Addicted 2 U

Preparations

GWEN

The door blasts open like a warning shot, three women rolling carts stuffed with brushes, palettes, steamers, curling irons, lotions, powders—an army deployed to reconstruct me. I shrink instinctively, even though there’s nowhere to go. The hotel room—if it even is a hotel room—is too small for all of us, but they squeeze in anyway. I sit because there’s nothing else to do.

For the next three hours, I let them move me around like I’m a mannequin they’ve been assigned to refurbish. They wash me, dry me, paint me, lift my arms, tilt my chin, brush my hair, and change my clothes. I don’t argue or answer the questions they toss at me in those bright, chirpy voices. They tell me I have beautiful bone structure. They tell me my hair has a “mind of its own.” They tell me I must be “so excited for tonight.”

I stare straight ahead and feel nothing.

When they finally finish, Jason steps inside like he’s the director of a show he hasn’t rehearsed for.

“Well done, ladies!” he says, clapping his hands together. “Be on standby in case we need any pampering, okay?”

Pampering. Like I’m a pet.

The women filter out, leaving me alone with him. I don’t bother looking at my reflection. Whatever face they sculpted onto me doesn’t feel like mine.

“How do you like your new look?” he asks gently.

I say nothing.

He shifts his weight, probably wishing he could evaporate. “Well—someone wanted to see you. Just… stay calm. Nonthreatening.”

Before I can ask who, Sara’s voice travels in like a breeze that’s trying too hard to sound soft.

“Jason, she’s fine. There’s no need to panic.”

Sara steps inside, radiant and effortless. Heat floods my face—not attraction, but dread. My eyes drop instantly to my shoes. I don’t want to see her expression. I don’t want her to read mine.

“Oh my goooooosh, she is so beautiful!” Sara squeals, circling me with delighted, greedy eyes. “Look at these clothes! And this precious hair! I’m so glad they didn’t dye it. I would’ve killed them if they did.”

She touches my curls, bounces them around like they’re props. I feel my throat close. My hands stay limp in my lap. I still don’t look up.

“Come on,” she says softly, moving in front of me, “let me see what they did to that face.”

I keep staring at the floor.

She lifts my chin. I shut my eyes quickly, the only shield I have left.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispers, and then her lips are on mine.

My whole body jolts. I try to back away, but the couch is pressed against the wall behind me—boxing me in. Trapped. Again.

Her second kiss is slower, intentional, and affectionate in a way that feels like trespassing. I don’t react. I can’t. My body refuses to move under her.

She grows annoyed. I feel it in the way her mouth hardens against mine.

“Gwen,” she murmurs, frustrated, and then she pushes me down so I’m flat on the couch, pinning me with her weight. Her hair falls like a curtain around us. For a moment, I feel like I’m drowning.

I finally open my eyes. We meet each other’s gaze—and I don’t hide it this time. I’m too tired.

Her expression falters.

She slides her hand under my shirt, tugging it upward. I don’t stop her. I don’t stop anything. That scares her more than if I fought.

“Where did it go?” she whispers. “Your spark. Where did it go?”

I stare at the ceiling and let my voice scrape out, lifeless:

“You took it.”

She freezes. My shirt slips from her fingers.

I turn my head toward Jason. He’s glued to the spot—not intervening, not stopping anything, not leaving, just watching. Like I’m a scandal he doesn’t want to admit he’s witnessing.

“Do you want a turn after her?” I hear myself say.

It’s reckless. Empty. And cruel in a way I barely recognize.

Sara slaps me hard across the face.

My cheek burns, but I don’t lift a hand to it. I just look at her again—deliberately this time. And she breaks. Tears well in her eyes, sudden and raw.

“You saved me,” she says, voice shaking. “And I never repaid you. I only caused you more pain. I never thanked you. I only took and took and took. And now—now that I finally have you back, all I get is a broken shell. I see you, and all I can see is me from so long ago.”

She climbs off me slowly, as if touching me too long might shatter me. I curl on my side, facing the couch, pretending to be numb. But tears leak silently onto the fabric beneath me.

“But that changes today,” she whispers. “I’m going to put your pieces back together. Like you did for me. I’ll save you, Gwen. I promise.”

I want to scream at her—You’re the one breaking me.

But the words don’t leave my mouth.

She kisses the top of my head and rushes out.

Jason clears his throat. He grabs my shirt from the floor and places it beside me like he’s returning evidence.

“I’ll get the ladies back in,” he says quietly. “They’ll fix you right up.”

They do. Again. They repaint the streaks of mascara, re-smooth my hair, and reapply the gloss. Repairing the doll.

When the room finally empties, I sit up and breathe.

And that’s when I see it. A balcony door. A sliver of sky.

Hope—small and pathetic—flickers in my chest.

“Where’s my cell phone?” I ask Jason when he reenters.

“I’m not stupid,” he replies. “You having your phone is a liability. You’d call someone. Tell them what’s happening. It’s safer if you don’t have it.”

Safer. For them.

“I’m still a teacher,” I push, forcing my voice steady. “I have emails to answer. Finals to finish grading. Grades are due Friday.”

He hesitates. I seize the opening.

“I even brought my papers with me. You can check my bag—if you didn’t lose that too.”

He gives me a suspicious look, then leaves. The second he’s gone, the whisper of hope turns into a spark.

I still have my wallet. And my ID. And my legs.

The room has no suitcase, no cell phone, and no laptop—but it has a balcony.

The ladies return one last time to “touch me up,” then exit. I barely hear their voices. I’m already forming an escape route, timing footsteps, visualizing hallways.

When the door shuts behind them, I take a slow breath and start searching the room, hands shaking. The balcony is locked, but I nearly stumble at the view alone.

This isn’t a hotel.

It’s Talent Stardom Industries itself.

They brought me to her territory. Her world. Her cage.

My stomach churns, but the fear sharpens me.

If I’m going to escape, it has to be tonight.

This is the only power I have left.

And I cling to it with both hands.