
Lily and Daisy huddle together on the couch, cupping their hands by their mouths as they whisper. I frown and scan the area for Ben, Savannah, or Brett, but the camera crew is nowhere to be seen.
That’s…strange.
And why are my sisters acting like gossipmongers in front of me?
Unless…
I refuse to believe what’s right in my face. I don’t want to accept it yet.
I stomp over to Loren on the couch, my five-inch heels never letting me down. They keep my body sturdily upright, confident and fucking poised. I try to snatch the remote from his hand, but he holds onto the other end tightly—as if we’re about to have a tug-of-war.
I glower. “Let go, Loren, unless you’d like me to dislocate your arm.”
He narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you tired of making all these empty threats?”
I twist his arm, just like Connor taught me in the self-defense “class” and Lo winces. His grip loosens on the remote, and I take it quickly from his hand.
As he massages his shoulder, he says, “Bitch.”
“Yes, but I’m a bitch with real threats.” I power on the television. When the news pops up, I freeze. Again.
Fixed to the floor. Too cold to move.
“Bet you feel like a bigger bitch right now,” Loren comments.
“Shut up, Lo,” Lily calls out. “Rose…”
I wave her off and turn up the volume. But the headline on the bottom of the screen is vitally clear. Yet, I still have to reread it five times just for the letters to sink in.
Sex Tape of Rose Calloway and Connor Cobalt Sold to Porn Site for $25 Million
Porn site.
Sex tape.
I didn’t sell shit. That little scumbag forged our signatures to a porn distributor? The only satisfaction right now is picturing Scott’s head behind bars because if I imagine the other thing—everyone watching Connor fuck me—a tingling sensation crawls up my arms like thousands of centipedes.
The news doesn’t even bother to explain who we are. Through the reality show and blogs, we’re already famous. Now, I suppose, we’re infamous.
My head buzzes with all the noise from the television, from my friends and sisters. “The producer is none other than Scott Van Wright, Rose’s ex-boyfriend.” I barely catch that line. He’s still my ex-boyfriend? I concentrate on that stupid lie that’s still being aired. When the real shit hits the fan—Scott still manages to keep half his mask on. I hate him.
I have to be stuck in some fucked up nightmare.
Loren tries to grab the remote out of my hand, and I jerk back and turn the volume up. “I’m watching this,” I snap. And there I am.
They play a clip from the sex tape. I’m lying on my bed in this house, naked. Black bars censor the tape for network television, my breasts and vagina sufficiently covered now.
But somewhere online the unedited version is being circulated. And how can I stop it? Lawyers. Lots of them. But I can’t even bring myself to call my father or to dial the family’s attorney. I am hypnotized by me. On screen. With Connor.
My arms are tied to the bedpost with Connor’s belt, and the expensive diamond collar glints in the dim candlelight. I remember that night. It was right after the Alps. My second foray into sex and it’s public for everyone to see.
I turn the volume higher, my finger stuck on the button as it blares.
“Rose,” Loren complains, his hands on his ears.
“Rose.” Lily stands and tries to touch my arm, but I jerk away again.
“Don’t touch me.” I need to see this. No one tells me to turn it down, probably afraid I will kill them for it. I feel murderous. I feel like I could go kill a coalition of baby cheetahs and not bat an eye.
The news anchor’s voice escalates to an intolerable level. But I don’t lower the television. Not yet. “Scott Van Wright has sold the sex tape to Hot Fire Productions for a multi-million-dollar deal. There’s been no comment yet from either Connor Cobalt or Rose Calloway, but it appears to be a legal transaction between all four parties.”
My mouth drops. That fucking liar. There is no way in hell this is legal.
“The summary of the film says the hour-long session is rough and for mature audiences only.” Clearly.
I turn the volume to the highest level.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ryke asks, putting a hand to his ear to block the noise. Lily is the only one standing up by my side. Her face twists in pain, and I remember she’s been in this position. Sort of. She’s never had her sex life distributed. No one has seen it online.
She was just called a sex addict, and everyone took it as truth. Which it was. But this is clear, physical proof that I’ve had sex. I’m no longer a virgin.
“Maybe she’s like…having a mental break…” Daisy says.
I spin on my heels, taking the remote hostage with me. I carry myself with some morsel of dignity. In the kitchen, I rummage in a cupboard that squirmy Brett loves to hide his booze under. Since we have a “no alcohol in sight” policy in the townhouse, most everything is kept out of reach. I land on my knees and dig around the dishwasher soaps for the bottle of Jack.
“Seriously though, Rose!” Lily says loudly, trying to talk over the blaring TV. “Are you okay?”
I rise to my feet, snagging a wine glass from another cupboard before I return to the living room. Everyone watches as I pour whiskey to the rim, practically overflowing the glass.
“Rose, not to lecture you at this really sensitive time in your life,” Loren says, “but that’s not how you drink whiskey. And as an expert in liquor, it offends me.”
I give him a sharp glare. “You’re not an expert in liquor. You’re an alcoholic.” I set the bottle of Jack on the coffee table and take a large swig. It burns the back of my throat, but I hardly even cringe. The sting is numbed by my anger.
“Which makes me an expert,” Loren argues.
I wave him off. My go-to move at this point. Wave it off. If only I could magically wave away that sex tape.
I take three more gulps from my wine glass. I am so pissed. My body throttles with rage. I am shaking I am so fucking livid. Yes, it’s embarrassing that the world has seen my breasts and vagina, two parts of me that I was unwilling to show Connor for an entire year.
Yes, I’m slightly nervous the world will view me as a doormat now that they see me gooey and submissive in bed.
No, I will not cry.
I won’t shed a tear for Scott Van Wright. He deserves only my nasty, vile words. Not emotions that I reserve for people I love.
“What’s going on?” Connor asks, his voice coming from the stairs. Perfect. He’s heard my call. The loud, obnoxious television.
And his gaze traverses to the TV.
“Look honey,” I say, “we have a sex tape together.”
Everyone silences, probably wondering if the unflappable Connor Cobalt will suddenly lose his shit. It takes him less than ten seconds to unglue his feet from the floor—beating me by a whole minute. I expect him to take out his phone. To do the responsible thing and start dialing attorneys and crisis management centers.
Instead, he stops right in front of me. His eyes swim in mine, as if searching for my mental state. I’m fucking fine, I want to scream back. But I choose to take another large swig of the biting whiskey.
Raw concern encases his features. I want to explain how angry and not sad I am, but the words don’t form. And then he glances at my wine glass. He better not take this away from me like I’m a child. If he pours my drink down the sink—
And then he snatches the wine glass right out of my hand.
Before I have time to complain, he puts the rim to his lips. And I go quiet, watching him take a huge, brazen swig—washing away his own fury with the alcohol. I smile. Because we cope in the same way. Not usually with drinking, but with pulling our shoulders back and taking it like a fucking champ.
He hands the wine glass back to me and says, “Ce n’est pas la fin.” This isn’t the end.
I nod in agreement. He steals the remote from me and softens everyone’s ears by lowering the volume.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t even check to see who it is. I just sit on the armrest of the couch and watch the television.
“…Princesses of Philly has promoted Rose as a virgin. Many people are speaking out about the validity of the show…”
Connor changes the channel to cable.
“…either she lied or she lost her virginity during the time of the show. Go to our website for a poll—” He flips to another station.
I yell spitefully at the flat screen, “The world doesn’t have ANYTHING better to do than talk about my virginity?!” I motion to the TV with my drink.
“Or lack thereof,” Loren adds.
I ignore that comment and turn to Connor. “My vagina has trumped national news.” I let out a manic laugh. “What do you think our friends from Model UN would say about that?”
Connor’s eyes rake me like he’s diagnosing my hysteria.
I ignore that too.
After a quick moment, he sidles behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He presses his lips to my shoulder. I lean back against his chest. It feels familiar and warm, safe even, knowing that I have someone here—on my team.
Daisy clicks away on her laptop. “It looks like most people are voting in favor of you in polls. They say that you can’t be a liar or a hypocrite. Not when you’ve stated in the show that you would—and I quote—‘jam my five-inch heel in the eye or asshole of liars and cheaters.’”
That was a little dramatic, even for me. But the interviews riled me to a new degree, and I spouted every threat I could think of. Like roasting Scott’s penis by flinging it at the sun. I would love to execute that one if humanly possible.
Tink, tink, tink. Little bells clank together as Sadie pads over to our group. She looks as feral as I feel. And a wicked, crazy impulse drives through me. I disentangle from Connor’s safe embrace.
“Rose,” Connor says, half with worry and half with warning.
I don’t listen. Still holding my wine glass, I squat down in front of the tabby cat. She’s a hostile bitch (like me). She has scratched my arms. Hissed at me. And I swear she pissed on my Jimmy Choos, although I can’t confirm that.
But in this moment, I feel invincible from all offenses. The media. Scott. And this fucking cat. I reach out to her.
“Don’t do it!” Lily yells at me from beside the couch. “You’re going to lose an eye.”
Ignoring my sister, I slip my palm underneath Sadie’s furry belly and pick her right up with one hand, my other still clutching onto the stem of the wine glass. I stand and stare straight into her eyes that almost match the color of mine. I am channeling my hatred into one supreme death glare.
Sadie moves and Lily lets out an audible gasp.
But the cat doesn’t claw me. No.
She licks me. Her scratchy little tongue brushes against my chin like a puppy and not a feline.
“What the fuck?” Ryke says in shock.
I hold her close to my body and she purrs against my chest. “We’re friends now,” I state the obvious and take another sip from my wine glass.
“Or she thinks you’ve grown balls,” Loren refutes.
“I’ve always had them,” I say, offended. I turn to see Connor who stares with concern and a little bit of fear. The bottom of my stomach drops in effect. He can see right through the barriers I build to protect myself.
I’m okay, I try to convey the words through my eyes. But I’m not so sure I succeed.
Lily’s phone rings loudly on her lap. “Shit, it’s Dad.” She looks between Connor and me. “What do you want me to do?”
I don’t say anything. I just kiss Sadie’s head as she continues to nuzzle into my ribs. Her change of demeanor calms me and gives me a little more strength.
Connor mutes the television and takes the phone from Lily, putting it on speaker. “Greg, this is Connor.” His voice is relaxed, even if his tense posture and hard eyes don’t agree.
“Good, I’ve been trying to call you and Rose. I assume you’ve seen the news,” he says quickly, his anger underneath his urgency. “I’m on the phone with my attorneys and Cobalt’s. We’re looking through the contracts all of you signed. Until we can come to a clear picture of what’s going on, I need you to get my daughters out of that townhouse. No more cameras.”
Translation: Princesses of Philly is cancelled.
Hooray. I can hardly celebrate “no more Scott” when the result came at the expense of my name and image. And then it hits me like a freight train—Calloway Couture. Everything I’ve worked for can go to hell all over again. This sex tape could ruin my fashion career.
And I care. A lot.
My stomach roils like I need to puke. I think I may vomit. I hold my belly, and Connor puts a firm hand on my shoulder, squeezing tightly to reassure me that he’s here, that everything is going to work itself out.
I try to believe it.
“We’ll pack today and leave,” Connor says to my father.
“Let me know when you make it safely back to Princeton. If there’s too much press around the house, you should all stay at our place in Villanova.”
“Sure,” Connor says. “Do you know where Scott is?”
“No idea, but Loren’s father is about to rip him a new asshole. To be honest, I’d love to see it happen.” My dad can be as soft as a flower petal whereas Jonathan Hale is the thorn. “Is Rose around?”
“She’s on speaker.”
“Rose,” my father says, his voice turning gentle. “Honey, how many lawyers looked over the contract before you signed it?”
Everyone stares at me, waiting for the answer. I already sense their judgment. I stroke Sadie who purrs again. She’s my only ally. “Just me,” I say.
“What…the fuck?” Ryke says, his mouth falling.
Loren groans, leaning back into the couch like a wave crashed into him. “Why did we trust you?”
Connor rubs his eyes and shakes his head.
Lily looks petrified.
Daisy’s face is frozen solid.
“I’ve taken multiple law classes at Princeton,” I refute. “I understood every line of that contract.” I’ve always shared Achilles’ fatal flaw. Hubris. Excessive pride. I couldn’t look weak in front of Scott, so I decided to do everything myself. I needed no one’s help.
And if I misread any line in that contract, it’s going to cost me. And Connor.
My dad lets out a disgruntled sound. “It’ll…be complicated from here on out, Rose. I’ll talk to you when the lawyers have read through the contracts in detail.”
“Wait,” I say. “How’s Mother handling this?”
“Terrific, actually. She’s been slinging Scott’s name in the mud all around the house. She said she’d call and apologize to you later today, Connor.” I can hear my father smile by the end of that statement. Connor shares it. Her precious Scott showed his true self today. I’m glad that my mother is back on my boyfriend’s team.
“Stay safe. All of you,” my father says.
With this, he hangs up. No mention of the actual sex tape, no chiding. He only seemed disappointed by my refusal to grab a lawyer.
Connor gives me a reprimanding look as he hands the phone back to Lily. “I thought you took my lawyer to the meeting, and I thought he read the contracts.”
“I thought I told you I left him behind.”
Connor shakes his head. “You must have mentioned that to someone else, darling.” He takes my wine glass again and finishes it off with one long gulp.
“What the hell was that?” Loren asks Connor. “Greg gives me a two hour speech about sobriety after our scandal, and he doesn’t even acknowledge yours.”
“To be fair,” Connor says, “you lied to Greg and Samantha about being addicts. That news is a bit more jarring than a sex tape…” His voice drifts off on the last words.
We all turn to see what stole his attention.
There he is.
Standing by the staircase like nothing’s wrong.
Scott Van fucking Wright.
The room silences in an uncomfortable wave. My body is vibrating in rage, and I realize I’m squeezing Sadie too tight when she lets out a small, dissatisfactory hiss.
Scott looks between all of us, and then his lips lift into that shit-eating grin. “Did I miss something?”
Before I can respond, Connor walks casually towards Scott, my boyfriend’s face utterly blank and unreadable. I can’t predict anything, and that unknown has all of us on edge, no one but him making a sound or a move. I just hear Connor’s expensive shoes tap the hardwood until he stops right in front of Scott.
And then Connor holds out his hand, like he wants to shake the producer’s. “Congratulations,” Connor says. “You outsmarted me. Not many people ever do. And I admit…I never saw this coming.”
His wooden voice frightens me.
Scott stares at his hand and then back at his face. He shrugs like what the hell? and then he clasps Connor’s palm.
What is this? A truce—
And then Connor decks Scott in the jaw with his free fist. Scott slams into the wall forcefully. “That’s from me,” Connor says, anger lacing his voice.
Scott gathers himself quickly and swings back.
Connor dodges the attack and then kicks Scott, hard, in the penis. Scott groans in horrific pain. Fuck yes! I am cheering on the inside. There are cannons shooting out confetti in my brain. Halle-fucking-luiah.
“That’s from Rose.”
Scott is in a crouched position on the ground, his eyes watering. He grimaces and slowly stands, clutching onto the wall for support.
Connor doesn’t back away, not even a little scared of being hit back.
Scott chokes on a cough, looking like he doesn’t want even the slightest chance of that happening again. “…I’d love to see your face when you realize what you’ve signed.”
“You’re seeing it now,” Connor tells him calmly, not giving Scott anymore satisfaction. I love him for that. “I’m positive you have full rights to anything we ever film, which gave you permission to sell the sex tape to a porn site without our signed consent. I don’t have the contract in front of me, but I’m sure there’s something misleading about the part where you weren’t allowed to film us in the bedrooms.”
“I read that line correctly. I know it,” I say. There was a stipulation about the bedrooms…wasn’t there?
Scott hunches a little, still recovering from the blow to the balls. “It said that we couldn’t air anything from the bedrooms on television. We never did. The contract said nothing about filming. And any of the footage from the bedrooms and the bathroom can be used for movies and web content. Just not network TV.”
OhmyGod. I blew Connor in the bathroom.
Scott laughs devilishly as he watches my face fill in horror. He has…so much footage of us. I recollect every time we had sex. He has it all. Hours of us, fucking.
Lily and Loren…
Scott must read my stricken gaze that travels to my little sister. “Lily was almost always in her room,” Scott says, “we weren’t able to install any cameras to catch anything.” Right. They had to reinstall cameras because I made Connor and Loren sweep the bathroom and the bedrooms when we first moved in.
I glance at Ryke.
“I didn’t fuck in the house,” he says.
I turn to Daisy. Her face pales.
Connor eases her worries. “It’s illegal to film minors in pornographic situations.” He glares at Scott.
We’ve caught him.
He’s going to jail.
“We didn’t,” Scott says. “All that footage was destroyed.”
Fuck you! I unleash Sadie, about to ram my heel up Scott’s ass. But Ryke stands behind me and holds me back, two hands on my shoulders. It takes me a moment to realize that Connor is staring at Ryke, giving him a command through his eyes to restrain me.
“You’re disgusting!” I shout at Scott with an extra high-pitch scream.
Scott stays calm. I am the only one freaking out. How is that possible? He dropped a grenade on my life. I want everyone to be as fucking pissed as me.
But I realize that when I’m angry, there’s almost no room for anyone else to be the same. I am a hurricane. A typhoon, and I will destroy everyone in my wake.
Yes, dramatic.
But that’s just how I fucking feel.
Get out of my way. Or I’ll drown you.
“The text message from Julian?” Connor asks Scott.
“Planted. Brett took Julian’s phone in the middle of the night and texted it to Ryke.” That pudgy asshole. I knew he wasn’t on our side.
“Lily and Lo in the bathroom with the slurping audio?”
“Edited. We did it in advance and uploaded it on the camera for you to find.” That motherfucker...
“The alcohol in Lo’s closet?”
“Planted. Savannah and Ben put it there when Lily was taking a nap. They were supposed to install a camera too, but they ran out of time.”
…Savannah and Ben. I hate them all. Where’s the loyalty?
Ryke takes his hands off me and starts to near Scott.
Loren doesn’t do a thing. He’s just whispering in Lily’s ear and she nods back.
“You’re going to fucking hell for this!” Ryke says with darkness swirling in his brown eyes.
Connor shoves him back the moment he’s close. And then Connor turns to Scott. “I’m going to let Ryke go if you don’t get out of this house. And his fists are going to hurt a hell of a lot more than mine. So take what’s on your back and leave.”
Scott straightens up, not exactly exiting with his dignity. But he has millions of dollars in his pockets from multiple sex tapes. He can sell them for much more than the first one.
He’s set for life.
He won.
We lost. How did we lose?
Oh yes, hubris.
I am a Greek tragedy. Or a Shakespearian comedy—it’s going to end with a wedding after all.
When the door closes behind him, the room blankets in tension, only disrupted by Sadie’s collar that jingles as she rubs her body against Connor’s calves.
“So…” Loren looks from Connor to me and back. “…is there going to be a boxed set of you two for sale?”
“Most likely,” Connor says. And every dime will go to Scott and the porn site. Fuck my life.
He comes to my side and kisses my temple. There’s nothing we can do. We just have to deal. With Connor here, I think I can.
I clap my hands together to alleviate the leftover strain in the room. “Everyone, go pack. We’re leaving, you heard Dad.”
I picture my gated house with the black shutters, large kitchen, and most importantly—private bathrooms. Dear God, I’m already salivating over a nice hot shower alone with no threat of cameras.
I glance at Connor, who collects my hair off my neck. Maybe he can join me too.
Daisy shifts on her feet. “I guess I’m going back to Mom’s.”
My stomach falls again. She’s seventeen. There’s nothing I can do about that, as much as I want to. And then my eyes drift to Ryke, the other one who will be left in Philly. It’s weird. We’ve been together in the same house for so long that breaking our routine feels odd. Like a puzzle piece out of place.
We’ve become something of a family.
A dysfunctional, fucked up family. It’s hard to let that go.
But things are changing again. The reality show helped Calloway Couture, and in one moment, this sex tape could topple all I’ve sacrificed.
I’ll have to confront the public at some point, and it’ll have to be more than just waving a glass of whiskey at the television.
I could be hated and condemned like my sister.
I hear the criticism already. And I don’t wilt by it. I’m just angry.
So bring it on, motherfuckers. Try to hurt me. Because I won’t let you.
You’ve won the right to see my body, but you’re not taking my pride.
It’s too excessive to destroy anyway.
