Entangled in the Forbidden

In Search of Me

Since the scandal surfaced, I haven’t left my apartment much. It felt safer here, hidden away, even if sometimes the walls felt like they were closing in.

Once buzzing with life, my phone now lay still, silent. Outside, the world had gone quiet as the sunlight slowly faded from the room, but that silence was a lie. Inside me, everything was loud. The voices returned; fans, colleagues, critics, all merging into one accusation: You’re a liar, Izalea.

I’d pushed everyone away, and it didn’t surprise me when they stopped reaching out. No one came knocking. Not even my friends. I couldn’t bring myself to answer their calls, let alone make one. What would I even say?

Hey, turns out I’m not the person you thought I was.

No. That would only make the shame worse, feeding the guilt already clawing at me from the inside.

I curled up on my bed, clinging to the warmth of the covers. I shut my eyes as the tears formed, but I was too tired to let them fall. Instead, I focused on quieting my mind, trying to push away the noise. I let my thoughts wander back to memories of my childhood, searching for something, anything, to bring me peace.

Flashback:

My mother's home was nothing like this. I could almost smell the faint scent of jasmine she always wore. Even as a child, I understood why she kept us hidden, to protect me from my father's name, a name that clung like a curse and a legacy she never wanted me to inherit.

At night, her stories filled the silence with warmth and reassurance. “We are who we choose to be, Jazlyn," she'd whisper while running her fingers through my hair. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." She’d tell me in moments of doubt. But fear ruled our lives, and my father’s potential was too powerful for her words to erase.

Present:

The silence in my apartment was suffocating, filled with accusations and memories I couldn’t escape. The city lights flickered outside, distant, as if they belonged to another world. I hadn’t stepped out in quite some time, only leaving my flat when I needed groceries. Even then, it was always at night, my jacket hood pulled low to shield my face from prying eyes.

As darkness settled, I grabbed my jacket and hurried out, desperate for a breath of fresh air. I didn't know where I was heading; I just needed to breathe. The streets bustled with life, people moving in every direction, but I walked without direction, letting the city absorb me.

I found myself strolling to a secluded park on the outskirts of town, a small, quiet escape I'd discovered years ago. It was a spot I rarely visited, but now, in the solitude, it felt like the only haven. The air was refreshing, with the earthy scent of damp grass, and the only sound that broke the silence was the gentle rustle of leaves.

I felt peace as I sat on a wooden bench beneath a sprawling oak tree. Here, under the stars, I could finally engage my thoughts without the prying eyes of the world.

Who am I?

The question reverberated within me. I was no longer Izalea Benson, the actress adored by millions. But I wasn’t just Jazlyn Gabby, either, hidden and burdened by secrets. I was someone in between, lost in the fragments of a broken identity.

My mother’s voice haunted me, each word defined by her quiet strength. I breathed in those memories, letting them settle within me. Suddenly, a chill ran down my spine, and I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, finding comfort in its warmth. Those words felt different now, like a faint melody I hadn’t heard in years. Whoever you choose to be. Maybe, after all this time, I still hadn’t decided who that was.

I closed my eyes, focusing on that thought, letting it unfold in the silence. I didn’t have to live up to the world’s expectations or carry the weight of my family’s sins. Hopefully, in the heart of the scandal, I could finally confront myself, free from all the pretenses and illusions.

I rose from the bench, feeling a tiny spark of resolve. This wasn’t over.

I would find a way to get through it all and regain my life on my terms, starting afresh and carefully rebuilding who I was; not as Jazlyn or Izalea, but as someone real, someone free.

A sudden call came through. It was my mom. She’s been worried, sick. And yet here I was, too afraid to answer. I stared at the screen, but I wasn’t ready to face her, not yet. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had let her down. She deserved answers, but I had none to give.

What could I say? How could I calm her fears when I barely understood my own?