Finally, I'm Lost in Your Eyes

“International popstar and teenage heartthrob Dominic Davis attempted to take his own life in his vacation beach home Thursday night. Although it is still unclear what his motive was, many fans are pointing fingers at his current lover, Carissa O’ Connor. As we all know, the two have had an on and off again relationship for the past two years and are known for their characteristic twitter battles. The two were last seen Wednesday morning at a little coffee shop in Los Angeles, where Davis had his second to last performance of his tour. For the fans who did not get to see him perform, it is still under debate by management what will be done, but it is likely that they will receive full refunds and complimentary merchandise to compensate for the lost concert. Currently, there is news of him being rushed to Meredith hospital in downtown Los Angeles but none about his condition.” The news anchor turns to his coworker, a perky blonde with a high voice and an affinity for collecting crushes on young, male celebrities. Though she consistently covers their stories with a bit more emotion than the others, he does share in her sentiment in this particular newsbreak. “It seems the whole world is holding its breath, waiting to see if Dominic Davis is going to be alright. He was an icon. Even at the age he is – he’s what? Twenty? Twenty one? Even at the age he is, he has had such incredible success as an artist. My daughters absolutely adored him. They have every possible item of merchandise currently sold by his sales team. I know for a fact that this news will devastate a lot of people. With so little information, we can only hope that he is in stable condition.” “He always seemed so bubbly and friendly in person. Hard to believe that he was anything but. It’s always a sad day when we lose someone to depression.” “That’s the thing about celebrities, Brittany. Their lives are so private, and they focus so much on being a face for people to adore, that we all are often left in the dark about who they actually are. They’re people, just like us. But I have to say, this was perhaps the most shocking attempt I’ve ever had to cover.” “Yes, and I believe O’ Connor is in France filming a movie, am I correct? I am interested to see if she will fly across the pond to see him and be with his family at this unfortunate time in the young man’s life.” Brittany clears her throat, fanning at her made up eyes as if taking about it has made her emotional. “I met him in Las Vegas once at a radio award show, and he was the nicest guy I’ve ever met. I think I speak for all of us, Tom, when I say that we wish him the best of luck with his recovery, and of course, our hearts and prayers go out to his family and friends who had to endure such a tragic event so unexpectedly.” “It’s no secret that the music business has been known to be linked to drug recreation and depression, but as a personal fan of Dominic’s music and his charming personality, I’m sure we are all wondering what happened to the Dominic Davis we all know and love, and what it was that finally made him crack.” Tom hovers his finger over the red button and signals the countdown to start, watching as Brittany wipes under her eyes with a tissue. “We now take it back to Chad with the top ten songs of the week. At the next break, we take a look at the highlights of Dominic Davis’ life and career, as well as his charity work with the American Cancer Society. Stay tuned.” ~******~ Several months later Dominic weighs the metal in his hand, running his thumb over his much-loved and surprisingly well-missed house keys. It had been many weeks since he last touched them – was allowed to even be within five feet of the blissful solitude he calls a house. His management made sure plenty that he did not get his sticky little hands anywhere near them, his house, nor his car immediately following his dispatch. In fact, he wasn’t even allowed to leave the small sanction of the hospital building until he was not only medically clear but able to sit in a chair and grit through his teeth that he wouldn’t dare attempt again. Impossible to tell for sure whether that had been a lie or not at the time. All Dominic knew at the time was that he needed f*****g space. Away from his controlling, manipulative management, away from fans, and away from f*****g social media (Lord knows that’ll be a bloody nightmare to check). His life officially restarts today. He walks up the front steps to his bachelor pad, taking one sorrowful but sympathetic glance to his dying patio plants before sticking the keys into his door. His welcome mat is spotless, void of mud and trackings that would have left behind had anyone lived here recently. The curtains are still drawn tight, keeping the life of the neighborhood strictly outside. Nothing has been touched. Just the way he likes it. The deadbolt still jams on the swing in, Dominic ramming it with his shoulder and taking his first steps inside since . . . well, his managers have reduced him to calling it “the incident.” In their eyes, it is more politically correct. Less loaded of a word than “attempt” or “suicide.” It wasn’t much of an incident at all, if you ask Dominic, because he tends to think that tone implies that it was an accident, or at least unintended. It’s a complicated situation. One he’s been forced to think about non-end for the past couple of months, and Dominic just really welcomes some time and space without all that. The house is quieter than he’s used to. There’s dust on the railings and cobwebs starting to occupy the corner of his front doorway. The clock on his hallway wall that he had always neglected to change the batteries of has completely stopped working, the ticking gone. Nor is there any assistant or bodyguard leaning against him, breathing on his neck. Or the hard shoes of a broad man pattering behind him. It feels like he’s been away for years rather than months. He wonders why he had not just contacted someone to dust while he was away, but then he remembers his family is in England, and that he’s not got any real close friends in Los Angeles. There’s the people he knows from work, galas, and charity events, but no one to hang around his home when he’s not throwing a party or entertaining. No one he would trust to look after his house (his one and only love) anyway. Dominic removes his shoes and lets the chilliness of the empty house sweep over him like a breeze, shutting the front door. The first thing he does is turn on the heat, rubbing his biceps against the lingering loneliness. He feels like a stranger in his own home. He enters the kitchen soon after to take out a crystal glass and fill it halfway with some alcohol that had been left out on the counter. Dominic takes several gulps, enjoying the fiery burn and the numbness that spreads through his body from head to toe. Licking his lips, he rolls up the sleeves of his patterned shirt and reaches into his pocket for a package of cigarettes. He’d developed a nasty habit of it lately. He blames the stress. The home phone rings as he catches the stick, tossing the rest of the pack onto the counter carelessly and groaning loudly in distaste. He lets it ring out because he doesn’t care to talk to anybody or anything at the moment. Or possibly ever again. But as he walks past it, it lights up with several messages, flashing at him annoyingly to look at them or delete them. He leans over the sink to open the window, not wanting his alarms to go off, then reluctantly presses the button on the machine. “New message on Thursday December 3rd at 5:45pm. Call me as soon as you get this message –“ Management. Heh. Delete. “Davis, pick up your damn phone –“ Delete. “I will come over there and pull you outside by your curly money-making hair –“ Dominic snorts. Delete. And it goes on like that for several minutes until it abruptly stops at around 1:44 am, two hours after Dominic was admitted to the hospital. “New message Thursday December 3rd at 4:34 am. Dominic . . .” Dominic hesitates at the familiar voice, nail picking at the numbering on the button. “We need to talk. Desperately –“ Dominic turns the device around and unplugs it harshly from the wall, continuing to listen to her voice as he tucks it under his arm and carries it outside to his back porch. The wind outside is just as brutally chilly as it is inside his house, so he doesn’t even so much as flinch when he recalls that it’s technically winter. The icy air feels good on his lungs anyway. Holding the cigarette between his teeth carefully, Dominic makes work quickly setting up a little space on the corner of his porch where he’s shielded from the wind, Carissa’s soft tone crackling like a small fire. His long-sleeved shirt flutters against his body, his untidy hair dancing freely along with it. It’s been a while since he’s cut it. Could probably afford to get a proper trim. “ – heard from your management a little w-while ago. I should not – I should not be hearing this from them.” Her voice gets gradually weaker, more crackly, and Dominic doubts it’s the connection. “It is currently almost five in the f*****g morning, and you know where I am? I am sitting outside the hospital where they told me you were, in my bloody car, because your management f*****g decided that I’m not allowed to see my boyfriend . . . You hear that? Five in the f*****g morning, in my motherfucking pajamas and slippers, my heart literally ripping itself in half, and I’m not allowed to see my boyfriend who just tried to commit suicide.” Dominic pulls the cigarette away from his mouth, coughing when he inhales too quickly. His eyebrows tick down as he stares at the black device, attacking his lip with his teeth. “And I – I . . . literally have no idea why I’ve just called your home phone. You’re obviously not going to answer. I think maybe I just had to say this all as it was happening, whether it was to your face or not. You might not ever get this message. Maybe not. I wouldn’t know . . . they haven’t told me anything. You might already be in heaven, prancing around on a stage made of clouds and singing to your heart’s content, but I hate the way things right now . . . or, er, were. We’re not happy, Dominic. You moreso than me probably, I don’t know why else you’d leave us like you did. I hate that we never got to say the things we needed to say. That we never got to talk and make it b-better.” Her breaths come out more frantic and choppy, as if each word is starting to become painful. “I just want to make it better, Dominic. We were so afraid to confront it all. Were so afraid to admit that what we had isn’t what we wanted . . .” She’s half sobbing now, spitting out words between tears so that Dominic has to lean in to understand her. “I’m sitting here, and I’m thinking about how we met. How you came up to me with your little seventeen year old self and started hitting on me in a bar you weren’t even legally allowed to be in - like the cocky ass that you are. How, at the end of the night, you didn’t ask me to come upstairs or have a drink with you . . . t-that you kissed my hand like a proper gentleman and you were shiny and new and happy – and you didn’t want to rush things because you said we had all the time in the world to get to know each other.” “And I’m sitting here, and – where’s that time now? We don’t have all the time in the world, Dominic. We could have had so much more time, but we can’t because you’re so . . . I care about you so, so much, and I don’t think you even feel remotely the same. You’ve never considered me. You’re selfish, Dominic. Maybe it’s selfish of me to say that, considering, but I don’t give a f**k anymore. It needed to be said. You’re selfish, and you have been for a while. I don’t know where this leaves us. I suppose we’ll have to see if you even wake up.” She seems to pause regretfully. “Oh, god. This has gotten morbid . . . I miss you already, Dominic. You’ve broken my heart. But you’ll break it a hell of a lot more if you don’t wake up -” The message cuts off right after an ugly sob, whether intentional or not. Dominic continues to listen to the wailing tone, his lip cracking between his teeth. A swishing sound comes from the door suddenly, hitting his ears like it had popped out of nowhere, and Dominic jumps, jabbing his thumb into the end button so that the wailing stops abruptly. The phone stand wobbles when he hits it, nearly scattering to the floor. He whips around to see his manager standing there, arms folded. And there he stands, all five feet and nine inches of him. The physical embodiment of all the disappointment and hysteria he’s caused portrayed with one practiced scowl. If Dominic had thought the last few months were hell, then he was sorely mistaken. This is when it all truly begins. In the aftermath.