Finally, I'm Lost in Your Eyes

Chapter 2

    “Feeling any remorse for your actions yet?” his manager finally asks, hinting that he had heard a lot more of the message than he will admit to out loud.

    Dominic rolls his eyes. “What are you doing here?” He thought he was supposed to be granted gracious silence and peace for at least the rest of the day. He had thought he would at least get to unpack his things and get adjusted before he starts getting yelled at. Now his manager is back, listening in on his private conversations.

    Picking up the cord for the machine, he realizes that he must have been listening for a lot longer than he thought he was because his fingers are so numb, he can barely bend them. Still, he tries to wrap it around the machine so that he can take it back inside.

    Dominic can count on one hand the number of people who come to visit during the day. He should have assumed that it would be Rob who came to watch Dominic like a hawk, his face smushed into a permanent grimace (though it hadn’t really been that great to look at before). Delightfully, Dominic realizes that his hair seems to have picked up a few gray highlights since he’s last seen the man in person.

    Rob waddles after him, his cheeks blushing angrily. He’s a stocky man above the ripe age of forty with pale, nordic skin that gets all splotchy when he shows emotion, and with the capacity to dress, at best, as a middle age golfer. He’s got the flat cap to complete the look even.

    “What have I told you about smoking? It’s damaging to those pretty little vocal cords of yours.”

    Dominic brings the cigarette back to his lips, smiling with his teeth around the deteriorating bud. “It helps with my stress.”

    “Lots of good that’s doing,” his manager mutters under his breath.

    Dominic takes it all in stride, unfazed. This is not the first time his management has been rather inconsiderate when it comes to mentioning “the incident.” Calling it “the incident” in of itself is a bit insulting already. To rip on him for his new smoking hobby is adding insult to injury. He smiles darkly and chucks the bud to the ground, smearing it around with his toe.

    “Perhaps you’d like to get me one of those stress balls. Or maybe a string to play with.”

    His back door creaks as he pushes his way past his manager, Rob, letting it close on its own so that his manager has to catch it before Dominic can push it back all the way and lock him out.

    “That’s enough, Dominic.” Rob follows him inside, eyeing him closely as Dominic snatches what’s left of his drink from the countertop and inhales it in one swallow. He reaches over and takes the glass from his fingers, hiding it behind his back like it is a distraction. “You’ll get this back if you decide to help me out here.”

    Rob’s motivation to come here could be a composite of many different things and probably contains tainted intentions, if he knows anything about the company he works for, but Dominic won’t tolerate his capacity to treat him like a child. He draws the line at having his freedom revoked. He can bloody drink if he wants to drink.

    “Help you what?” He entertains him, gritting his jaw.

    “I want your drugs, Dominic,” he says seriously, something almost like fatherly concern coating his voice. “Now that I know you’ve got them, I can’t let you keep them. I want you to find them and put them here.” He pats the kitchen island.

    “I don’t have any,” Dominic lies, just wanting to see if he can get away with it.

    Of course, he knows he’s got some. His so called “mates” are quite the party animals, and it’s not like Dominic is in short supply of resources or money. This is LA, after all.

    “Remember – if you lie to me, I will have the police come in with dogs and search this building panel by panel,” he threatens swiftly, starting to sound annoyed. “If you are being truthful, then maybe you’ve got nothing to worry about. But since we both know you have more than cigarettes, then I think you’ll be pleased to know that you’ll be going away for possession. No special treatment.”

    Dominic stares at the weirdly shaped brown fleck in his manager’s iris, a lump swelling inside his throat as he recognizes the seriousness at which he’s questioning him. It’s not that Dominic doesn’t think he could handle prison – though he likely couldn’t – but that his manager is willing to turn him in. Dominic knows Rob’s not lying. He never kids. Dominic’s learned this when he missed a flight on his last tour and his manager forced him to stay several nights in Tokyo as punishment.

    Dominic is property to him. A pet. If he misbehaves, he’s treated as such.

    Prison would ruin a lot of things for him. His family would shun him, wondering wrongly what they’d done to make him so messed up. The fans he still has will have no faith left in him at all, and he would have to live on knowing he’s only done this to himself.

    Dominic trudges up to his bedroom and returns with a shoebox littered with both used and unused needles, bags, and blunts, setting it in Rob’s outstretched palms. He has no real attachment to any of it. Most of it was not used by him but by others, and the stuff that he did partake in was only recreational – a short buzz.

    “Is that all?” Rob accuses, removing the lid and surveying the contents.

    Dominic sighs, leaving the room once more to reach behind the bookcase in his living room. He comes back with a bag of weed one of his Hollywood ‘friends’ brought over and never took with her when she left.

    “That’s it,” Dominic mutters, surprisingly truthful.

    “And your prescription drugs?” He asks, eyes over his glasses.

    “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

    “I most definitely am not shitting you, Mr. Davis.”

    Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to start getting emotional over pain medication when it had the greatest effect on his suicide attempt. The gray eyes ahead of him get even colder. Sharp disappointment rings his pupils like Dominic is a lost addict who can’t give up something deadly. He’s challenging Dominic. Testing him.

    When Dominic returns for the third time, he only has a handful of bottles, two of which are mostly empty already. He hesitates, his skin burning where it touches the plastic as if trying to grow into it. “What if I get a headache?”

    “Suffer.”

    Dominic’s fingers curl helplessly into themselves when the transfer is made, not sure how to handle the news that he’s got to continue living on without numbing agents. There was a time for a while when making music was the only thing that drove him to feel alive, and that was enough, but that was so long ago, Dominic doesn’t even remember the feeling. He wishes someone warned young, naïve Dominic how unfortunate this life led would be. He was blinded by fame and music and money and girls.

    His manager arranges all the substances on the counter, lining them beside his glass, which he can see now has been dumped down the drain. That s**t was expensive – Dominic should charge him.

    “There’s one more thing I’d like to discuss,” he starts speaking again. “And that’s the issue of your public image, and how’s it’s going to look from now on. It involves a lot of time inside under the watch of your lovely guards. I hope you like the view from that window because you’re going to be spending a lot of time looking out of it.”

~******~  

    There have been a lot of things that Dominic has been banned from doing when music took over his life. Like, having fun . . . friends (they had to be preapproved), as well as girlfriends even. But being confined to his house for the next month is not something he expected. House arrest is not even close to as glamorous as it sounds, and it doesn’t sound very fun to begin with.

    Does he understand that he f****d up? Yes, he does. That does not mean he deserves to be locked like a common criminal. He wasn’t out stealing other people’s lives. Just his own.

    Has that become a crime?

    Now, he’s on damage control. It was impossible for the news of “the incident” to not have reached the media’s grubby little hands, but now it’s suddenly all the more important that he becomes a ghost. To act like he’s healthy and recovering. The only times he’s allowed out are arranged scheduled appearances once or twice to reassure them he’s not dead. No parties, visitors, or social media allowed.

    He’d managed to persuade Rob to let his mother or sister visit if they so choose to – which is likely just him acting all nice and pleasant on the outside so his mother nor sister ever think his career had anything to do with his poor decisions. They absolutely love Rob – certainly don’t think he treats Dominic like a piece of meat the way he does. He’s a world-renowned popstar with more money than he knows what to do with and strangers who love him. What could he possibly be sad about? To everyone else, Dominic’s just ungrateful.

    According to Rob, he’s lucky he has his management team at all still, and if he wants to make a comeback, he is expected to listen to them and be sure to make it an isolated incident, or they were sure to cut his career short.

    House arrest doesn’t keep him detained long either way.

    Dominic goes out against his wishes anyway, wanting just a little taste of the life he’s been neglected since he’s been treated. Though he can’t do so without tricking his management. By leaving his phone on his table and taking a cheap, disposable one that only really has the capability of reaching the emergency response service. Which, he is quite certain is all he truly needs. If they make the invasive decision to track him, like they always do nowadays – not that they weren’t hounds when they wanted to be before – then they’ll be tracking his kitchen table.

    He sneaks out the back door of his house – just in case there happens to be paparazzi hanging around, and he calls a cab. Looking both ways, he runs down the street to the corner, pulling his hood over his head when he sees a figure at the other end. They’re walking along the sidewalk, slightly hunched . . . walking towards him. His heart races as they appear to come closer. He’s certain he sees the glare of a camera in the dark, but then they split into two distinct shadows, and Dominic recognizes the old couple who lives a couple of houses down.

    Paranoid much? he chastises himself internally.

    Once a good distance from his front yard, he calls for a taxi and orders the driver to take him into the city. Only when the lights engulf the street and the inside of the cab does Dominic allow his back to relax and rest back against the seat.

    It’s rare that Dominic ever goes out without a bodyguard. Like a shadow he hadn’t realized was there before, his hired second leaves behind an empty gap where Dominic feels he should be. The world seems so much more intimidating when he doesn’t have Paul next to him, ready to turn someone over if Dominic gets into trouble.

    Dominic doesn’t miss him, per say. More like, he is more acutely aware of his absence.

    The driver looks at him once. Then, again, a few moments later like he’s missed something. Dominic measures up the curiosity in his gaze, his stomach clenching uneasily as he thinks he sees recognition spark in his eyes. He hasn’t pinpointed it yet, but eventually he’ll remember where he knows Dominic from.

    “Have I seen you before?”

    He tenses. “No.”

    Dominic throws some bills up towards the front then grabs the handle and tumbles out onto the sidewalk before it’s even come to a complete stop.

    “Hey!” the driver complains at his abrupt exit.

    The tires squeal as he stops quickly, and Dominic slams the door shut for him, stepping into and blending with the night crowd already out.

    A group of young girls passes on the other side. They don’t seem to see him, but he pulls his hood down further over his face, because if there’s likely anyone who would recognize him, it’d be a young girl. Thankfully, luck is on his side tonight and they don’t.

    He finds himself outside a high-end VIP bar, at the end of the hour, where only A-listers come when his feet start to tire. It’s one he recognizes – one he’s been to more than once, and it may not be the best place to hide from his management, but it’s sheltered from the public, so he decides it’ll be worth it.

    He knows for certain he can find solitude and privacy here. It is an unwritten rule among all the sympathetic celebrities that personal life is kept personal, and anything talked about here stays within this building. For the most part, they all suffer from the media in the same ways, so it is not hard to find an empathetic face in this crowd.

    His heart thumps faster, his palms beginning to sweat and his mouth going dry at the music pulsating through the front doors. This was the kind of environment he thrives on. The good life. Partying and alcohol and s*x. With merely a swallow to gulp down the embarrassment of the many judgmental looks he’s about to receive tonight – all the “didn’t you die?” and the “look at him, he tried to kill himself, and now he’s back out doing the same destructive behavior” glares being shot his way, Dominic pulls open the door to the club and enters.

    The doors click behind him, silent in the loud bass roaring over the speakers. There’s a few bodies gathered near the entrance, sipping on champagne and tugging on their short dresses. They seem lost in their own little world, paying no mind to the front door. 

    Until he takes a step forward and suddenly, he’s got the attention of one of them. She may be an actress. She’s dressed like one – rich, important. But her mouth falls agape, her glittering hand raising to cover her mouth, and she leans into her equally well-dressed friends to tell them Dominic’s been officially spotted.

    And then he’s got the attention of everyone.

    A hand reaches out and lands on his chest, stopping him. Dominic’s pulse jumps. Maybe this was a bad idea.

    “Name please?” the bouncer asks, glancing up from his clipboard boredly.

    His voice comes out raw and throaty, like all words have since the incident. Everything since then has carried a weight over him, and it shows in the exhaustion he constantly possesses. “Uh, Dominic Davis.”

    Dominic can see the bouncer discreetly eye him up and down, his mouth slightly pursed like he maybe has an idea who he is. Of what he maybe did to himself. He wonders if it’s glaringly obvious that he hates himself. Still, the bouncer doesn’t speak a word about it, finding his name among the list of frequents.

    He moves the rope out of the way, and Dominic pushes his way into the crowd, the sweet smoke of sweat and lust burning down his throat. God, how he’s missed this.