Categories > Original > Drama > Goodbyes Are Never Good.
Next Day Survival (Part 1)
0 reviewsMatt is woken up by his manager and proceeds to go about his day. Sophie's day will come up in part 2.
0Unrated
The next day Matt was woken up by a very confused, annoyed, and yet at the same time slightly delighted manager.
"Bob? Dude, it's 8 in the morning. Just one more hour?" Matt joked. He was groggy, the words coming out slightly slurred.
"Why didn't you tell me, Matt? I think I had a right to know," the three aforementioned emotions, all displayed evenly. Only Bob could manage that.
"Wha?" John replied, summing up his confusion in one simple word.
"It's all over the internet, even People's has a picture of it. We may have to act professional in public, but you realize I'm a friend, right? You can tell me anything."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Matt asked, slightly more awake. His mind felt slow, sluggish, as if he was traveling through a deep swamp, waist high. Keep going, don't stop. You might not start up again.
Bob sighed. "There are pictures of you and some 'mystery lover' hugging behind the stage of the talk show - the same fan that was actually on the talk show. Some are calling foul here. What's going on?"
Oh, fuck. Matt thought. The glorious life of the celebrity, where one can't take a piss without the entire world knowing.
"That's a lie. Here's the truth: that was my ex-"
"-shit-" his manager muttered.
"-and what you're going to say is that I was comforting a fan, because that's what I thought I was doing. She doesn't know that I know its her."
"What do you mean?" Bob asked, confused.
"Right. I should explain, shouldn't I? She pretended to be a fan in order to see me without upsetting me. I realized who she actually was when she walked off."
A few moments of silence, and then a concerned: "Matt, you didn't -"
"No. I didn't."
"I hate to ask, but, you know, you're my client, as well as my friend. I'm both professionally and morally inclined to be concerned."
"I know, Bob, and I appreciate you looking after me, but I'm twenty." Matt remembered his wrists, and decided, after nearly a year, to finally warn his manager. "Bob, there's something you don't know about me yet. No one knows, actually. If it comes up soon, I suppose you should hear it from me first."
"I'm not going to like this, am I?"
"Nope. I've been horrifyingly careful about this, but this talk show might finally expose it. I have scars on my wrists. . . from a suicide attempt two years ago. Someone might notice them if they inspect the talk show close enough."
Oh, the shame. The guilt. He had always sworn he would never kill himself when he was younger. What are promises, except for things to be broken? Ripped to tatters and discarded in the wind. Watch them float away. Watch and smile.
His manager was silent, which was not a good sign. Bob was rarely ever surprised into silence. Finally he spoke in a very humbled tone. "I never know it got that bad - I mea, sure, your book had an incident where the main male protagonist attempted the same exact thing, but I never would have imagined you, too. I'm sorry. That must have been terrible."
"I had apparently not cut deep enough to give myself much more than a scar that's lasted two years, as well as managing to miss a few veins. It was all luck I'm around."
"Well," his manager said after a few moments of silent thinking, "I'll see how soon I can schedule something to destroy that nasty rumor - the relationship one. Hopefully the other wont be brought to attention for awhile."
"You know where I'll be. Call if you need me. Thanks, Bob-bay."
"Yeah, yeah. Have fun today."
"Oh, I always do. Latah."
He pressed the call end button on his phone and set it back into the cradle. He laid in bed for a few minutes, thinking. Wondering. Finally, he got up and got ready.
An hour later he was leaving his house in his casual clothing: a pair of black jeans, white t-shirt reading: "Senses Fail" and a black unzipped hoodie overtop. In his pants pocket sat a wallet with one hundred $100 bills he did not need. His breath showed in white clouds in the cold air.
Camera flashes as he made his way from his front door to his car. A few paparazzi, nothing major. He's not a true star, not yet. One amazing smash hit book and rumors of another on the way does not exactly make him the media spotlight. Does he even want to be? He waved but did not pose for any, just kept walking. He got into his car and drove off.
Half an hour later, about the same time Matt managed to out-maneuver the single car attempting to tail him, Sophie was waking up in her hotel room. She had a week until she left the states again. Six days until hell.
She dragged herself out of bed and into the shower, needing to get ready for the day ahead of her. Hot water. Wash away the troubles of the world by a baptism by heat - whether it be flames or the terrifying mushroom cloud.
Thrift store, prime hunting if you were hunting a certain type of prey. Scan the isles. There, the lady with the worn coat that did not seem to fit. Small child clinging to her leg in a patched coat that looked almost too small. Now, just walk up and tap her shoulder.
"Excuse me," he asked kindly, smiling wide. She turned around and looked at him, suspicious.
"Can I help you?" She replied. Her child hid behind her legs, peaking out at the strange man talking to her mommy. Picture of innocence. His heart cried out in remorse for what he lost so long ago.
"Actually, yes, you can. Please, accept this. All I ask in return is you pass the joy along," he held out his hand and within it, a one hundred dollar bill.
She looked at the hundred in his hand and then back into his eyes, looking or the smallest hint that it was all a joke. People do not do things like this, ever. The human condition does not allow it these days. Dog eat dog world, no one hands out money. But she saw nothing, no trace of fooling around in his eyes. He was being sincere.
"Oh my God. . ." the lady said. Her eyes got big out of shock and joy. A tear slid down her cheek, and he realized she was not wearing make-up.
He smiled, handing her the money and was about to turn around and walk off when she hugged him tightly, trying her best not to sob openly and draw attention to them. He was momentarily surprised, but it dissolved quickly and he hugged her back. Her little girl was tugging her pant leg, asking who the strange man was.
She finally broke off her hug, both crying and smiling and then looked at her little girl, patting her hair gently. Then Matt bent down, looking the little child in the eye and held out another hundred.
"Give this to your mommy for me?"
The little girl was too shy and frightened to speak, so she simply nodded. He smiled and she shyly smiled back. Innocence. The beauty in innocence. Almost blinding.
He stood back up and bid the mom good day.
"Who are you?" She asked. "You look familiar."
"I'm just a stranger trying to help."
"Thank you, so much."
"No need to thank me," he told her as he walked off.
The girl looked at her mom, "who was that man?"
The mother looked at her daughter and smiled, wiping her own tears away.
"He was an angel, baby. An angel."
"Bob? Dude, it's 8 in the morning. Just one more hour?" Matt joked. He was groggy, the words coming out slightly slurred.
"Why didn't you tell me, Matt? I think I had a right to know," the three aforementioned emotions, all displayed evenly. Only Bob could manage that.
"Wha?" John replied, summing up his confusion in one simple word.
"It's all over the internet, even People's has a picture of it. We may have to act professional in public, but you realize I'm a friend, right? You can tell me anything."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Matt asked, slightly more awake. His mind felt slow, sluggish, as if he was traveling through a deep swamp, waist high. Keep going, don't stop. You might not start up again.
Bob sighed. "There are pictures of you and some 'mystery lover' hugging behind the stage of the talk show - the same fan that was actually on the talk show. Some are calling foul here. What's going on?"
Oh, fuck. Matt thought. The glorious life of the celebrity, where one can't take a piss without the entire world knowing.
"That's a lie. Here's the truth: that was my ex-"
"-shit-" his manager muttered.
"-and what you're going to say is that I was comforting a fan, because that's what I thought I was doing. She doesn't know that I know its her."
"What do you mean?" Bob asked, confused.
"Right. I should explain, shouldn't I? She pretended to be a fan in order to see me without upsetting me. I realized who she actually was when she walked off."
A few moments of silence, and then a concerned: "Matt, you didn't -"
"No. I didn't."
"I hate to ask, but, you know, you're my client, as well as my friend. I'm both professionally and morally inclined to be concerned."
"I know, Bob, and I appreciate you looking after me, but I'm twenty." Matt remembered his wrists, and decided, after nearly a year, to finally warn his manager. "Bob, there's something you don't know about me yet. No one knows, actually. If it comes up soon, I suppose you should hear it from me first."
"I'm not going to like this, am I?"
"Nope. I've been horrifyingly careful about this, but this talk show might finally expose it. I have scars on my wrists. . . from a suicide attempt two years ago. Someone might notice them if they inspect the talk show close enough."
Oh, the shame. The guilt. He had always sworn he would never kill himself when he was younger. What are promises, except for things to be broken? Ripped to tatters and discarded in the wind. Watch them float away. Watch and smile.
His manager was silent, which was not a good sign. Bob was rarely ever surprised into silence. Finally he spoke in a very humbled tone. "I never know it got that bad - I mea, sure, your book had an incident where the main male protagonist attempted the same exact thing, but I never would have imagined you, too. I'm sorry. That must have been terrible."
"I had apparently not cut deep enough to give myself much more than a scar that's lasted two years, as well as managing to miss a few veins. It was all luck I'm around."
"Well," his manager said after a few moments of silent thinking, "I'll see how soon I can schedule something to destroy that nasty rumor - the relationship one. Hopefully the other wont be brought to attention for awhile."
"You know where I'll be. Call if you need me. Thanks, Bob-bay."
"Yeah, yeah. Have fun today."
"Oh, I always do. Latah."
He pressed the call end button on his phone and set it back into the cradle. He laid in bed for a few minutes, thinking. Wondering. Finally, he got up and got ready.
An hour later he was leaving his house in his casual clothing: a pair of black jeans, white t-shirt reading: "Senses Fail" and a black unzipped hoodie overtop. In his pants pocket sat a wallet with one hundred $100 bills he did not need. His breath showed in white clouds in the cold air.
Camera flashes as he made his way from his front door to his car. A few paparazzi, nothing major. He's not a true star, not yet. One amazing smash hit book and rumors of another on the way does not exactly make him the media spotlight. Does he even want to be? He waved but did not pose for any, just kept walking. He got into his car and drove off.
Half an hour later, about the same time Matt managed to out-maneuver the single car attempting to tail him, Sophie was waking up in her hotel room. She had a week until she left the states again. Six days until hell.
She dragged herself out of bed and into the shower, needing to get ready for the day ahead of her. Hot water. Wash away the troubles of the world by a baptism by heat - whether it be flames or the terrifying mushroom cloud.
Thrift store, prime hunting if you were hunting a certain type of prey. Scan the isles. There, the lady with the worn coat that did not seem to fit. Small child clinging to her leg in a patched coat that looked almost too small. Now, just walk up and tap her shoulder.
"Excuse me," he asked kindly, smiling wide. She turned around and looked at him, suspicious.
"Can I help you?" She replied. Her child hid behind her legs, peaking out at the strange man talking to her mommy. Picture of innocence. His heart cried out in remorse for what he lost so long ago.
"Actually, yes, you can. Please, accept this. All I ask in return is you pass the joy along," he held out his hand and within it, a one hundred dollar bill.
She looked at the hundred in his hand and then back into his eyes, looking or the smallest hint that it was all a joke. People do not do things like this, ever. The human condition does not allow it these days. Dog eat dog world, no one hands out money. But she saw nothing, no trace of fooling around in his eyes. He was being sincere.
"Oh my God. . ." the lady said. Her eyes got big out of shock and joy. A tear slid down her cheek, and he realized she was not wearing make-up.
He smiled, handing her the money and was about to turn around and walk off when she hugged him tightly, trying her best not to sob openly and draw attention to them. He was momentarily surprised, but it dissolved quickly and he hugged her back. Her little girl was tugging her pant leg, asking who the strange man was.
She finally broke off her hug, both crying and smiling and then looked at her little girl, patting her hair gently. Then Matt bent down, looking the little child in the eye and held out another hundred.
"Give this to your mommy for me?"
The little girl was too shy and frightened to speak, so she simply nodded. He smiled and she shyly smiled back. Innocence. The beauty in innocence. Almost blinding.
He stood back up and bid the mom good day.
"Who are you?" She asked. "You look familiar."
"I'm just a stranger trying to help."
"Thank you, so much."
"No need to thank me," he told her as he walked off.
The girl looked at her mom, "who was that man?"
The mother looked at her daughter and smiled, wiping her own tears away.
"He was an angel, baby. An angel."
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